The sky was still blue.  The sun still shone.  But the dark-robed figure of Vardun Ri, ominous and imposing, was gone.

In fact, it was all gone.  The courtyard, the castle, the guards, the shards of brightly-coloured broken glass, Marie, everything.  Everything, that is, except for Grandpa.  Grandpa, upright and strong, looking fitter and younger than he had done for years.

Utterly bewildered, George glanced around.  He didn't know where they were, yet their surroundings were strangely familiar.  And then, it came to him.

"This is the park.  The park that used to be down the street from our house.  The one they got rid of, to build those townhouses."

"That's right, Georgie.  I used to bring you here all the time, when you were little.  Especially around the time when Tom...when we lost your father.  I wasn't sure that you'd remember it."

George swallowed.  "Of course I remember it.  This is where you first told me about the Far Lands.  And about the Blade."

"That's right, boy.  Sometimes we'd stay for hours.  I used to have to bribe you with ice-cream, just to get you to leave."

"Oh yeah, I'd forgotten about that."  George smiled at the recollection.  And then, abruptly, the incongruity of their situation came crashing in.  "Grandpa, what are we doing here?  How can we be at a park that doesn't even exist anymore?  Where's Vardun?"  With a sudden surge of panic, George realised that his hands were empty.  "Where's the Blade?  And what about you?  Those pieces of glass...I thought that maybe you were going to... to..."

"To die?"

George could only nod, mutely.

Grandpa sighed, and gestured towards a pair of swings.  "Step into my office, boy."

"But what about—?"

"Georgie, you're going to have to believe me when I say that you don't need to worry about Vardun, or Marie or the Blade, or any of that stuff.  Not at the moment, anyway.  Just think of this as kind of like a time-out."

"But— "

"Look, just come and take seat.  I'll see if I can explain."

Reluctantly, George did as he was told.  For a little while, they simply sat, as Grandpa—somewhat uncharacteristically—seemed to be at a loss for words.  Gradually, George found himself beginning to enjoy the peace and the quiet, something there had been precious little of since the previous evening.  Silent but for the sound of birdsong, the park was empty apart from the two of them, and a pleasant breeze tempered the warmth of the sun.  Swinging slightly, George was content to wait.

Grandpa stared off into the distance, his swing motionless.  Eventually, he spoke.  "You know, there would have been no shame in accepting Vardun's offer.  You still could."

George smiled, crookedly.  "Grandpa, saying no was just about the hardest thing I've ever done.  Please don't make me do it all over again."

"Don't worry, boy, I won't.  It's your decision, after all."

George waited for more, but the old man had lapsed back into contemplative silence.  "Grandpa," he prompted, gently, "you were going to explain why we're here."

"So I was, boy, so I was."  He turned to face George, with a mischievous grin.  "We're not."

"Not what?"

"Not here, boy.  There is no here.  This isn't a place, it's a memory.  Or at least an illusion, based on a memory.  Cool, huh?"

"Grandpa, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about."

With a gentle push from his feet, the old man set his swing in motion.  "We're in my head, Georgie.  Figuratively speaking, anyway."

"Oh-kay.  So, why exactly are we in your head?"

"Simple, boy.  It's so Vardun can't chop off yours.  At least, not yet, anyway."

"But— "

"Look, Georgie.  Remember how I said that I know a trick or two?  Well, this is one of those tricks.  It's a little like the memory transfer thing I did to old Bernie McKay, back at the home, only this time with two active consciousnesses and a bit of time dilation chucked in as well.  It's really complicated and bloody tricky, but fortunately for us, I am pretty awesome."

George found himself distracted from Grandpa's explanation by the sudden appearance of a cyclist, riding down the previously empty road that bordered the park.  A female cyclist.  Wearing a red bikini.

"Um...who's that?"

Grandpa coughed.  "Er, whoops.  I believe that's Elle McPherson."

"Elle McWho?"

"McPherson.  She's, um, she's... well, kind of a supermodel.  Or at least she was.  Look, you weren't really supposed to see that.  It's just that we are in my mind, and I kind of lost concentration there for a second.  Perfectly understandable, given the circumstances."  Abruptly, the cyclist disappeared.  "Now, where was I?  Oh, yeah, two minds, shared illusion, time dilation, yadda-yadda."

George frowned, as he tried to understand.  "So, it's kind of like a Vulcan mind-meld thing?"

"Haven't got a clue what you're talking about, boy.  Sounds good, though, so let's go with that.  It's just like a volcano mind-wedgie thing."

George considered correcting him, but long experience convinced him to let it go.  "Okay, but what's it for?  Why are we here?"

"So I can give you a few tips, Georgie.  You know, before the big fight."

"What big fight?"

Grandpa sighed.  "Try to keep up, would you?  The big fight between you and Vardun.  The battle to wrest control of the Blade.  The duel to determine the fate of a  world.  You know, that fight?"

