Was it fancy, or did the chanting of voices ring in his ears, muffled weirdly by the shroud about him? "Day—ees—a—nocta——Day—ees—a—nocta."
Williams waited, seeing her come through the mists.
The picture, the sounds faded. At last his knees sagged. He pitched face downward into the red sand.
For what seemed a long time, Barry Williams floated in darkness. Then, to a tiny corner of his mind, consciousness returned. He fought to retain it. The mist, he realized dimly, did not harm the body—it paralyzed. While he could think, the battle was not lost. He called upon the deep reserves of his mind.
Suddenly he was aware of sand digging painfully into the skin of his face—the first physical sensation he'd know since he slumped forward into oblivion. Hands tugged at his body, and the sting of the sand was gone from his nostrils. He had been rolled over onto his back.
Wild hope surged through Barry. He struggled against the leaden weight on his eyelids—without success. His muscles did not respond. He tried to move an arm—a leg—a finger. It was no use. Slowly, he realized what had happened.