Birkala recoiled, appalled.
He could not see into the room. The luminescence was gone. The room was absolutely dark.
Yet the darkness was more than the absence of light. It was more, even, than the utter jet-blackness of intergalactic space. It was an active blackness, a presence of blackness, and it filled the room to the very edge of the door, untouched by the normal light from the hallway.
The most frightening thing about it was that he felt an impulse to move into the room, a strong pull into the room, into the blackness. As he instinctively resisted, the pull grew stronger.
And then Birkala was terrified. For the pull was so strong that he could not step back away from the yawning door.
In a semi-daze, he fought with his mind, for the force was not a physical one. He fought, and he felt his control slipping.
There came a commotion from the bedroom behind him, the sound of upraised voices. There was Direka's agonized chatter, a shrill protest, and the firm angry voice of a woman.
He was able to turn his head slightly to see Spira come through the opening into the hallway.
Birkala could not speak. He tried to warn Spira back with his strained, stinging eyes. But, unclothed as she had been at the fountain, she walked purposefully to him.