George gave a sheepish smile.  "Oh, yeah.  Hey, what's that shop across the street?  I don't remember that being there."

"What shop?"

"That one with the big cleaver on the sign.  The one that says, Norville Cutlery and Kitchenware.  And there's a slogan, too.  Simply the sharpest silverware, designed for the discerning diner.  Hey, now it's disappeared!"

"Look, Georgie, we're on borrowed time here, so maybe don't pay too much attention to any random crap that kind of just pops up.  Trust me, my subconscious is not something you want to delve into too deeply.  Now, about this fight with Vardun.  What are your thoughts?"

"Um, that I'm probably going to die?"

"Okay, okay—interesting.  But I actually meant more along the lines of your strategy for not dying.  And preferably, winning."

George ran a hand through his hair.  "Grandpa, I have no idea.  I guess I'm a bit better with a sword now than I was yesterday, but that's not saying much.  I didn't go so well against Muckflap, and I suspect he's probably a walk-in-the-park, compared to Vardun."

"Well, what's your strategy when you're playing those computer games of yours?  You know, the ones where you're forever chopping bits off people who are trying to chop bits off you?"

"Grandpa, I play those games with a controller, not a sword.  And those people are pixels, not flesh and blood.  I hardly think— "

"Well then, don't think.  Just tell me.  When someone's trying to give you the chop, what do you do?"

"Well, I dodge.  Or I parry.  But—"

"And when you want to give them the chop, what do you do?"

"I swing at them, of course.  But Grandpa— "

"Don't but me, boy.  There you have it, sword-fighting 101.  Stick your sword in them, before they stick it in you.  Easy, particularly when you have the Blade.  Well, maybe not easy.  But possible, Georgie.  Doable.  You can do it.  Trust in the Blade, but most importantly trust in yourself.  You're better and you've come further than you think."  The old man snorted.  "Bloody hell, I should be getting a commission from Hallmark, for this little speech."

"But I don't even properly know what the Blade can do!  And even if I did, what about you and Mum?  Vardun's just about to turn you into mince-meat and I don't even want to imagine what he might do to her.  Even I could somehow beat him, you might both be dead by then!"

Grandpa stopped swinging, and turned to face his grandson.  "George, do you remember how I told you that some people can channel ke mana?"

"You mean like you and Vardun did, with the bits of glass?"

"Exactly, boy.  Well, the only people who can do that kind of thing are the ones who have a little bit of god in their genes.  Any old idiot can use a device powered by ke mana, but to channel it directly—through your body—you need to have a touch of the divine.  Like Vardun and I do.  You too, for that matter, only you don't know how to make use of it yet."

"Can you teach me?"

"There isn't time, now.  The thing is, it's vital not to use too much ke mana, even when you know how.  It's dangerous.  In fact, it's deadly.  More than one of the people we descended from died from dipping too deeply into the divine well.  But it looks like, somehow, Vardun has found a way to get around that problem.  The amount of ke mana he used today should have killed him."

George rubbed his eyes.  "Well, that's just great.  So basically, I'm even more screwed than I thought."

Grandpa grinned.  "That's where you're wrong, boy.  You're actually less screwed than you thought.  A bit, anyway.  You see, I'm going to use my own ke mana skills to counter Vardun's.  I'll keep Marie safe, and stop myself from being shredded.  That way, you can give all your attention to the main attraction.  You just fight Vardun, and I'll take care of the rest."

"But you just said that using too much ke mana will kill you!"

The old man's grin faded.  "That's right, Georgie, I did.  And it will.  But I'm dead anyway.  Vardun actually did me a favour, sticking that piece of glass in my guts.  Now I've got nothing to lose, and I plan to go out swinging."

"No, you can't do that!  There's got to be some other way.  Maybe I could...um, or what if...?"

Grandpa gave George's shoulder a gentle squeeze.  "I'm sorry, boy.  I'd love to stick around, to see what sort of a Blade you're going to be, but my time has come.  And it's come at the right time.  If my last act is helping my grandson, then I'll go out a happy man."

Staring hopelessly at his grandfather's serene features, George found himself becoming distracted by a noise, coming from behind him.  A noise that sounded suspiciously like meowing.  Sure enough, when he turned around to investigate, he found a large tabby cat sitting a few metres away, watching the pair of them with detached interest.  It was so unexpected, so shockingly mundane, that it took him a moment to process what he was seeing.  "That's a cat."

"There are no flies on you, boy.  That is, indeed, a cat."

"But, you don't even like cats."  Suddenly, in a great whoosh of wind, punctuated by an abrupt snap, a magnificent dragon, silvery scales shimmering in the sunlight, swooped down out of the blue sky, snapped up the cat in one swallow, and with a flick of its sinuous tail, soared back up and away.  "Oh, right."

Grandpa watched its flight, with a look of great satisfaction.  "One of the few things I didn't like about Earth, boy.  Not enough cat-eating dragons.  Anyway, time to be getting back."