I thought I saw Norhala floating, clothed in shouting, flailing fires. I strove to call out to her. By me slipped the body of Drake; lay flaming at my feet upon the narrow ledge.
There was a roaring within my head—louder, far louder, than that which beat against my ears. Something was drawing me forth; drawing me out of my body into unimaginable depths of blackness. Something was hurling me out into those cold depths of space that alone could darken the fires that encircled me—the fires of which I was becoming a part.
I felt myself leap outward—outward and outward—into—oblivion.
CHAPTER XXI. PHANTASMAGORIA METALLIOUE.
Wearily I opened my eyes. Stiffly, painfully, I stirred. High above me was the tremendous circle of sky, ringed with the hosts of feeding shields. But the shields were now wanly gleaming and the sky was the sky of night.
Night? How long had I lain here? And where was Drake? I struggled to rise.
“Steady, old man,” his voice came from beside me. “Steady—and quiet. How are you feeling?”
“Badly battered,” I groaned. “What happened?”
“We weren't used to the show,” he said. “We got all fed up at the orgy. Too much magnetism—we had a sudden and violent attack of electrical indigestion. Sh-h—look ahead of you.”