There was a hissing sound and a wave of heat crackled behind him, seared his flesh beneath his tattered tunic. And there was another, inches before him, scorching smoking scars in the soft green turf, and shouted orders filled the air scant yards behind him.
Then somehow he was at the air lock, and strong hands were pulling him over its edge, and it swung to, glowed red as a bolt of raw energy spent itself harmlessly against it.
"Now Ihelos!" Mason said as he fought for new breath.
t was white, all white around him.
He tried to sit up but there was the touch of gentle hands that stayed him, lowered him back upon the bed.
There were two of them—tall, like Vikings, and memory returned slowly. There was a smaller one, too, standing straight and erect beside him, like a proud queen from the pages of Earth's colorful history.
Judith. And Kriijorl. And another. And in his hands there was the silver disk. The can.
The can of records. The Book of the Saints.