torg 02 - The Dark Realm

by Douglas Kaufman

  "You won't make this easy, will you?" Decker said aloud.

  He pounded on the door then, smashing his fists into the hard wood. But no matter how hard he hit it, the door refused to budge.

  "You can't stop me, Gaunt Man!" Decker raged. "I will get through this door!"

  "Then I will simply place another one before you," the Gaunt Man said, appearing behind Decker. "Your choices are before you. Nothing exists for you back there anymore."

  "You're wrong, Gaunt Man," Decker said. "My life exists back there. My freedom. You can't keep me from getting that back."

  "Oh, but I can," the Gaunt Man said, but his usual smile did not accompany the words. "Even now my agents move to eliminate the voice that calls to you. And without the voice to support you, you can only move forward."

  "But listen, Gaunt Man. The voice is still there. And it's louder now, stronger." And Decker was right. He could hear the voice much clearer now. It wasn't Vicky's voice, he realized, and that saddened him. But it was someone who cared for him nonetheless. Someone who was trying to help him.

  "Create as many doors as you want to, Gaunt Man," Decker said. "In the end, I'll just step through them all."

  With that, Decker threw his body against the door. The wood splintered, broke, and Decker was through the door. He picked himself up and ran then, following the sound of the voice.

  And behind him, he heard the Gaunt Man's shouts of rage.

  72

  In Victoria River Downs, in Australia's Northern Territory, a ravagon stood in a snow-covered air field. Around him huddled a pack of shaden, waiting obediently like hounds for their master. The midnight black shapes were a mass of tangled tendrils at the winged demon's feet. What they were doing in Core Earth was a mystery. He was just glad they had not been able to kill Kurst and his party. The Gaunt Man would not have liked that.

  The ravagon had been dispatched by the Gaunt Man to intercept Kurst and his party. Apparently the hunter had fallen out of favor, or at least had done enough to warrant the Gaunt Man's distrust. It was the ravagon's assignment to "accompany" Kurst and his charges directly to Illmound Keep in Orrorsh realm. But he had arrived too late, for they had already been to this air field and gone.

  The ravagon slashed out with one mighty talon and ripped one of the shaden in half. Its dying squeal filled the night air, rising up to the ravagon like sweet music. But the act did not completely quell his frustration. That required the deaths of a dozen more of the shaden. When he finished, the burning fluids that spilled from the dead creatures melted a wide patch of snow around him. He ordered the remaining few to disperse.

  "You are close, Kurst," the ravagon said to himself. His great wings flapped loudly, then he pulled them around himself like a cloak. "It will not be long before I catch up with you. When that happens, I hope you show some sign of betrayal, some evidence that you have turned against the Gaunt Man. Because if you do, I will take great pleasure in killing you where you stand."

  He spread his wings again, letting them billow in the cold breeze. Then he took to the air, flying in the direction his senses indicated, following Kurst's scent.

  Flying toward Orrorsh.

  73

  "We're going down!" Tom shouted as Mara entered the cockpit.

  "Hold on to something!" Kurst advised her as the airplane started to descend.

  Seeing there was little she could do in the cockpit, Mara grabbed a window seat back in the cabin and strapped in. Outside, she could see flames trailing from the engine on the wing. That, she realized, was the cause of their problems.

  She looked around at the others in the cabin. Bryce was silent, his head bent in prayer. Tolwyn sat up straight, every muscle in her body tensed as though ready to explode. Djil, stretched out comfortably across two seats, snored loudly. The dwarves were talking to themselves, suggesting ways to repair the damaged craft. Mara took in all of this with a detached calm as the plane continued to arc down in a long glide. Tom was doing what he could, but Mara estimated impact with sea level within twenty minutes — if the engine didn't blow up first.

  The thought shocked her, reminding her of similar times on her world. The war between Kadandra and the Sims produced many instances where death was imminent and all but guaranteed. She had always made it through those instances. But many she cared about didn't. Their names and faces flashed before her eyes —

  Kendal Alec-Four, Mikkos, Tong Tyen-Three. She remembered each loss with the clarity of a sensover- chip dream, but without the option of turning it off. Before the painful memories could overwhelm her, she let herself focus on the people she was with now. Tolwyn, Bryce, Djil, even Kurst; they were vivid images in her mind. As she pictured them more clearly, adding details such as mannerisms and styles of speech, she felt herself becoming closer to them. It was almost as if they were joining, becoming one, like Djil's knotted rope. Like the volunteers at the transference facility ...

  Mara snapped away from the thought like a nervous cat leaping at a sound. She glanced around and saw that both Tolwyn and Bryce were looking at her, and even Djil was awake and sitting up. What had just happened? she wondered. Did the others experience her sensation of joining? And did the feeling scare them as much as it scared her? She suddenly felt very alone.

  Sometimes, she thought, it was better that way.

  Mara checked her chronometer. It had been twenty- two minutes since she sat down. Tom had kept them in the air longer than she had estimated.

