With insane might, he flung himself and his axe again at the depression. Before Aava gathered himself once more, he had to do it.
The axe dug in. When he pulled it loose, a few flecks of sand slid with it. The thin grains showered downward, running in a steady stream.
"Earthling, stop! The sand must not come down on me. Stop and—"
The voice of Aava rose to a shrill crescendo, battering at his ears. But Thor worked on. His axe arm lifted. The crack widened. Tons of sand hung above that thin roof, on delicate balances. By opening the roof even so slightly as he had done, he was destroying that balance. An incredible weight of sand was waiting, waiting—
Aava rose in all his might and splendour, to seal the crack.
And the sand fell.
Thor reeled back, battered by thundering deserts.
He hung on what was left of the rock bridge, staring. Upreared in green iridescence, showered by falling tons of sand that formed a tan curtain around him, Aava writhed. His great bulk was twisted into strange convolutions, distorted grotesqueries of liquid movement. A great spray of fire lapped out and upward to seal the gap through which the sand streamed downward. It rose against the falling tons, and was pressed back and down.
Thor huddled in the darkness, cold and numb. He was watching the death of a god, a god that he had killed.
The sand showered down, lapping and laving at the monstrous green tentacle that was Aava as he died.
The androids stared deep within the bowl of the urns. The green filament was out, dead. They glanced in fright at the stone tower and stared at one another.
"Aava is dead! The Lord Aava is no more!"
Peter Gordon notched an arrow to his bowstring, sent it whizzing down and into the braincase of a robot. The flying arrow was like a signal. Spears and arrows darkened the sky. The androids fell in scores.
For a moment the androids stood undecided. And then, with a yell that sent shivers up the backs of the Outlaws, so vibrant was its grief, they turned and sped from the city, out across the plains, scattering.
"We will hunt them down," smiled Gordon. "There is nothing to fear, now. It is all a matter of time.
"Karola! Karola! The settlement has triumphed!"
She brushed back thick yellow hair from wet violet eyes. She turned and stumbled to the door. Catching herself Karola laughed over her shoulder, "I'm going to Thor. I want to find Thor."
"Good idea. Jolly good idea, at that. We'll all go. In the boats at the Undying Sea. I haven't sailed a boat in years. Say, Thor will need a fleet for his new world, won't he? I think I'd fit perfectly as admiral. Admiral Peter Gordon. Doesn't sound bad at all, does it?"
Gordon discovered he would have to save his breath, to keep up with Karola's long white legs. He grinned and loped on.
Thor came up from his crouch, coughing in the dusty, sand-clogged air. Aava was one solid pillar of far-flung glass, etched and sculpted by his own death-agonies into something that looked like windblown moss.
The sand had clogged at the opening in the roof. In one last, despairing lunge, Aava had sealed his nemesis. But it was too late to save him. His very being sucked in all those granules, whipped them around in the fiery core of him and fused them with the silicon and sodium in his body. For one instant, Aava had become a mad factory.
Thor came forward, put out a palm and placed it against the smooth surface of the tall glass column. The glass was still warm. The bits of ferrous silicate that had given Aava his distinctive colouring were imparting that same warm green to the dead image.
"As though a sculptor had carved him," whispered Thor.
Outside the cave entrance, the sun was shining and a fresh wind was whipping the mountainside.
Seeing the ships crossing the Undying Sea, noting the shaken swords and lances, Thor grew hot with emotion.
A girl with yellow hair dived into the water, climbed dripping onto shore, and set out for him. After her streamed the others, all with new hope, new life in their breasts.
Thor grinned. He ran to meet Karola, arms hungry for her.