Flane did not like to think of that.
He stepped forward, lifting the blade.
He thrust it home, into the diamond-shaped opening. The blade clicked
in, fitting perfectly.
_And nothing happened._
The Machine was truly dead above them. Aevlyn sobbed. She came to stand
with him, pressing her arm shoulder to his in comfort as he leaned
against the cold metal side of the Machine, hammering his fist against
it until the knuckles bled.
Behind them Besl sighed, "Now that is too bad. I shall hate to order
the _kaatra_-tail banners forward, but I have no choice."
Flane lifted his hand, looked down at the torn flesh, at the dark blood
staining his flesh. Aevlyn was whispering to him but he did not hear.
He was deaf to everything, at that moment.
A hand patted his arm sadly, and then the old man from Moornal turned
on his heel and went out of the Temple, bowed and broken. With him
went Besl. In the quadrangle before the Temple they came to a stop and
stared at each other. The big Darksider saw tears furrowing the cheeks
of the old man.
"I had thought to see a new world, Besl. The old world come to life
again. Gaiety and laughter, play and sunshine. I thought Flane was the
one the prophecy told of, with his foreign blood and his blue sword. I
would have staked my neck on it."
"Yes," grunted Besl. "So too would I."
"War," groaned the old man. "There will be nothing left of Klarn.
Nothing, except a few wandering tribes. The city-states will go.
Darksider and Klarnvan will eat each other up."
Besl nodded glumly.
Heavily they strode to the red Dragon Gate. Swinging into their
saddles, they swung their horses' heads around, and cantered into the
night.
* * * * *
From the Temple balcony that overlooked the city, Flane and Aevlyn
watched them. Like toys they seemed, rider and mount blending motion to
infinite grace. They saw Besl and the old man lift their right arms,
salute; saw them take separate paths as they rode on.
"Each goes to summon his people to war," Flane said heavily.
Aevlyn leaned her cheek against his bare, scarred arm.
"Failure!" Flane rasped harshly, with a bitter laugh. "I've failed all
right. Now will there be a war, and nothing but war. The _dulars_ of
Klarn and Moornal and Yeelya against the Darksiders and the _mekniks_.
Few will survive."
Aevlyn turned him slowly, traced the lines of his cheeks and mouth with
quivering fingertips. Two tears glistened beneath her lashes as she
struggled to smile.
"We may still make a new world," she whispered. "It is not too late."
"When those riders reach their armies, a wave of steel and fire will
rise over Klarn."
Aevlyn rubbed her face against his throat. She whispered, "I love you,
Flane. Together we may bring order out of chaos. Somehow. You are still
my Keeper."
"Listen, darling," she went on, raising her glowing face to his. "I
swear fealty to the bearer of the sun-starred sword, for he shall be my
Keeper. By the grip that plunges home the blade, by the hand that is
turned away, by the--"
She broke off alarmed.
Her brown eyes sought Flane's face, read it--saw hope struggling to
rise through bitterness. His green eyes danced. His lips grew slack. He
hugged her to him; kissed lips, and cheeks and chin.
"That's it! That's _it_!" he shouted.
He leaped for the Temple interior, and Aevlyn had to run to keep up
with him. Half-laughing and half-crying, she sobbed, "What is it,
Flane?"
"The way the sword goes home! I was a fool not to have realized it."
"You're going to try the Machine again, with the sword? But it doesn't
work! You saw that."
Flane laughed, "No harm to try once more, is there?" He came before the
Machine and picked up the sword where he had dropped it in his despair.
To the star-friezes in the wall he came and held out the sword to
Aevlyn.
"In holding the hilt of a sword in combat, you usually grasp it with
the ends of the fingers toward you, as in a parry in _tierce_. Now
suppose I turn the hand away, like this, so that the fingertips are
away from me, and the back of my hand is toward me. By the grip that
plunges home the blade, by the hand that is _turned away_--"
With the back of his hand toward him, Flane slammed in the sword.
The five tiny stars imbedded in the star-guard began to glow weirdly in
their blue transparent envelope. Dully they shone at first, then grew
more brilliant until they blazed. Like tiny suns they twinkled, fitted
over the star-shaped frieze in the wall of the Machine. Flane stared at
them.
He knew, suddenly, and laughed aloud.
"It isn't the blade that does it," he cried in his delight. "There
is no key--not a key such as we know. The Machine operates via those
lights in the star-shaped guard of the sword, Aevlyn. They must be bits
of that white powder stored in the prism. They are solar energy! Look
how they shine in the Machine!"
They shimmered magically inside the blue stuff, glowing and pulsating
with white fire.
Aevlyn cried out, a hand lifted, pointing. The lights were going on,
all over Klarn.
One by one they came into being, glimmering fitfully as long-unused
filaments surged with flooded power. Whitely they shone, then grew
bright and still brighter. A pale halo of reflection lifted from street
and house and rooftop, bathing the city in its dim aura.
From the houses came the cries and screams of men and women. The
screams deepened, grew into a roar, a bellow of sheer, unbelievable
joy, of incredulous happiness. Flane and Aevlyn heard the triumphal
peal of it, the hope become reality in its tones. They shivered in
delight, laughing.
Flane drew her, an arm about her lissome waist, out with him onto the
balcony. Beneath them the city was aflame with brilliance.
Aevlyn whispered, "You turned another failure into your biggest
success, Flane. You made the Machine work. If you hadn't--" she
shuddered and crept closer in his arms. Her voice was dreamy as she
went on, "Now your word will be law on all Klarn. The Darksiders under
Besl will see to that. You are their champion. The _dulars_ will be so
happy to have their lights and heat again that they will acknowledge
you, too. And the _mekniks_--well, they are heavily outnumbered, and
when they see what the machine will do for them, they'll agree. Their
power will fade as night when the lights went on."
Dawn was breaking all over Klarn.