He had discovered that the sky
material resisted any sudden stroke, but that other matter could be
interpenetrated into it, as the stars were. He had even been able to
pass his hand and arm completely through the sample. Apparently the sun
had passed through the sky in a similar manner.
Then why hadn't the shell melted? He had no real answer. The sun must
have been moving fast enough so that no single spot became too hot, or
else the phlogiston layer somehow dissipated the heat.
The cloud of glowing stuff from the rising air column was spreading out
now, reflecting the light and heat back to the earth. There was a chance
that most of one hemisphere might retain some measure of warmth, then.
At least there was still light enough for him to travel safely.
By the time he was too tired to go on again, he had come to the
beginnings of fertile land. He passed a village, but it had been looted,
and he skirted around it rather than stare at the ghastly ghoul-work of
the looters. The world was ending, but civilization seemed to have ended
already. Beyond it, he came to a rude house, now abandoned. He staggered
in gratefully.
For a change, he had one piece of good luck. His first attempt at magic
produced food. At the sound of the snapping fingers and his
hoarse-voiced "abracadabra," a dirty pot of hot and greasy stew came
into existence. He had no cutlery, but his hands served well enough.
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