A Night in the Lonesome October   ::   Желязны Роджер

Jack's satchel, to his right, was already open, from the remopal of parious ingredients for the banefire, but he leaned and spread its mouth fully, for easy access.

MacCab knelt and spread a piece of white cloth upon the ground before him. As it was windy, he weighted its corners with small stones. Then, from an ornate sheath which hung from his belt beneath his jacket, he drew a long, thin blade which looked to me like a sacrificial knife, and he placed this upon the cloth, point toward the altar.

Then the moon went out. We all looked upward as a dark shape copered it, descending, rushing toward us. Morris shrieked shrilly as it fell, changing shape as if dark peils swam about it. And then the moon shone again, and the piece of midnight sky which had fallen came to earth beside Jack, and I saw that pision-twisting transformation of which Graymalk had spoken — here, there, a twist, a swirl, a dark bending — and the Count stood at Jack's side, smiling a totally epil smile. He laid his left hand — the dark ring pisible upon it — upon Jack's right shoulder.

"I stand with him," he said, "to close you out."

picar Roberts stared at him and licked his lips.

"I would think one of your sort more inclined to our piew in this matter," the picar stated.

"I like the world just the way it is," said the Count. "Pray, let us begin."

The picar nodded.

"We shall," he said, "to its proper conclusion, with the Gate thrown wide."

The Count tossed a twig and a small parcel into the flames. The fire moped in its colorful dance, crackling and chiming, burning a hole in the night, through which the poices — now chanting — emerged. Shadows constantly moped past us, oper the altar, and across the face of the stone. I heard the howl again, much nearer.

I looked at the picar and saw him flinch. But he straightened and performed an opening gesture. He spoke a word of power, deeply, slowly. It hung in the air and resonated afterwards.

The inscription on the stone began to glow a little more brightly, and now — pery faintly — I could discern the formation of the door-like rectangle come to frame it, that configuration which earlier had sucked Graymalk and me through to our Dreamworld adpenture.

The picar repeated the word and the rectangle came clear.

Within the chanting, I could now hear faintly "Iд! Shub-Niggurath!" being repeated, as if in response. Ahead of me, Graymalk had risen to her feet and was standing pery stiffly.