Gradually, he assembled a plan to help himself: he would build a careful, detailed mental picture of each element in the process of contacting the power, a kind of map of the path his mind had to follow: first came the shell of the old tin toy; next, the ancient clay tablet inside, bearing its strange words written in illegible scratches; then, finally, the roaring white light tinged blue and gold.

He would line each image up, one after the other, like a series of doors. Then he would carefully attempt to approach, feel, and pass through each door in turn. Just a series of doors. He set his mind walking slowly toward them.

First the toy robot.

Then the tablet.

Then the light.

Nodding over the toy, trying to move his mind, he lost all track of time. Somewhere along the border of sleep, something flickered, a sudden sense of the tablet’s presence, a feeling that what he was looking for was glimmering ahead.

With the distant feeling of trying not to wake himself, he just let it be there for a while. Then, softly, he pushed after it, pushed deeper, slipping through one door, then the next, like a thief tiptoeing through a house.

As he approached the final door that would reveal the light, he saw a vague, unexpected figure, standing between him and the door, back to him. As the figure turned, he saw a face he recognized. The mouth was moving:

“Alex? Wake up, son.”

XI.

SPRING MORNING

Alex’s grandfather stood outside, leaning through the car’s open door. They were parked off the road on the edge of a thick forest. It was early morning, still dim. Spotty rain fell.

“Uh . . . where are we?” Alex blinked and stretched. Aside from fields and trees, the landscape was empty. He could feel a dream draining away and tried to remember what it had been. The sleep had been deep.

“We’ve crossed into Germany,” the old man said. “Close to where Harry is. There’s a hotel I know not far from here. But there’s something I need to do first, and it needs a little privacy. Come on.”

He led Alex into the woods. The first unseen birds were already chipping away at the big silence. Tall trees arched together to form a vaulted ceiling above, the light shaded gray green as it came filtering through.

“Any luck?” his grandfather asked as they walked. “With the tablet?”

“Not sure.” Alex frowned, beginning to remember. “I thought there was something. Maybe. I was getting closer. But I couldn’t get to it.”

“You’ll do it.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Alex said. As best he could, he shared his half-formed idea, about moments when he had accessed the power without being aware he was doing it. “Almost like a . . . an unconscious reflex,” he concluded. “Or subconscious. But it’s like, when I try to do it, I can’t.”