He raised the harp.
"I'll play god, and give 'em the clean way out!"
He drew his arm back to throw—to smash the crystal web. And then, with blinding suddenness, there was light again.
They stood frozen, the two of them, blinking in the hot opalescence. Then their eyes were drawn to the crystal web.
The Stone of Destiny still fluttered like a dying heart, and the crystal rods were dim.
Ciaran whispered, "It's too late. They're finished."
Silence again. They stood almost as though they were waiting for something, hardly breathing, with Ciaran still holding the silent harp in his hand.
Very, very faintly, under his fingers, the strings began to thrum.
Vibration. In a minute Ciaran could hear it in the crystal. It was like the buzz and strum of insects just out of earshot. He said:
"What's that?"