From the Dream Mountain, whiskers of strength flashed this way and that, as the draconae strove to help the One in whom all hope rested. From the heart of the mountain, Lavafire and all the others poured as much light into the One's kuutekka as it could stand. Without the strength of the dreamfire coursing into that one's being, she could not have lasted even this long. And yet it was not enough.
Starchime sent out a sunburst of thought in the opposite direction. Riggers! If you can hear us, we need you! Jael needs you!
* * *
Ed, it's no good! We can't control it! The current is too strong! Ar's cry came out as a gasp in the midst of his labors. No matter how they tried to steer or skate the ship away from the singularity, it kept turning and tumbling, pulled by forces Ar could not see clearly enough to understand or counter. The singularity blazed diamond-white before them, drawing them inward along its throbbing currents.
What, rawk, that? gasped the parrot.
What's what—? And then Ar saw it: a tiny thread of fire twisting out across the Flux, toward them. He instinctively looked for a way to evade it; then he realized that it seemed to be seeking them, and instead of evading, he braced for its arrival.
It grew, brightened, and flashed into the net. Ar trembled as he felt a connection open suddenly—and a thought touched his, and it was an alien touch. Who—? he whispered.
Graggon! croaked Ed, suddenly fluttering from side to side. What graggon here, hawww?
I don't know, Ar whispered. He shivered as he recalled the connection he had once shared with Windrush, when they'd met for the first time and the dragon had searched his thoughts. But this was different. There was something lyrical and musical and . . . female . . . about this one.
The alien touch slowly shaped itself into words. We need you . . . Jael needs you . . .
In utter astonishment, Ar felt the connection altering, expanding, telescoping outward in a way that he could sense but not comprehend. And then he felt a new presence touch him, and this one was different; it was a raging dragon crying out in battle. Windrush? Ar whispered, stunned.
Ar, help me . . . ! cried a voice that was torn by pain and need—and it took him a heartbeat, two heartbeats, to believe who was calling to him.
JAEL! he screamed.
Jayyyylllllll!
Over the parrot's cry, and the echoing cry of a second parrot, and the thunder of a dragon's rage, he realized that he was touching not just one being, but three. But it was Jael, most of all, who cried out to him, and her cry was laden with desperation and hope. Jael! Jael, what can I do? he cried out, heedless now of the starship's headlong fall toward the singularity.
In answer, he did not so much hear her voice as feel her thought, and her need. Ed shrieked in surprise—and he realized that an image had appeared in the net—far ahead of them, in the very heart of the singularity. A tiny window had opened there, and within it he saw the figure of a dragon—and he knew that it was not just Windrush, but Jael and Ed, as well. A terrible fire flashed around the dragon, and he struggled to make out what it was. The dragon was tearing at a blazing web, stretching it and trying to destroy it, and the web was flashing back with killing fire.
Help me, Ar! Help me, Ed! Jael gasped.
What . . . how?
Come through from the other side . . . come through the Dream Mountain! Break a path, Ar, break a path!
Hawww, yes! Break a path! shrieked one Ed.
Break a path! shrieked the other.
Ar stared in fear and awe at the singularity. Is THAT the Dream Mountain?
YES, Ar—come! cried Jael, her voice thinning.
With a clap of thunder, the window closed. Ar sensed that the Enemy had done that, and that he had only moments to react before the ship itself would be under attack. An explosive wave flashed out from the singularity. Frightened, Ar shrank the net. Hold tight, Ed! The shock wave hit the ship like a hammer, shaking the net with terrible power. But it held. Ed—straight in! With everything we've got! Ar bellowed in fury.
Hawwww! Straight through, straight through! screamed the parrot, rocketing to the front of the net and helping Ar stretch them out like a long, shiny needle plunging straight for the blazing singularity that was the Dream Mountain.
Another wave hit them, but Ar was no longer afraid of that, and they flashed through it with only a single hard thump, and the fire of the singularity grew and brightened and blossomed before them. And if he had taken the time to think about it, he might have been terrified; but he felt a tremendous and unreasoning hope burning in his veins now, as they approached the singularity that by all rights ought to destroy them.
Damn the torpedoes, hawwwwwwwwwwwww! shouted Ed.
And Ar changed their shape from a needle to a forcefield scalpel as the singularity exploded around them.
