sweeping in for a closer look but never getting close enough to be touched. Their mouths opened and closed in an eerie synchronisation. Some of them glowed in the dark, carrying their own lights within them. Which made me wonder just how deep we were. I was relieved to find I was breathing quite normally, but I didn’t feel any of the expected deep cold or pressure. Massive dark shapes passed by, to either side and overhead, vast and ponderous, observing the three of us from a safe distance. There were whales the size of mountains, and massive squid with huge, bulging eyes and tentacles that seemed to trail away for miles. There were other things too, not so easily identified. Just huge shadows, darker than the waters, watching with great unblinking eyes the size of houses. I really wanted to put on my armour now, but I knew I couldn’t afford to seem weak or scared in front of Walker. He was looking straight ahead as he strode along, but I had no doubt he was keeping an eye on me. He seemed entirely unmoved and unaffected by the whole underwater experience, while in my case it was only pride that was keeping me from being a gibbering wreck. An underwater wreck. Heh.
I had no idea where I really was, or where I was going. I felt, simply, lost. And that was a strange new feeling, one I wasn’t used to at all. In my armour I always knew exactly where I was, and where everything else was. But now there was no way out and no direction home. I really didn’t like this new feeling. I stuck close to Walker—or as close as the Somnambulist would allow. At least Walker still seemed to have some idea of where he was going. And if he had some idea of how I was feeling . . . he had the decency to keep it to himself.
Change again, and the three of us were trudging up the steep side of a mountain, heading for a far-off summit. All of us bent right over, staring down at the rocky ground before us, just to keep our balance as we fought our way upwards against the steep incline of the mountain. Even the Somnambulist had to lean forward, and she wasn’t even looking where she was going. I glanced back, and down, and saw that the sheer steep drop fell away behind us. The base of the mountain was far below, lost to view, hidden among thick clouds. I felt a sudden stab of vertigo and had to turn away. The air seemed authentically thin, and cold. I looked up and saw that the mountain plunged up into the sky. The snow-covered summit was only occasionally visible among slowly drifting clouds.
I think Walker sensed I was losing patience and about to start demanding answers to questions again, because he just started talking, without having to be prompted. Still staring straight ahead, and stepping casually over and around the many broken stones littering the way.
“The entire structure and substance of this world,” Walker said cheerfully, “this pocket reality called the Shifting Lands . . . is made up of psychegeography. That is, the whole physical environment shapes and reshapes itself constantly, to reflect the needs, wishes, and even hidden desires of the people who move within it. We are the world . . . if you like. Nothing here can be trusted to stay the same for long. But a word of warning, Eddie: the more you try to control your surroundings, through willpower and concentration . . . mental discipline . . . the more control will evade you. The Shifting Lands respond better to mood and emotion than to logic and common sense.”
“So we create the world as we walk through it?” I said.
“Perhaps,” said Walker. “Or it might all be down to the Powers That Be. Testing and toying with us, for their amusement.”
(And again I remembered the soft world of Melanie Blaze, where everything changed constantly . . . That had to mean something, something important; but what?)
“Which means,” said Walker, “this world can be anything at all. A cobbled street in old Paris; a Gothic castle; a giant chessboard with living pieces. I have seen them all, or something very like them. This is a place of visions and nightmares, fever-dreams and wild imaginings, and the worst impulses in man.”
“Why?” I said. “Why would anyone want to make a