felt its wings clap against her face and batted them desperately away. Again it swooped, struck, and this time as she swung and turned, the loose sand shifted beneath her heel, and she fell.
The ground came up hard against her ribs. She felt the black bird's claws upon her back—both sets of talons. It must have dropped the pin, or have it in its mouth again. Gasping, each breath a painful bite, she struggled to raise herself on one elbow and dash the rhuk away. The vile creature clinging to her shoulder made her shake with revulsion.
All at once she felt a stabbing behind her ear, sharp as a little sword. Agony overwhelmed her, too intense even to let her scream. Aeriel rolled and struck wildly at the bird with both hands. To her astonishment, the light of the pearl, no longer hidden, had become a blaze. What had caused it to do so?
It had never done so before. The claws of the rhuk abruptly released her. She felt its wings stroke stiffly across her cheek.
"The light, the light!" it crowed.
Dimly, she became aware of the rhuk thrashing on the ground beside her, writhing as though burned.
The light of the pearl was already dimming. A horrifying cold had begun to consume her. She groped, putting one hand behind her ear. Her fingers brushed the little knob of silver jutting from the bone. A piercing chill shot through her limbs. She felt as though something were being drawn from her, like the strand yanked from a string of beads. Memory scattered. She thought that she might die of the pain. It was the last thought she had before oblivion blotted out the stars.
It was hours, many hours after, that she awakened. Here her memory was very dim, for the pin in her head had stolen her name, working its terrible spell to keep her from knowing herself. The black bird lay dead on the sand beside her. She rose and stood a moment, gazing at it, before wandering away. It had nothing to do with her. She did not remember it. The pearl on her breast glowed faintly, forgotten. She strayed deeper into the desert, forgetting the camp—for that, too, had nothing to do with her now. She had become nobody. A pale, nameless girl.
"And so you wandered, stumbling down into the duaroughs' caves at last, where you felt the pilgrims'
Call still broadcasting after all these years, and found your way to me."
Aeriel stirred, hearing the Ancient's voice again. The fiery images had faded from the great glass globe. It hung before her in the air, weightless as gossamer, now showing only a faint azure glow. The room was twilit once more, no longer wholly dark. She gazed at its deep blue walls and hanging gauze.
The pallet on which she lay was low and comfortable. Someone held a cool compress to her brow. A strange stiffness prevented her from turning her head. The Ancientlady spoke again.
"Do you know the place to which you and your companions have come?"
Aeriel shifted, trying to sit up. Of course she knew. "The City of Crystalglass."
"Do you know yourself?" the Ancient asked.
That was easy. "Aeriel."
"And do you know who I am?"
Aeriel drew in her breath, realizing for the first time. "Ravenna," she breathed. "The last Ancient of the world."
The one beside her laughed, gently, quietly. "Ravenna is not my name," she replied, "but the name of this city that you call Crystalglass. Its real name is NuRavenna, after a very old city on my own world."
She laughed again, and the airy globe trembled slightly as her words eddied the atmosphere.
"My own name is nearly unpronounceable. That is why, for so long, I was simply called 'the Lady of Ravenna." Somewhere it was shortened to 'the Lady Ravenna' and sometimes even 'the Ravenna'—which the duaroughs still use—and finally, now, by the upperlanders, simply 'Ravenna." You had better go on calling me that. Do you feel well enough to rise?"
Aeriel managed a nod. Her body felt odd—stiff, yet at the same time, strangely supple—almost as though she had awakened into new flesh never before inhabited or used. The sensation troubled her. For a moment, as she struggled to sit up, the blood ran from her head, and she felt dizzy. Then she steadied.
Her hand went to her breastbone, the space there empty now.
"Ravenna," she whispered, "what have you done with my pearl?"
"Hold out your hand," the other answered gently.
As Aeriel did so, the great delicate globe drifted nearer,