* * *
It was Lavafire who first understood, but even then it took a choir of draconae voices to persuade her to take the terrible risk. The Forge of Dreams was secured in a weaving of protection that even the Enemy could not break through—or if he did, all of that power would be released in a conflagration that would destroy the realm with the Dream Mountain itself.
But with all of their foresight, they had never imagined the One doing something like this. With Jael attacking the web at the Black Peak, and Ar diving headlong through the underrealm in a terrifying plunge that would take him straight through the dream forge, they had no choice if Jael was to succeed, if Ar was to survive.
Loose the bonds—!
Open the fires—!
Let him not die for our fear—!
Our last hope—!
—came the cascade of voices, and with that affirmation, Lavafire and the others bent all of their thought to undoing everything they had just done.
The weaving came loose, was stripped away . . .
And the heart of the Dream Mountain lay open to all who had the power to reach it.
* * *
The darkness coiled with outrage at the forces rising against it—far more than it had expected. But it did not for an instant consider drawing back. Though its web was under attack, it still had the dragons in a state of disarray. As long as the Mountain of Fire was kept from their sight, they could never regain their full measure of strength.
The Nail's attention was divided now. Part was focused on the Vale of Darkness, maintaining the sorcery, where the last of the dragon strength battled a foe that was half illusion. The Nail's servants were fewer now than before. He didn't mind the deaths of the drahls and Tar-skel dragons, but the loss of numbers hampered the illusion-sorcery that kept the dragons afraid. Another part of his attention was on the Black Peak, where the rigger-spirit had somehow bound itself to a dragon, and where its attack against the web was more troublesome than expected. Still, with the power from the Deep Caverns, the web could withstand the attack there.
And now the draconae had brought forth another irritation, calling the fleeing riggers in their rigger-ship toward the Mountain of Fire. It wasn't clear why they wanted the riggers, but as the Nail peered through the underrealm at the imprisoned Mountain, he laughed with sudden, pure, naked delight as he saw the foolish draconae make their fatal mistake.
* The time has come! Time for the promised ending! *
The keepers of the Mountain had opened their defenses, and the time had come to claim control of that place, as the Words had promised. No longer was there any reason to hold his power in reserve. The flame and the darkness coiled, and the Nail of Strength laughed with infinite satisfaction as he prepared his final blow.
The Nail drew together all of his power—from the Deep Caverns, from the vale, from his own inner reservoirs—and funneled it into the grand weaving. It was a torrent of power, a tidal wave, a tsunami—all of it directed toward seizing the Mountain of Fire. And once it had those fires of creation, it would flower outward without pause—leaving this realm a cinder perhaps, but flowering outward, with unstoppable force, into the universes beyond.
* * *
Jael, plunging through the web with all of the strength of a dragon-spirit, was blasted back by a stupendous arc of lightning. She felt Ed and Windrush both shuddering and gasping from the blow. (What was that?) she whispered. (What has Tar-skel done?)
The web crackled, and waves of energy flashed from somewhere behind her, across the web, toward the Dream Mountain. She saw the peril that she had created: the draconae had opened the heart of the Dream Mountain for Ar to pass through . . . and opened it to the Enemy, as well. In a terrible, sudden insight, she realized that if the Enemy succeeded, he could have his victory and move on, though the realm would lie in smoking ruins behind him.
HE MUST NOT! she screamed, her voice the voice of Windrush and Ed and Jael, and she hurled herself again at the web, and again and again, each time clawing harder at the binding force that held it together, each time knowing that she could not break through it alone.
HELP US! she screamed into the tumult of the underrealm. HELP US—ANYONE—PLEASE—!
* * *
In the Cavern of Spirits, the underrealm rang like a tremendous bell gonging in the depths of an infinite sea. Hodakai listened, wondering, wishing he could see what was happening. All of the ordinary paths of vision were obscured. At one point, he'd felt a sharp twinge, and thought of Rent, and wondered why he'd thought of death at the same time. He was dizzy with everything that had happened; but he felt bereft now, and alone. Even the cavern sprites seemed to have left him.
Jarvorus! he cried into the gloom of the cavern where the rift yawned. Why have you left me alone here?
To his astonishment, he heard an answering whisper: I've not left you, Hodakai. The false-iffling slipped like a flame out of a fold in the underrealm and murmured, He is gone now, isn't he? I think he has died.
