Warlock

stabbing through the canopy of palm fronds… singing with a clear bell note when snapped with the nail of a finger… here green, casting back the colors of the forest that were not affected with the jewel disease…
        
        “Soon now,” Daborot said, turning to the Shaker, his broad face alight.
        
        “Soon,” Shaker Sandow agreed.
        
        Soon what? he wondered. Just what is all this about and what are we walking into here?
        
        And then the region which the birds had reported was fully upon them. In the space of half a dozen steps, the ratio of gems to living plant flesh grew markedly greater until, abruptly, there was not the least sign that anything here was alive. Everywhere: bright. Everywhere: images of themselves. Everywhere: wealth…
        
        Great palms thrust upward in petrified beauty, their boles semi-transparent with millions of tiny facets. The palm fronds overhead were feathery constructions, crystallized into the most delicate laces. The sun came through them and was transformed into a rainbow aurora, making the floor of the forest seem like the inside of a mammoth cathedral with the largest stained glass windows in the world. In the uppermost levels, the wind and the rain had taken their toll on the fronds, had shattered them completely or had made them ragged. But further down, they remained intact, a spectacle to make the eyes seek darkness and comparative comfort.
        
        Around their feet, glittering ferns stood at brittle attention, their undersides coated with tiny, crystallized spores that each looked like a bead of solidified wine. When a foot touched them, they shattered and sprayed up, went down with a tinkling reverberation that was like the laughter of small children-or of evil spirits.
        
        The orchids and other flowers here had also been transformed, and the smooth petals now stood permanently open, permanently fresh, colored a very slight purple. The stamens and pistils were like the hobby work of a watch-maker, intricately perfect, carved from diamonds by a madman with the eyes of a hawk and the sense of precision of a ballet dancer. Some of the men carefully plucked blooms and tucked them into their lapels. The crystals made the undersides of the men's chins shine with color…
        
        It was Shaker Sandow who made the unpleasant discovery.
        
        He was prowling along a small lane between the scintillating plants, examining the wide variety of forms which had been frozen in detail for eternity. He had noticed that rocks and soil had not been affected, only whatever plant life had been about. He had also noticed, here and there, pieces of metal breaking the ground, rusted and eaten through, but impressive nonetheless. It seemed as though they were roofbeams the size of the wooden ones beneath the shingles of his own house back in Perdune, but made of steel. Clearly, here were the remains of the buildings that had existed before the Blank, back in times now lost. He felt his pulse quicken as he examined these bits and pieces of ancient times.
        
        But these things were not what made him stand straight, his eyes wide and his spine suddenly cold.
        
        The thing that did that was what appeared to be a tiger.
        
        It was crystallized.
        
        Shaker Sandow took a step backward, his eyes riveted to the beast which did not advance on him, could never advance on anything again.
        
        The tiger stood upon three legs, the fourth foot braced against a tree where it had crystal claws sunk into crystal bark. On its face, there was a look halfway between rage and agony. It seemed that the disease had struck quite suddenly, too fast for the tiger to drop and writhe in its death throes-yet too slow to keep it from expressing its confusion and despair in at least this small manner.
        
        It was striped, as tigers should be. It carried a very slightly orange cast, with darker umber streaks through it, though it was more transparent than anything.
        
        Mace, who had been nearby-as always-had apparently seen his master's surprise. He had come along the narrow trail with swift, easy grace. “What is it?” he asked.
        
        Sandow pointed.
        
        Mace looked, grumbled, bent and touched the frozen creature of the jungle. “Can it do this to us?” he asked the