  "We're going to hit! Brace yourselves!" Tom called from the cockpit.

  Heartbeats of silence followed. She felt the landing gear drop and lock into place. Then the plane hit the ground, bounced, and hit again.

  "Well, that wasn't too bad," Bryce said.

  "Father, the wing is on fire and we could explode at any time," Tom explained as he emerged from the cockpit. "We have to get out of here now!"

  Tom unlatched the hatch and threw it open. The night air was warmer here, and it smelled of burning fuel and charred metal. Mara waited her turn as the dwarves exited quickly, followed by Bryce and Tolwyn. Kurst was next, bounding through the opening and into the night. She hesitated at the doorway, checking to see that Djil was with her. He was right behind her, smiling.

  He reached out and gently tapped her head with one of his long fingers. "Think about your feelings, Mara- Two," he said. "Think about the volunteers."

  "How do you...?" she began, but he hushed her with a wave of his hand.

  "Just think about it," he said again. "Those thoughts can help us, if you can sort them out."

  "Move it, you two!" Tom called. "Get away from the plane now!"

  Mara leaped from the plane, landing on a sandy beach. Had they made it to Borneo, or was this just one of the many islands that dotted the area? She had so much to think about, but right now there was no time. Together with Djil, she ran toward the rest of the group. They all hit the sand as the airplane exploded behind them, filling the night with fire and light.

  74

  Mara's vision cleared and she lifted herself from the ground. Beside her, Tolwyn rose, sword in hand, and stared toward the copse of trees at the edge of the beach. Djil, to her left, did likewise. In front of her, Father Bryce was being helped to his feet by Kurst, and all the dwarves lay scattered about like tenpins. But each one moved, and so did Tom.

  "That explosion will attract attention," Kurst said. "Any number of horrors could appear, drawn to us like moths to a flame."

  "You do know what happens to moths when they get too close to a flame?" Tolwyn asked.

  Behind them, popping sounds burst from the wreckage of Tom's airplane as smaller explosions were set off. Mara cybernetically dropped an infrared lens into place within her left eye. She scanned the edge of the jungle for any sign of activity, but nothing registered.

  "Which way, Kurst?" she asked the hunter.

  He sniffed the air and cocked his head as though listening to the very breeze. "Good job, Tom," he said finally. "I believe you've la
nded us on Borneo. The town should be that way." He pointed into the jungle.

  "How far?" Bryce asked.

  "About a week's travel," Kurst replied, "once we find suitable transportation."

  "Suitable transportation? Here?" Bryce yelled indignantly.

  Kurst moved closer to the priest, leaning in so that their noses almost touched. Then he said, in a very low, menacing voice, "If you insist on shouting, then you will be left to deal with whatever shows up in response on your own. Do you understand me?"

  "Begging your pardon, Mr. Kurst," Toolpin asked innocently, "but who put you in charge?"

  Kurst whirled on the dwarf. "This is my land, my reality. I am the only one who can get you where you want to go. That puts me in charge."

  "Then be on with it, Kurst," Tolwyn said in a tone that matched the hunter's. "Lead us."

  75

  Bryce checked his pack to make sure the Heart of Coyote was safe, then he followed the group into the jungle. He wondered why it was warmer here than it was in Australia, but he decided not to ask Kurst any more questions for a while.

  Inside the jungle, the darkness was thicker, deeper. The flames from the wreckage barely broke through the thick growth, and as they moved further even that light faded. Bryce stumbled a few times, and had to hold on to the dwarf in front of him so that he didn't wander off the path — such as it was.

  "Who am I holding on to?" Bryce asked softly.

  "It's me," the dwarf said.

  "Who?"

  "Oh, sorry. It's me, Toolpin, Father Bryce."

  Toolpin! Bryce sighed.

  "And who are you holding on to, Toolpin?"

  "To you, Father," Toolpin replied. "My, these questions are easy!"

  Bryce halted, catching the dwarf so that he stopped as well. The priest had a bad feeling that he and Toolpin were no longer with the rest of the group. He hoped he was wrong, but he felt rather alone in the unnatural darkness.

  "Toolpin, where are the others?"

  "Why, I couldn't say, really. I assume they're around here somewhere."

  Something moved nearby, and Bryce hesitantly called to the sound. "Kurst? Tolwyn? Are you there?"

  There was no reply. Bryce hesitantly stepped forward, and Toolpin went with him, in the direction of the sound. That was a mistake, Bryce realized. But it was too late. The darkness moved to meet him, inky blackness that flowed around him, surrounded him. He heard Toolpin scream, but it was muffled by the solidifying darkness.

  The priest felt the dark cling to his body, slithering across his arms and legs, through his hair and beard. It had the consistency of pudding, filling his eyes and mouth as it engulfed him. He was drowning in the night! Toolpin, still beside him, was struggling against the unseen muck. But why, he wondered, was the dwarf upset? The dark was warm and soft, almost comfortable. And it sang to him, lulling him to sleep. It was ...