Hodakai danced with relief at having someone here for company. Who has died? Rent? Maybe so! But who cares? Jarvorus, isn't there something we can DO?
At that moment, the ringing in the underrealm changed suddenly. There was a strange kind of silence, and then a voice echoed distantly out of the rift. Rigger, we need you! Jael needs you!
Hodakai stared at Jarvorus, frozen in astonishment. Was that a dracona voice? Calling to him? Or to Ar?
A few moments later, from another part of the underrealm, he heard another voice. Help us—anyone—!
Hodakai cried out silently, recognizing that voice. Jael! he cried weakly.
He heard Jarvorus whisper in amazement, She lives! Maybe we can do something, maybe we can! We must try! Hodakai, I must find the ifflings! And you must find a way to help! Use every spell you know!
And then Jarvorus was gone, leaving Hodakai staring in disbelief.
* * *
The iffling-child was the first to hear the cry of the false-iffling, and there was something in its voice that made the iffling-child listen, and believe, and finally carry the cry back to the flickering, dying powers of the iffling-parents. Hearing, they seemed to burn just a little brighter, a little stronger.
—When the One breaks through—
—The change will come—
—For the Enemy—
—Or for us—
—And when the Mountain is opened—
—Comes our time—
—Our hope—
—The last—
And thus began the journey of the flames through the underrealm—a slow parade of guttering candle-flames, moving toward the place where they hoped the Dream Mountain would appear, and where at last they would die, if it did not.
* * *
Hodakai began, hesitantly at first, to probe outward with the spells of communication that he had never used to reach anyone except Rent. But he was a rigger, by God; he could do this! The underrealm was a place of frightful chaos, but he found that he could, in fact, probe open small pathways. With increasing boldness, he searched farther and farther from the Cavern of Spirits, to see if he could find a window, a way to see, to call, to hear news, to find out what Jael was doing.
He heard Jael, but could not see her. But one thing he did see, opening up to his view as if through a long telescope lens, was the vale where the dragons were battling. He listened to the cries and chaos of battle, and was appalled to realize that the dragons were being deceived by the same spells of illusion that he had used right here!
If he could shout loudly enough to make himself heard, perhaps he could help just a little, after all.
* * *
In the Dark Vale, Farsight paused in his struggle against the airborne enemies, too many of which had turned out to be ghostly apparitions, rather than living drahls. He thought he had heard a shout, through the noise of battle—a shout that had a peculiar familiarity to it, a cry for help. A . . . human voice . . . in his undersense. Jael?
He listened intently, to see if he could catch it again, thinking how very odd it was to be underhearing a voice that was not his brother Windrush's. He didn't hear Jael's voice again; but a short time later, he heard a different voice—also human!—a little louder. You are being deceived! Go below and free the others! You are wasting time! Go into the dungeons!
Farsight was dumbstruck by the voice. Go below, to the dungeons? Wasting time? Who was saying that? And he suddenly realized, with the terrifying power of a revelation, how right the voice was. They had become so entangled in their fight here in the sky that they had forgotten the purpose of their attack: to strike at the Enemy's heart.
"You three!" he cried to a trio of dragons who had just burst through an exploding illusion of enemy warriors. "Fly with me! Downward to the dungeons!"
They were not that far above the ground to begin with, but Farsight realized, as he leveled off over the chasms, that in the crevasses of the vale right below him, creatures were stirring in the shadows. Many of them were dragons!
Yes! called the voice at the edges of his thought. You can free them! The bindings are weakening! You can break them!
"Spread out! Search the dungeons for our brothers!" Farsight shouted to the three flying with him. He slowed, peering and listening over the chasms. He heard a dragon cry, off to his left—a familiar cry. He drew a breath of astonishment and turned to find its source.
He heard the voice again, bellowing: "SHE LIVES! THE ONE LIVES IN THE DREAM MOUNTAIN!" And at last he spotted a grey-green dragon laboring to fly low over the dungeons, shouting down to the captives.
Farsight was so astonished that he could not speak until he had flown to the other's side and gazed at him in disbelief. His brother looked terrible—battered and wounded, and struggling just to stay airborne. "WINGTOUCH!" Farsight roared. "YOU're ALIVE!"
