The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

eyes closed. The Kardia righted. Only his eyes sensed movement.
    Slowly he pried open first one eye then the other. Before him lay a desert. Rock and soil—more rock than soil—lay bare in the brilliant sunshine, bleached of color by the bright light. He sensed reds and yellows beneath the glare. Strange arched rock formations sprang up out of nowhere. Mountains rose in the distance, more desert. The only vegetation in sight were stunted grasses growing out of rock crevices in the shade of larger rocks.
    Just as suddenly as the view came to him, the scene lurched back into the swirling vortex. The hot wind died and the crackling energy faded.
    Powwell grabbed the wall for balance, trying desperately to keep his vertigo in check while he kept the unknown desert in view.
    The circles of colors and light faded and the pit returned to its normal place below the tunnel opening.
    “Powwell, what are you doing down here? Staring at the pit will only mesmerize you into joining it. That is an honor reserved for the dead,” Yaala said from right behind him.
    Rather than answer the woman, he examined the edges of the tunnel opening, seeking a spell or other anomaly that would explain the sudden vision of distant places.
    “Did you hear me, Powwell?” She tugged at his arm, attempting to draw him back through the tunnel. Behind her, Old Bertha belched and chugged in a normal machine rhythm.
    “I heard. I also saw another place. I think this archway is a portal to other places.” He didn’t take his eyes off the opening.
    “Nonsense. I told you you were hallucinating. I saw all kinds of things down here when my . . . when Yaassima first banished me. You’ll get used to the heat eventually.”
    “How long have you been here, Yaala?” Powwell finally shifted his gaze from the portal to her face. Her heavy-lidded eyes masked her emotions, almost fading into her pale skin. He wondered briefly if he would take on the same ghastly pallor after an eternity away from sunlight. Her high cheekbones nearly poked through her skin, revealing a long face with a determinedly outthrust chin.
    No one in the pit was overweight. Most of them were gaunt skeletons, wasted away from short rations, debilitating heat, and hard work. Yaala was the healthiest of the lot and by the reckoning of some of the old men, had been here longer than most.
    How much of that time was exile and how much her own choice? Powwell was suddenly fascinated with this strangely competent and self-assured woman. Almost beautiful underneath the dust and gauntness. The first stirring of interest tingled in his body.
    “What use counting time when there is no sun to mark the passage of days?” She kept those heavy eyelids lowered as she turned her gaze to the boiling lava in the pit.
    A spurt of lava flared up. She opened her eyes wide in the sudden red light. Powwell had never noticed the color of her eyes beneath her normally heavy lids. He couldn’t see it now. A film covered her iris.
    “Are you blind, Yaala?” He touched her back with a gentle hand as he looked more closely at her eyes. She dropped her gaze to her boots and wrenched away from his touch.
    The pronounced bones of her spine brushed against his palm. The bumps were much bigger than those of a normal person and sharp, very sharp. He jerked his hand away, then tentatively replaced it, needing to make contact with another human being in this hellhole.
    “No, I am not blind.” She paused and swallowed heavily. “Come. We have work to do. Old Bertha still isn’t working properly, and some of the pipes are corroded. They’ll have to be replaced.”
    “I don’t want to stay down here, Yaala. I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t live like this.”
    “Get used to it. Death is the only escape from the pit, and you’ve seen how we dispose of the bodies.” She turned on her heel and marched back toward the machinery.
    Powwell looked once more to the portal, longing for a vision of the green trees that had surrounded Televarn just before he stepped into the tunnel.
    The vortex lurched again, spiraling green, red, yellow, and blue—the blue of a summer sky above Coronnan. His mouth longed for the taste of fresh, sweet water. His skin clamored for relief from the heat. His heart begged for freedom.
    “Look, Yaala. It’s doing it again!”
    “Hallucination born of desperation. I’ve seen it before.” She kept walking away from the portal, one hand on Powwell’s sleeve, dragging him with