Two days passed uneventfully under the dazzling sunlight of
Lost Angles. Panakeia drifted hither and thither, traversing the city from end to end, side to side, top to bottom, and any number of other ways meant to imply that she had seen it all. Too much, perhaps. One visit brought her to the
Leaning Tower of Flapjacks, vast headquarters to
Cap It All Records and House of Pancakes. She was terribly disappointed in the pancakes, served up as rounded black discs furrowed deeply by grooves. They were crispy, it was true, but a bit too crispy. Crispy enough, in fact, to make Panakeia suspect that they were
recycled old 45s, despite their sweet topping of butter and syrup. Not nice at all. She told the cook her thoughts in a note, and was ejected from the building midway through her tour as reward. That was merciful enough - as it turned out, the
recording session she would have seen if she remained featured her old friend
the Captain. Panakeia would have died of embarrassment had she seen him so soon after her recent Dweomer inspired delusions.
She found no clarity at night either. Panakeia had hoped for a return to her dreams of Anakron, thinking that they might give her some direction. But her dreams had been strangely, almost perversely, irrelevant. On the first evening, her nocturnal visions were of penguins racing on
bicycles along the edge of a deep gorge over the
Pathetic Ocean. The penguins missed a turn and fell over the side, only to have their two-wheeled contraptions borne aloft on a raincloud as the lead penguin sang a tune about raindrops falling on his head. Panakeia awoke from that dream in a cold sweat and made a mental note to avoid meals from the
food court in the future. Her next dream was no better. Panakeia found herself running through a park, pursued by a giant pink chicken who squawked about a sale at
Woolworth's. But there was no sign of Anakron.
In need of guidance, Panakeia had even consulted a
professional dream interpreter. She wondered if her
subconscious had channelled thoughts of Anakron into less
anxiety provoking images. But she had her doubts about the analyst's veracity when he assured her that the birds appearing in both her dreams spoke to a hidden combination of
phobia and admiration for feathered species. When he asked her if she had recently eaten any questionable poultry while recommending that she visit him twice weekly for
psychotherapy, Panakeia slowly backed out the door, reminding herself that she hadn't had particularly good experiences with
psychologists in the past. Once outside safely, she broke into a run and put as much distance between her and the
analyst as she could.
In the long and short of it, Panakeia found herself exactly where she started. Well, not quite exactly where she started. She had a new sunburn. And not quite enough cash remaining to make the trip back to Mâl-in-Bû by taxi. She was left stranded halfway between the vast regions of
the valley and the ocean. The rest of the trip would have to be on foot.
That was exhausting. Out of energy, Panakeia dropped over a fence and climbed into the shade of the
flood control system. At least she was able to find a bit of respite from the relentlessly pounding rays of the sun there, along with a bit of cool water to rest her feet in. But a second look at the water dissuaded her from taking a dip. Her feet remained on shore. With a sigh of weariness, Panakeia rested against the concrete and closed her eyes. Sleep took her.
~*~
Anakron stood at the edge of the Sammath Naur with Lûgnût. Anakron shouted to the Orc. Lûgnût shouted back.
"Braidfnrtnasd."
"Zzzzzerueyr."
And so forth. Even in her dream, Panakeia couldn't understand a word of their conversation. But it didn't matter. For in a moment, a beautiful moment, Lûgnût cast the staff, hat, and cloak into the pit. A soft puff of smoke wafting from below announced their destruction. Anakron smiled and danced out of the scene, laughing all the way.
~*~
A shout of pure joy brought Panakeia back to consciousness. At last! The sign she had been waiting for. Anakron had to be free now. This dream, while parts of it were certainly unreal, had to have some truth. Elempi had sent it to her, even as he had done before with his message about the werewolves. It had to be so.
Mount Doom! She had to return. Anakron would still be there, or at least nearby. With the Dweomer abandoned, things would surely be made right between them, perhaps better than they had ever been. Lighthearted and hopeful, Panakeia clambered up the
concrete embankment and fairly ran towards Mount Doom's silhouette where it loomed against the
smoggy sky.