His younger brother wheeled in the air and regarded him with equal amazement. Against the smoke and the gloom, WingTouch's sea-green eyes glowed, tired but undimmed. However badly hurt, WingTouch was more triumphant than beaten, by far. "Welcome to the dungeons of the Enemy!" WingTouch cried, wobbling as he swerved to avoid a wall.
"You're wounded! Are you able to fight?"
"Fight?" WingTouch muttered. "I AM fighting! We have lost FullSky—but he freed me before he died, and I have slain his killer! Come, help me free the others! The bindings of fear are breaking!" The battered dragon beckoned Farsight downward into the gloom of the dungeons.
Indeed, Farsight thought. The Enemy had been stalling them overhead, distracting them from their purpose! What better way to strike at the Enemy than to free his prisoners? "Wait, WingTouch!" he cried, and turned his voice skyward, booming, "ALL DRAGONS—DOWN TO THE DUNGEONS! OUR BROTHERS LIVE! WINGTOUCH LIVES! LEAVE THE SKY TO THE GHOSTS AND COME FREE THE PRISONERS!"
Following WingTouch, he plunged downward into the chasms, bellowing a cry of freedom to his imprisoned brothers.
* * *
Jael felt the change from the dungeons like a whisper of cool air reviving her in the heat of battle. Though she couldn't see what was happening in the Dark Vale, she could feel the dragons' defiance and joy, and could see its effects on the web. The Enemy's explosion of power was mutating, in a way she didn't think the Enemy had intended.
She and Ed and Windrush continued to attack the web, but not alone. Rippling waves of shadow were passing through the fiery network, each wave a burst of defiance or hope or freedom somewhere in the realm. Each wave weakened the web just a little, and the next a little more. The Enemy had channeled all of his power toward the Dream Mountain, thinking he no longer needed it elsewhere—but the web that carried it was weakening with every defeat he suffered, in the underrealm or the outer world. The web, incandescent with power, was brightening and stretching where it had once been strongest, like a filament about to burst.
Now was the time . . .
(Windrush, Ed—DRACONAE!—all of your strength—NOW!) Jael cried. Their answer came in the heady rush of adrenaline to her limbs, the strength to her wings, and she turned and hurtled with suicidal abandon toward the most blazingly bright strands of the overburdened web.
This time, when her claws connected, she felt not just the explosion of fire, she felt the strands stretch and then tear—in a great long rip, as the web parted from its own inner stresses, spewing incandescent fire into the deep darkness beyond.
And the dragon rigger flew headlong toward the distant, hazy form of the Dream Mountain, the filaments of power bursting against her claws like shears tearing through fabric—in a long, exploding stream of fire.
* * *
* TREACHERY! TREACHERY! *
The center of darkness was shocked into disbelief that such defiance and irrational hope could be springing forth from every corner of the realm—challenging his structure of power!—surging into the tiniest tears in his web!—ripping at its fiber!—draining its unquenchable strength—!
* This cannot be! *
Exploding with bottomless fury, the Nail erupted with every ounce of his strength toward the Mountain of Fire, focusing only on channeling his power into the web that streamed toward those fires of creation.
He barely even noticed his own rising desperation. He was too preoccupied to swat at the dragon rigger that was hurtling through his web.
* It will be mine! It will be! *
* * *
Yawwwwwwwwwww! screamed Ed as the spaceship plunged, shimmering and twisting, through the singularity. The parrot's voice quavered and turned deep and then booming-bass and then shrill as the abrupt spatial-transformation flashed through the net. It sounded as if there were two voices screaming at once, and Ar realized that one of them was his.
He had been shaking, and now he bellowed with joy as the singularity flashed away behind them, and their scalpel-prowed ship plunged into a new layer of the Flux, plunged into the underrealm, into the outstretched web-structure of Tar-skel, parting it in their wake like so many fraying strands of thread. It exploded around them with a terrifying electrical discharge, but they were moving like light itself now; and as they flew, it almost seemed that the web was tearing open before them, spilling its energy in a great cascade of fire.
Something ponderous was giving way in the web. Before he could begin to understand it, there was a tremendous shaking convulsion in the Flux, as though the bottom had just dropped out of a vast ocean. The web was disintegrating before them. It was dumping an incredible fountain of power into a yawning emptiness, an even deeper layer in the Flux.
Eeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiii! Ar screamed to Ed, to Jael if she could hear, to the universe. He didn't even know why; it was a scream that just erupted, an exhilaration out of nowhere, an explosion of such joy that he almost didn't see what was ahead of them in their path—until Ed's frantic cry, Look-k-k! Hawwwwwwww! Look-k-k! made him squint ahead through the exploding light.
It was the distant, silvery shape of a dragon, raking open the web in a plume of fire as it hurtled toward them.
* * *
* Impossible! It cannot be happening! *
The error was too great, too profound. He could not have made such an error! Somehow it had all turned wrong, wrong, in his stroke of triumph. His final blast of power was destroying the very structure that it was supposed to be completing.
This was not how it was supposed to happen!
In the Dark Vale, the prisoners' bonds were falling away. His own servants were weakening, his hold on them slipping; some of them were blinking through newly opened eyes, turning and freeing the very ones they'd been holding prisoner!
This was not how it was supposed to end . . .
The Mountain of Fire was slipping out of his grasp, and all of the power in his sorcery was pouring into a great emptiness, streaming away, dissipating into nothingness . . .
* NO-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O—! *
He was losing it all . . . but he would not lose without taking the Damned One with him!
* * *
At first, all she could see was the explosion racing before them, the web spilling its power with tremendous, jarring bursts of energy. But it was not just the web they were tearing; the web was interwoven with the fabric of the underrealm itself, and it was impossible to tear one without the other. A bottomless blackness was yawning open beneath them, and it was into that abyss that the lightning-fire of the web was emptying.
(My God, where is it going, where is all that power going?) she breathed.
From Windrush she sensed amazement and bewilderment. (Out of the realm,) the dragon whispered. (Out of the realm. Jael! Look!)
(Hawwww!)
Above the abyss, a curious tableau was forming, as though focused through a very strange lens. Ahead, the Dream Mountain was emerging from a mist, radiant in its translucence, a diamond-white fire burning in its center, with a shining speck streaking out of it. Something made Jael glance behind her at the Black Peak. The wound in the Flux there was closing, the glowering sun vanishing. Between the two mountains, illuminated in a strange dawnlike light, was a vision of a blasted valley that could only have been the Dark Vale. Above it, Jael saw tiny tongues of dragon fire and heard shouts of hope and joy. And farther beyond, across a distant plain that seemed to lie in another realm altogether, she glimpsed marching toward the Dream Mountain a tiny parade of flickering flames, which looked as though the slightest breeze might extinguish them. (If-flings,) she whispered.
But in the heart of the Dark Vale, something was happening that made her clench with fear. Something was spiraling open in the fabric of the underrealm, a window opening, and through it she glimpsed darkness and flames. This was not the nothingness of the abyss below, but a writhing, coiling darkness filled with a living malevolence. She felt a moment of stark revulsion as she glimpsed that thing; but the darkness and flame were flattening and twisting, and coiling out into the web . . . coiling out into the rift and the nothingness beyond.
She began to feel a rising wave of relief. In a moment, it would be gone, forever. She raised her sights to the Dream Mountain.
(JAEL!)
The dragon's voice shocked Jael alert with terror. (What—?)
(Uurrrrrrrruk-k-k-k—)
Above the rift, the flaming darkness had suddenly turned and snaked out a whip of light-devouring fire. It was streaking through the underrealm, coiling toward Jael. She could not speak or act. She could only watch, frozen, as it sped toward her, curling out in a great arc to ensnare her, and Windrush, and Ed.
If she was paralyzed, the dragon within her was not. They banked and dove, fleeing.
* You cannot flee. *
The voice thundered deafeningly, soundlessly, in her heart.
* You are mine. The One is damned. The One shall die. *
Windrush sped through the underrealm, but the whip of dark fire was faster, and it arched up and around and behind them and spiraled with dizzying speed, spinning a coil of itself around them, a coil of darkness that blocked off the rest of the underrealm. (Windrush?) she whispered. (Turn, Windrush, we must turn!)
They swept in a frantic turn—and Jael screamed.
An enormous face filled the darkness before them, and it was the face of Mogurn, and the face of her father, and the face of a young terrified rigger who had no hope in the world, no hope at all. No! she whispered to the face. That's all in my past! It's all over! The captain who had terrorized her was dead, her father was dead, she herself was dead.
