The Stranger traversed the plains below the mountains. He made camp for the night in the foothills of Mashu. He lit a fire with fragile driftwood, crusted in salt. When he slept, he drifted to that other place, where the man was sitting vigil by the boy’s bedside. The life support machines never wavered in their function. The soft sounds they made were like footsteps in the night. When the Stranger woke he did not know whether it was daytime or night, for such distinctions no longer mattered.

He climbed the mountain. At times there was an easy path to follow. At others, he made his way by hand and foot, seeking small fissures in the rock, grabbing for a hold on ancient roots and branches. The trees that grew on the side of Mashu were large and tangled, like giants of old, with mottled bark and a knotted mass of fibres. Tiny lizards scuttled in the undergrowth and heavy stones stood guard over the mountain paths, like so many sown dragon’s teeth.

The Stranger climbed Mashu. Onwards and onwards he climbed, a tiny figure against that huge indifferent mass. Onwards he crawled. The sky overhead was a panorama of swirling orange and reds, an eternal sunset.

At last the Stranger reached a plateau below the peak. Here vast and trunkless legs of stone stood guard over a dark entrance.

The Stranger approached cautiously and his shadow walked beside him. Standing at the tunnel mouth were three mimes wearing masks. The masks were bone-white. One mask smiled. One mask cried. And one mask was entirely blank.

The mimes blocked the Stranger’s way.

He said, “Please. I wish to pass through.”

The mimes shrugged, wordlessly.

The Stranger said, “I seek the Plant of Heartbeat.”

The mimes mimed sorrow, rubbing their eyes with their fists. The laughing one mimed counting ducats.

The Stranger said, “I have paid the ferryman.”

The crying one pointed wordlessly behind the Stranger and shook his finger no, then pointed at the tunnel mouth.

The Stranger turned and looked one last time on the Escapement, for he knew now that to pass beyond it meant forsaking it forever.

Then he turned back and nodded.

The mimes parted for the Stranger.

The Stranger passed into the tunnel mouth.

The Mountains of Darkness lie beyond the known world, on the edge of wakefulness and dream. The man saw them now, as he sat in the room. He had sat in that room for a very long time and was destined to sit just a little while longer. On the bed the boy did not stir. His breathing was shallow and ragged. The man bit on his lip so hard that he drew blood, the better to stifle the scream that was building inside. The clock on the wall was a big round clock. It ticked and it ticked and it ticked.