"There it is!" shouted Gita. "I see it! Through those trees. There!"

The fat little man dashed through the thinning brush and rushed out onto the old highway. He fell on his knees and kissed its sun-baked surface in a show of heartfelt gratitude, like a primitive seafarer making a successful landfall. "At last, old toothless friend, we meet again," crowed Gita. Adjani and Spence, standIng over him, watched with amusement. "I do not think I have ever seen a sight so wonderful or welcome," he continued, gazing ahead into the distance. "A road is a marvelous thing."

"It beats scratching through jungle, that's for sure," offered Spence. He, too, turned his eyes toward the north and saw the wall of mountains, purple and hazy in the distance, their faces still cloaked in night's gloom. "How far do you think it is?"

Adjani cocked his head and said, "We can't be sure, but I'd say Siliguri is still a hundred kilometers to the north and Dar. jeeling is half again as far."

"Yes, and all uphill from here," said Gita.

"Any chance of hitching a ride?"

"Very doubtful. Merchants are the only ones with vehicles.

Our caravan undoubtedly turned back. Anyway, that was three days ago; even if they decided to go on they would be there by now."

Spence squinted his eyes into the distance. "Well, then we have no other choice. We walk."

Gita let out a small whimpering noise and said, "It seems the road and I are destined to become very good friends. But," he added on a more optimistic note, "I have always wanted to see the mountains."

They turned toward the mountains and began walking along the road, easily falling into stride. Spence noticed that the air seemed lighter, less dense and humid. He took it as a sign that they were beginning to climb ever so slightly up the grade toward the rarefied heights of the mountains. The freshness revived him somewhat, clearing his tired mind and inflating his sagging spirits.

With nothing but the rolling road before him he let his mind wander where it would.

As it had often in the gloomy hours when they traveled by night, the prospect of the impending clash with the Dream Thief intruded on his thoughts. What would happen when they reached their destination he did not know, and hardly dared guess. For now it was enough that some distance still lay between himself and his enemy. He felt in a way secure-although why this should be he could not say, since the Dream Thief had shown himself able to cross astronomical distances to touch those he wished to touch. No barrier seemed able to stop him. And where he was not physically present his underlings were.

Knowing what he knew, it seemed surpassingly strange to Spence that he should be pointing his feet toward the Dream Thief's secret home on a path of certain destruction. But that is exactly what he was doing. In the end he knew it was the only thing he could do.

Spence wondered if he were being drawn to his fate by the Dream Thief himself. It often appeared to be the case-he felt an impulse within him that did not come entirely from his own heart. Could the Dream Thief manipulate his thoughts?

And if so, how did he know when his thoughts were being manipulated? Which were his own and which belonged to the other?

He pondered these things, and he had pondered them often since leaving Calcutta. He was deep in thought when he felt a nudge at his elbow.

"You look lost, sahib." Adjani fell into step beside him, studying him.

"I was just thinking how foolish we are to be rushing like lemmings to our own destruction." He swiveled his head around and took in Adjani's reaction to these words and then turned again to his feet shuffling along. "You and Gita-you don't have to go. You could turn back. Gita should, at any rate; he has a family to think about."

"Yes, that's one way to look at it."

"Is there another way?"

"Of course. There is always another way."

"Let's hear it, then. It seems to me that we are three illequipped, insignificant, hardheaded do-gooders who haven't got the sense to get out of trouble when they have the chance. We're fools for thinking we can face up to the Dream Thief-whoever or whatever he is. It's sheer lunacy. How can we even dream we'd make a difference?"

"You know that the rise and fall of empires, the fates of whole nations, often hinge on the will of a single human being. One man of firm dedication can stand against an army.

"I don't know how this is going to end any more than you do. But I believe that the light that is in you and in me-in all of us -is greater than all the darkness in the universe. God is working in YOU, Spence; he has marked you for his own. And who can stand against God?"

Spence could think of no one offhand.

"Does that make you uncomfortable? To be chosen?" "Sure it does. Anyway, why me?"

"That is precisely the question you cannot ask." "I know. His ways are not our ways and all that." "Precisely."

Spence continued walking. "I'm not buying it. What difference does it make if I believe in him or not? What possible difference could it make in the outcome? You believe, and look where it's got you. You're staggering down some God-forsaken road on a death march, for heaven's sake. And for what?"

"To a believer no place is God-forsaken."

The Indian continued. "You don't fool me, Reston. This protest is the last gasp of a dying agnostic. You're running swiftly away from God-right into his arms.

"But to answer your question, I'd say it makes every difference in the world what you believe. Belief is the sense organ of faith, as your eyes are the sense organ of sight. With sight you see the world, with faith you see God. Belief has the power to shape reality."

"Imagined reality. Your personal perception of reality."

"No, reality itself, as it is-cold, hard, factual reality."

Spence's scowl deepened over his face. He was in no mood for listening to a lecture on the philosophy of reality from Professor Rajwandhi, but it appeared he had no vote. The tack Adjani chose next, however, surprised him.

"Look at that mountain peak out there."

"Which one? I see several."

"The center one with the white cap. Do you see it.

"Yes; I see it," Spence said flatly.

"Let's be scientific about it and call it the point of observation, the focal point. Now does it exist or doesn't it?" "Of course it exists."

"Are you sure? Prove it-better still, show me the focal point. Can you pick it up? Smell it? Taste it? Does it take up space or have any dimensions?"

No answer.

"No, of course not. A focal point is not a physical thing at all and yet it exists. We can prove that it exists because of the things we can do with it. We can use it to gauge distance and height. We can direct radio waves to it to accomplish any number of things. In other words, the focal point exists because it produces effects we can perceive but cannot account for in any other way.

"If you were to stand on that mountaintop right at the focal point, I could view you with a telescope. But you would feel, nothing at all while being observed. You would not in any way be able to detect the point of observation, and yet with it I could learn a great deal about you."

"Ah, but where does it go when I'm not thinking about it, or believing in it? It doesn't exist at all then."

"Precisely."

"Are you trying to tell me God is like that?"

"Not at all. I'm trying to tell you that belief shapes reality in unexpected ways. Your belief in the point of observation enables you to do things you couldn't do if you didn't believe in it. Get it?"

Spence scratched his head. His scowl was lifting, being replaced by a look of puzzlement. Adjani continued pushing home his point.

"Look at it like this: because you believe in the focal point you react to it in certain ways-it is real for you and it shapes the world as you see it. Believing in it even affects your behavior.