Pence Page 20
by Mark Jacobs
*****
He approached the gate without breaking stride. This was the first time he had come so close to the fence as to touch it since the hour of his digging-up. He grinned like a man leaving on holiday.
The gate began to glow. The white wood brightened and a fuzzy green fog steamed off in hints and patterns of new tiny flora growing and curling, the same mysterious aura the splinter sword created but here a thousand times to scale.
Without a touch the gate swung open just enough for a very small boy to pass through.
Only the rhythm of the heartseed could be heard.
Pence walked out of the garden and the gate closed itself behind him.
“Now, what have we here?” said the man in purple.
Part Three
