THE WIZARD AND THE SYLPH
Chapter Eight
Lund
Belloc found himself standing in a strange, faraway place that existed in perpetual preternatural twilight, though a pale, grey, sepulchral light cast the barren landscape and its standing stones into sharp relief, causing it to resemble a silent moonlit graveyard. The air smelt of fire and brimstone: this, the dissipated detritus coming from round pyramid-shaped vents formed of molten rock and porous mineral slag. Most of these lay quiescent, as though that which had once given them the appearance of life had withdrawn itself to some blasted subterranean place deep within the earth. A few remained active, however, some emitting a near-invisible vapour that evoked an instinctively pejorative reaction from the senses; others allowed the passing of poisonous, sulphrous smokes that seemed more to have reluctantly left their natural environ than to have been ejected from it.
Garnering power from his staff, Belloc turned his senses to searching out the mind of his enemy, and to his surprise found instead an empty void.
Morlock's attentions were elsewhere. But why?
Something impinged on the old wizard's attention, causing him to realise that he had not yet drawn breath. There came an urging, as though from a familiar voice. With an inward shrug, he obeyed, as inevitably he must, and to his surprise found the air to be pure, untainted, permeated with the clean, sweet smell of spring. And with that breath he found himself sitting on the forest floor as before, feeling peculiarly groggy, yet refreshed. Anest sat across from him, shaken by Lily, who wept and called his name.