  "No!" a part of Bryce's mind screamed. "Do not succumb! Resist!" He had to shake off the numbing acceptance that filled his mind like the muck filled his mouth. He had to break free! He struggled, joining his efforts to Toolpin's, but it seemed hopeless. The stuff refused to let them go.

  Then he felt a tug as something grabbed him from behind. There was another tug, much stronger, and he was pulled from the darkness. He spit black foam and wiped more of the stuff from his eyes as Tolwyn helped him out of the strange material. The dwarves held torches that provided light, and Bryce saw that he had been pulled from a mound of blackness nestled in the trees. It was a trap of some kind, like a spider's web spun from the night.

  "My God," Bryce said, "Toolpin is still inside that thing."

  76

  Tolwyn pushed forward into the unnatural darkness after settling Bryce into Mara's care. Something from out of the dark mass called to her, but she resisted, sword questing in her hand as she cat-walked further into the solid night. The voice beseeched her to rest, to let the warm darkness surround her, comfort her. She had no time for comfort.

  She forced her way through the muck, finally emerging in a cavelike area. She spit the stuff out of her mouth, wiped her eyes, and looked around. She could not quite see as it was still dark, but she could make out vague forms around her. A great shape loomed before her, and she sensed that this was the source of the darkness.

  "Toolpin? Where are you?" she called.

  There was no answer, save the voice of the blackness that spoke not in words but in emotions. Comfort, it intoned. Peace.

  "I have no time for this!" she shouted.

  She attacked then, her blade moving through the great shape. She sensed the being's amusement at her feeble swing. It raised itself up to strike back.

  Kurst was beside her then, emerging from the solid darkness in his huge wolf form. The source of darkness hesitated, unsure what this new addition meant to the fray. Kurst, however, did not hesitate. He launched his wolf body at the shape and let his wolf claws slice through the blackness. A silent scream filled Tolwyn with fear and pain, but she realized that these were the creature's feelings and not hers. With this thought in mind, she was able to push down the emotions and move to join Kurst.

  The shape grappled with the werewolf, forcing his claws down and away from their target. Tolwyn saw that where Kurst had cut away the solid night, a gleaming white skull rested. The skull glowed from within, hinting at its unnatural origin. The wolf sliced at the skull, his claws scraping across the white bone. Then the shape threw him down, easily pinning him to the ground.

  But Tolwyn knew how to defeat the monster. Kurst had shown her the object to attack. She swung her weapon in a mighty arc, aiming for the white suspended clearly in the dark. The skull shattered elegantly beneath the striking blade.

  The apparition collapsed in a heap of muck as the skull exploded. With a dying cry, the living night around them faded. Tolwyn, Kurst, and Toolpin were left beneath the jungle's trees, standing knee-deep in black foam.

  "I used to like the night," Toolpin said weakly, then he dropped heavily to the ground.

  77

  Eddie Paragon never wanted to go to a baseball game again, let alone sing the National Anthem. He had come to this decision hours ago, as he plowed his way through the primeval forest that used to be a well-cared-for national park in California. The ball game had been the start of this nightmare he found himself in. If he survived, he vowed he would never again set foot in a stadium. Maybe he could even get the government to ban the game. It wasn't the National Pastime anymore; as far as Paragon was concerned, it was the National Threat.

  He stumbled down a small hill, pushed his way through thorn bushes that seemed to delight in ripping at his flesh, and finally collapsed beneath one of the giant Sequoias. He was exhausted. Worse, he had no idea if he was closer to the edge of Baruk Kaah's territory, or if he had walked in circles and was even now approaching the High Lord's camp.

  Leaning back, Eddie allowed his eyes to close. "Just for a little while," he told himself. "Just until I catch my breath."

  It felt so good to rest. He listened to the forest sounds, realizing that he had never really heard them before. In his old life — which was about six weeks and a reality ago — he never had the time or inclination to walk beneath the trees of a massive forest. He could never sit still long enough to listen to the wind, or the chirping birds, or the rustling leaves. He had missed such simple pleasures. Now his life depended on him recognizing nature for what it was; both beautiful and dangerous.

  Those were the thoughts going through Paragon's rapidly tiring mind when he heard another sound. It did not register as out of place initially, and had it started up only a few seconds later he probably would have been in a deep sleep. It took a few seconds more to remember where he had heard the sound before, but when the memory returned it awoke him instantly. The sound was that of air being sucked in, held, and let out. It was the sound a stalenger made when it drew in air with its mighty organic pump and let it out in short bursts. The action caused its starfish-shaped body to rise in
to the air and spin, riding its own wind currents in order to travel.

  Paragon opened his eyes and looked to the sky. He didn't see a stalenger anywhere, and the sound was gone now, too. Maybe he had dreamed it, he thought. Maybe one simply passed by on its way somewhere else. A stalenger did not necessarily mean he was being pursued. It didn't mean anything.

  He got up, brushing leaves from his clothing. It was time to move on, he decided. Time to see what was over the next hill. He hefted the rifle and took a step forward. That's when the attack came.