And floated easily

And dead.

When they had finished singing, the World Hater turned to leave, then turned back again as if his final words were more important than the rest: “I go now into Terra, to tell all of her people my good news! I’ll preach to every creature the doctrine of the glass. Terra shall be saved by this clear, final image of herself.”

One miner, touched by his last words, cried out, “I too believe. Give me the chain and glass.”

As the Dark Prince handed him the insignia, he accidentally dropped it on the floor. As the Dark Prince reached to pick it up, his silver cape slid to the side, showing that his tunic underneath was cut, the fabric frayed. The gloomy cloth was stained with blood. A hideous wound was exposed—a wound that told of conflict in the skies.

“I saw you there,” cried Dreamer. “You are the World Hater!”

“Where did you see me?” asked the titan prince, stunned that one could guess his great charade.

“In the other realm!” Dreamer said.

“Other realm!”

“Yes, even now you wear an injury ill-gotten in another world.”

“You have been too long in frozen earth, poor man. There are no other realms. You are the prisoner of time and space like all the rest of us. Terra is the only base of life in the lonely sky. Men are doomed as long as they pretend to make celestial friends. This planet’s days are done unless men cease to speak of saints and singers or trolls and witches in the sky. Here, Dreamer, behold the glass and bear our late-come hope—the mark of peace!”

Dreamer fled in terror from the room. His flight left those witnesses in silent stupefaction. The only sounds were the Black Knight’s labored breathing and the muffled, far-off cries of Vollkons furious in their lust for fire and flesh.

Aware they could not leave the mines, the Prince of Mirrors yet called out, “Go proclaim the glass to all of Terra!”

And while he spoke he seemed to rise and then dissolve like smoke.

Tears came into the eyes of those beholding his illusive disappearance. They looked at their faces in the little mirrors on their chains and sang again The Hymn of Man.

“The gods are dead, and without dread we cheer—

Join hands to reach and cry,

‘We shall not pass!’

We sing in confidence without a fear.

We wear one face, behold a common glass.”

IX

A cosmic coma paralyzed the star.

The phantom surgeon sutured tenderly.

A passing comet flashed above the scar

And light displayed a planetectomy.

Across the Crystal Range the town of Thade lay sleeping. Like Varge she had refused the Mark of Elan and the counsel of his peace. Her houses were walled in stone and roofed in slate, instead of thatch. She dared to hope this double favor might protect her from the fiery fate of Varge. But flying reptiles screamed just ahead of dawn and fire fell everywhere.