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The nail trembles。 My hand remains firm。 My gaze。
Power sweeps over me from way beyond the circle。
〃No；〃 I say。 〃Evil one； you die。〃
Landulf starts to let the spear fly。
The nail flies out of my palm and is impaled in his forehead。
Between his eyebrows。 He stares at me through a red river。
〃You；〃 he says； and drops the spear。
I leap to his side and catch the spear before it lands。
The nail has plunged all the way in。
〃I take back what I said a moment ago；〃 I say。 〃You are not so clever。〃
I stick the spear in his heart； and his blood spurts out； even into the center of the pentagram； where it is mysteriously consumed in midair。 He tries to speak one last time； probably to curse my soul for all of time； but he is staggering blindly with a long spear thrust through him and a nail in his brain。 He makes the serious mistake of stumbling into the center region of the five…pointed star he has drawn with his wife's blood； and there something truly awful happens。 In a sickeningly wet sound； his clothes and flesh are simultaneously ripped from his body。 For a moment he is a carved cadaver risen from an autopsy table。 Then invisible claws go around his head； and he is pulled down and backward； into a pit of nothingness。 He just vanishes and I am so grateful that I fall to my knees and weep for a long time。
The spear and nail remain where they have fallen from his body。 They lie in the center of the circle。 And I know the power of the circle has been broken。
Eventually I climb down the cliff； and walk toward the ocean。 I swim away from the hordes of Moslems； who only stare at me as I step onto the beach covered with blood from their dead benefactor。 Perhaps they are afraid to touch me； I don't know。 But they must have heard stories about Landulf s castle。
The place where magic was performed。
I swim through the waves beyond the invading army。
Beyond reason。 The water is clean and stretches forever。
Yet I feel as if I will never be clean again。
16
When I reach the clear pool of water that same evening； Dante is not there。 His absence hits me like a wall。 It was too much to hope； I know。 But as I sit exhausted beside the pond and stare at the reflection of the vanishing sunlight and the slow emergence of the stars； I ponder the unfairness of life。 Here was Dante； a simple man who would give his life for a just cause； killed out of love for me。 And here am I； a monster； who will easily kill； and I am still alive。 God had granted me a miracle that very morning； yet I feel I would trade all of his grace just to see my friend for a few minutes。
But the night grows darker and still Dante does not e。
He is dead； I know。 Death is all I know。
There is blood on my left hand。
The hand that stole the girl's life。
Funny I hadn't noticed it before。 Leaning over the pond； I place my hand in the water and try to wash off the dark red stain。
But it does not e off。 I wonder why。
〃Good。 You have passed the first step of initiation。 The second step will e later； and then the final and third step。〃
Killing the girl had been the second step。
Or so he said。 That Prince of Lies。
He is dead now。 He will say no more。
Not to me。 There will be no third initiation。
I scrub my hand fiercely。 To no avail。
I have never seen a stain like this before。
〃But I am sorry for what I did；〃 I tell the starry pond。 〃You know I had to do it。 I had no choice。〃
If I am explaining to God； he does not answer me。
But once more my memory of the future is clear。 Perhaps the pond acts as a catalyst。 It is every bit as clear and round as the one Alanda led me to。 And as I could at that watery oasis； I imagine that I can see more reflected stars than I can in the sky itself。 My sudden grip on reality makes me marvel at how much my memory faltered while I was embarked on my dark adventure。 Maybe Landulf had been blocking me。 Maybe my deep…seated fears distorted my memory。 I could have tricked myself into not knowing the horrors that awaited me。 Or perhaps it was all a function of ing back in time。
I feel as if all my powers； the ones I left behind in the twentieth century； have returned to me。 e back just when I no longer need them。 I am surprised； now that my mission is plete； that my staring at the stars does not bring me back to Alanda and Gaia and their spaceship。 Bat maybe I don't want to leave yet。 I promised Dante I would wait for him and I am determined to wait。 I don't care how long it takes； long past hope I will sit here。 Or； indeed； I even consider the possibility of returning to the castle to see if he has been taken captive once more。 I could free him； save him。
But the latter is all bravado。
I will not go back to that castle。
I swore it once before and I swear it again。
The stars； as they are reflected in the pond； move lazily on the faint motion of the water。 They are beautiful and I feel as if I can stare at them forever。 Yet my mood is not peaceful。 There is music in my head and it will not go away。 I hear a strident refrain from Richard Wagner's Parsival。 It is almost as if； staring at the heavens； I look upon a vast stage where Wolfram von Eschenbach's Parsival is still being played out。 I see the knights striving to fulfill their quest for the Grail； and then； Klingsor； in the background； always out of sight； obstructing their every move with his magic wand； the Spear of Longinus。 I wonder if I should have left it in Landulf s body。 The sacred stabbed through the sinful。 But I had feared to approach the center of the pentagram to retrieve it。
Even when he was dead； I was still afraid of him。
It is a truth I have trouble accepting。
I am afraid even now。 The stain bothers me。
How was Klingsor stained？ What was his mark？
The play explained it all。 If only I could remember。
Something about a certain kind of smoothness。
But I cannot remember。 No。
Nor can I understand why Dante was so insistent that I understand the meaning of the Medusa story。 He was such a simple fellow； full of phobias and goodness； but when he spoke of mythology； he spoke with great authority。 Almost as if another personality used his mouth and lips。 I keep feeling as if Dante had been trying to warn me of a deeper threat。 One that could not be seen because the true power of the wizard was that he was able to control one's will。 Capable of turning whomever he wished to stone； so that he or she did not move unless the wizard wished it。
Could that be the real meaning of the Medusa tale？
The Gorgon did not merely kill her enemies。
She placed them under plete mind control。
Doubts continue to assail me。 Questions that are more like ancient riddles。 What about the snakes in the hair of Medusa？ What about her fair face？ Dante had emphasized that the latter was crucial。 And I had laughed and told him it was time to concentrate on what was real。 But I of all people should have known that reality was not always what it seemed。
A profound certainty sweeps over me。
Dante had been trying to warn me of something unseen。
Then I see him。 And it is