Again time shrank away to insignificance; Kit imagined he could actually feel it peeling away from him, layer by layer.
How long this lasted he could not say. A moment? The length of time it took for the thought to enter his consciousness and leave again? An entire lifetime? More? An age? An eon? An eternity?
Nothing seemed adequate to explain his current state. Past and future melted together, mingled, mixed, became one until there was only the unchanging present moment. So far as he could tell, he might exist like this forever, living in a timeless void—a never-ending now.
Kit perceived that though this void might be empty of time, it was nevertheless full of possibility. Anything could happen, might happen, might have already happened—anything he could think might suddenly take form, might gain existence from his thought alone. This insight, if that is what it was, brought a sobering realisation that the merest whim might bring a whole world into existence, a world replete with living creatures whose lives were suddenly called into being by a single careless thought. Kit shrank from the horrific responsibility and instead turned his attention to his journey.
The sensation of travelling remained strong. Kit knew he was covering heroic distances, and while it seemed likely this could go on without end, he did have the feeling that a destination awaited. Again, the thought had no sooner formed than Kit sensed he was arriving. Between one heartbeat and the next, the all-pervading darkness began to thin, becoming ever more transparent. Spots appeared before his eyes, tiny pinpricks of light. Suddenly, they were everywhere—shimmering, glittering, winking in and out of existence like sparks from exploding fireworks. They rippled through the void in waves, all around him, some passing through him. Faster and faster they came.
Kit became aware of a sound—the rush and wash of the ocean surf crashing onto the shore. Suddenly, he was there. His arrival happened so fast, he had no time to brace himself. One moment he was sailing through space, and the next he was scrambling on hands and knees over an expanse of sand. There was water behind him and a bank of green rising before him. In fact, he comprehended now that his clothes were wet—had he emerged from the sea? If so, he could not remember. The sensation of swift downward movement was still so strong, it drove out all else; he closed his eyes and drew deep, calming breaths into his lungs until the unsettling sense of falling ceased.
He raised his head to look around. A vista of fine white sand stretched away on either side as far as he could see: a perfect beach washed by the cool waters of a turquoise ocean. The sun was warm on his back and the air balmy; a gentle seaward breeze wafted over him. Before him lay a land of shining green and gold—the deep, vivid emerald greens of the tropics and the bright yellows of exotic flowers in reckless profusion. Giant ferns and date palms poked above the verdure, spreading into a sky so blue it sent an ache through Kit to see it. This is heaven, he thought. Or, at least, someone’s idea of paradise.
Gathering his feet under him, Kit stood and, without any particular aim, began to walk up the sloping strand towards the forest. As he stepped from the sandy verge onto soft grass, he saw that his feet were on a well-trod path. It felt good to move under his own power again, so Kit followed the trail as it wound its way into the jungle. The farther he went, the more luxurious the foliage became—extravagant in the variety of colours and shapes, all different, all delightful to the eye. Trees with leaves shaped like pale lime-coloured stars, like rusty fans, like golden feathers; fronds like sawtooth blades, like delicate lace; flowers like drifts of jewels, like multicoloured clouds, like frieze works splashed with an exuberant painter’s brush, and more. Many of the trees, shrubs, and plants bore fruit—in globes, in clusters, in clutches and bunches and bundles—all in riotous abundance. Everything he saw was so intensely real, so manifestly present, it seemed to vibrate, to palpitate with the animating force of life, a force so strong it leaked, shimmering into the very air he breathed. The entire forest resonated to a sound Kit could not hear, a sound just beyond the threshold of hearing, like the final triumphant chord of a symphony—only he had entered the