The Dark Crystal by A. C. H. Smith Page B

felt himself being lifted above the mud and borne in precarious stateliness to firm ground, where he was deposited. Picking himself up, he saw what it was that had retrieved him – a grublike thing, three or four times his size. Kira was patting it affectionately on the muzzle and speaking to it in its own tongue.

    Then she led Jen to a pool of clear water and helped him to wash off the mud.

    “How did we tell each other so much without talking?” Jen asked her.

    “Dreamfasting,” Kira answered in a matter-of-fact voice, sluicing water over him with her cupped hands. Seeing that he did not understand, she asked, “You don’t know about dreamfasting?”

    He shook his head.

    “Well …” she began, as though about to explain. Then she smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “Well, now you do know about it.”

    “Have you always known?”

    “All my life I think, yes,” Kira replied. “The Pod People know, too. They’re the peasant folk who raised me. Didn’t your protectors use it?”

    “The urRu? No. Not with me, at any rate. Can you do it whenever you want?”

    In reply Kira held out her hand to him. From near their feet came a growl. “Fizzgig, don’t be jealous,” Kira reassured him. “This is Jen. He’s like me, it seems.”

    She led Jen along a tree-shaded path that ran through the swamplands. He noticed the way she walked: like himself, it seemed, except that there was something in her step that was both graceful and more confident. On their way, they passed by many creatures and plants that were quite new to Jen. One grazing animal in particular was to be seen in many places, the same kind of grub as the one that had retrieved’ him from the bog. They were Nebrie, Kira told him, amphibious creatures the Pod People domesticated for collecting milk. When a Nebrie died, its skin was used to make drums, and the patches of fur around its face and ears were fashioned into clothes for the little Podlings.

    Jen remembered that Aughra had served him Nebrie cheese, which had been delicious. He would have to explain to Kira about Aughra and the shard and Skeksis and everything else. He could do so in dreamfasting, he hoped.

    Fizzgig bravely growled at the harmless Nebrie. When they raised their grazing heads and gave him a mild glance, he bounced along the path again, following Kira and Jen.

I n the banqueting hall of the castle of the Dark Crystal, seven Skeksis were seated at a long table, gorging themselves. Not sharing in the feast were the Chamberlain, who had been absent since his disgrace, and the Ritual-Master, who, with an ascetic calm, sat observing the rest.

    From his elaborately carved imperial chair, the Garthim-Master shot glances at the Ritual-Master beside him. What was he up to? the Garthim-Master wondered. Was this some kind of saintly, abstemious pose designed to impress the others with his holiness and so establish his right to usurp the throne at the first opportunity? The Garthim-Master regarded the others and reckoned that, if that were so, it would be a fruitless undertaking. Force, greed, and ruthlessness were the qualities the Skeksis respected in a ruler. The Garthim-Master stretched out his arm and grabbed a nearly empty cauldron from the Treasurer. He stuck his head inside it to lick it clean, then tossed it away. He kept an eye on the Ritual-Master’s face and fancied he detected a flicker of distaste there. Good. That gave him an opening. Perhaps he should devise stratagems for defaming the Ritual-Master’s reputation for dignity, his alleged mastery of ceremonial order. The sooner that sanctimonious creature followed the Chamberlain into the wilderness, the more secure the Garthim-Master would feel on the throne.

    Slaves carried in a platter on which a freshly roasted Nebrie was steaming. The seven Skeksis set to, ducking and twisting their heads to rip off the most succulent shreds of flesh from the carcass. Again, the Ritual-Master was content to survey his