For a moment it paused, poised itself, and then came whirling down the
flower path to its priestess, slowly, ever more slowly. It hovered for
a moment between the woman and the dwarf, as though contemplating
them; turned to her with its storm of tinklings softened, its
murmurings infinitely caressing. Bent toward it, Yolara seemed to
gather within herself pulsing waves of power; she was terrifying;
gloriously, maddeningly evil; and as gloriously, maddeningly heavenly!
Aphrodite and the Virgin! Tanith of the Carthaginians and St. Bride of
the Isles! A queen of hell and a princess of heaven--in one!
Only for a moment did that which we had called the Dweller and which
these named the Shining One, pause. It swept up the ramp to the dais,
rested there, slowly turning, plumes and spirals lacing and unlacing,
throbbing, pulsing. Now its nucleus grew plainer, stronger--human in a
fashion, and all inhuman; neither man nor woman; neither god nor
devil; subtly partaking of all. Nor could I doubt that whatever it
was, within that shining nucleus was something sentient; something
that had will and energy, and in some awful, supernormal
fashion--intelligence!
Another trumpeting--a sound of stones opening--a long, low wail of
utter anguish--something moved shadowy in the river of light, and
slowly at first, then ever more rapidly, shapes swam through it.
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