The mouth of Mogurn opened, and through rotting teeth he boomed out a laughter of triumph. His hand reached toward her, with his cursed pallisp to enslave her.
YOU CAN'T! she screamed. I broke it! It's gone!
The coil of dark fire was tightening around her like a noose, and at the other end of it, she could see it still streaming into the abyss, and she could feel it pulling her toward the abyss now. She raked her talons at the face of Mogurn, and she blew flame at him, but that just made him laugh all the harder; and her father sneered with disgust at his weakling daughter.
(Jaylll, awwwk-k-k—) she heard, but it was a distant, plaintive cry, and it couldn't help her.
(Jael, remember who you are,) she heard, and it was a soft voice, dragon she thought, but she couldn't quite tell anymore who was who. (Jael, remember!) insisted the voice. (Believe and remember!) Who was that, Highwing? But Highwing was dead. Tar-skel had killed him, as he was about to kill her. She couldn't quite think anymore.
(You must believe—!) urged the fading voice. There were a host of voices clamoring around her, and within her, and she could understand none of them now. She was icy cold, with fear.
The snake of devouring fire was tightening around her neck now, and it was pulling her faster toward the abyss, down, downward toward blackness . . . there was no way to escape from it now.
And then something made it jerk suddenly . . . and loosen just a little . . .
Jael, we're here! We see it! IT CAN'T HURT YOU IF YOU DON'T LET IT! A voice was reverberating through the darkness. You're a rigger, Jael—remember! You're a rigger!
The coil lurched as it lashed angrily at the offending source of the voice. A spaceship, silver and ghostly, flashed through the flame, flashed across in front of her. Jayyyyylll—hawwwww! screamed a voice from the ship.
The distraction was enough to give her a moment to remember. She was a rigger. She had defeated Mogurn, she had forgiven her father, she had grown out of that weakling, and she had helped to defeat Tar-skel. (Believe,) she heard again, and that time it was a chiming dracona voice. She glimpsed the distant light of the Dream Mountain, and felt the power of the Mountain flowing through her, and remembered that that was where she lived now, and the power of the Mountain was greater than the power of a defeated enemy.
She shifted her gaze to the whipping dark flame, the devouring flame that had flailed ineffectually at the spaceship and was now turning back for a final strike at her. She remembered that she was unafraid, remembered that she had already defeated it.
No! she said to it. She said it coldly and clearly. But she was not cold on the inside anymore, she was burning bright and hot with dreamfire, and with dragon blood, and the fearless anger of a parrot, and most of all with the certainty that she was Jael and she lived in the dreamfire, and that fire was forever denied this dark one.
No! she said, and she punctuated the word with a short blast of dragon flame. She raised her head and gazed back at the coil of darkness, and she knew that she had defeated a creature like this once before, but as dragon, not woman; and she felt her dragon eyes blazing with the light of the dreamfires, blazing bright, brighter, her entire dragon body blazing with light.
The snake of darkness rose against the light—and fell back from it with a wail. The underrealm was visible again, and Jael saw now that the web of sorcery was in tatters, and the last of the flaming darkness was streaming out of the window of the Dark Vale into the rift of emptiness. A voice groaned from the darkness, unutterably deep and angry. It spoke no words she could understand, but it shook the underrealm with its hatred. Jael shuddered at the voice, but Windrush kept them flying, blazing, streaking like a beam of light toward the Dream Mountain. The voice suddenly cut off into silence, and the last of the flame of darkness vanished into the rift in the underrealm, and the silence of its parting shook the realm and the underrealm with a tremendous, soundless, shattering earthquake.
The concussion reverberated for a long time. As it slowly subsided, the window in the Dark Vale faded, leaving only the valley in which it had appeared. The last remaining shreds of the web fell like feathery ashes into the abyss of emptiness.
Something was flying toward Jael and Windrush and Ed.
Ar! she cried. Ar, you came! You made it through! And after a moment, she added tearfully, And you saved me, you saved my life!
The answering cry was just as triumphant: Jael, I can't believe you're alive, you're alive!
In the curious ringing space of the underrealm, before the Dream Mountain, they spun into a dizzying orbit around one another, the dragon and the spaceship; and then with a shriek, two parrot shapes flickered out into space, one from the dragon and one from the spaceship, and they danced in space around one another, not quite able to join and not willing to be parted.