torg 02 - The Dark Realm

by Douglas Kaufman

  Long, thin tentacles snaked down from the branches of the tree above his head, whipping around Paragon. They felt like piano wire, cutting into his flesh as they struck. He looked up and saw the stalenger. It was anchored between two thick branches so that its tentacles could extend freely from the center of its body. Already the strong limbs were wrapping around Eddie's arms and legs and neck. He had to do something quickly, or else give up now and face whatever was in store for him back with Baruk Kaah.

  He tried to raise the rifle in order to aim it, but a tentacle slashed out and pulled the weapon from Paragon's hands. Struggling to escape from the stalenger was futile, as more and more limbs whipped down toward him. But he was able to reach the pistol that was stuck in his waist band. The pistol was much easier to aim with one hand, which was all that Eddie still had available. He pointed the barrel toward the stalenger and squeezed the trigger four times.

  The gun discharged four slugs. Two went wild, but two struck the stalenger. Hot lead sliced through its fragile body, and immediately the snaking limbs went limp. Paragon pulled himself out of the tentacles. He retrieved his rifle.

  "Thank God that worked," he said. He was very aware of how loud the gun blasts had been in the relatively quiet forest. It was time to move out.

  Paragon climbed over the next hill and paused. There, about a mile distant, was a raging wall of clouds and rain. He had made it at last. He had reached the storm front.

  "Now," Paragon said, "all I have to do is make it through there."

  Somehow, he thought again, he would get even with baseball for putting him through this torture. He began to plan his revenge as he walked toward the storm.

  78

  Corporal Hank West observed the wall of storm through a pair of high-powered binoculars. His orders were to keep watch on the storm (or at least as much of it as he could see from his position) and report anything out of the ordinary to his commanding officer via his radio. It was a boring job. But West had heard what happened in this area a few days back. Who would have believed the Sequoia National Forest would be a battle zone? He didn't want to get caught in a repeat performance.

  The storm swirled angrily within the wall of cloud. It looked like it wanted to burst free, to spread its destructive power across the land. But it didn't change its position, at least never by more than a few yards. It was the most stable weather front West had ever heard of. He also heard that on the other side of the front was a different world.

  Oh sure, it was still Earth. But it wasn't Earth, at least not the Earth he knew and loved. His Earth allowed for things like radios and TVs and Nintendo. On the other side there were none of those things anymore. They said his gun wouldn't even work over there. It was now a place for things from the past — things like dinosaurs and cavemen. West wanted none of that. He was definitely a modern man.

  "Give me a Slurpee and Paula Abdul any day," he said aloud, laughing. But then he remembered that prehistoric movie with Daryl Hannah and he smiled. "Well, maybe the past wasn't all bad," he thought.

  He lifted the binoculars back to his eyes and scanned the base of the storm. Still nothing.

  "Wait a minute," he muttered. "What's that?"

  Emerging from the storm was a figure ... a man. He was drenched, his clothes matted to him by the raging rain. He carried a rifle in his arms as he stumbled out of the storm. He took a few more steps, then fell to the ground.

  West grabbed his radio. "Corporal West reporting,"

  he said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. "Something has just stepped out of the storm. Repeat, something has stepped through."

  "What is it, corporal?" came back the voice of his commanding officer.

  "It's a man," West replied.

  "Say again, corporal."

  "It's a man, lieutenant," West repeated. "And I think he's one of ours."

  79

  The Gaunt Man stood before his Darkness Device, high within his tower at Illmound Keep. The black-stone heart that called itself Heketon vibrated with power, singing its will into the Gaunt Man's soul. He nodded, understanding what it wanted from him, but not understanding why.

  "Why have you become concerned with such matters, Heketon?" the Gaunt Man asked. "All goes according to our plan. Your prophecy to me comes true with each passing hour."

  The song changed, rebuking the High Lord with a painful rhythm.

  "I forget myself, Heketon," the High Lord apologized. "I do not question the advice you give me."

  He placed his hands upon the smooth, shiny stone. The power of the Darkness Device throbbed beneath his fingers, sending a surge of tingling energy up his arms. Then, with great effort and concentration, he joined his will to Heketon's. The Obsidian Heart pulsated, drawing power from the High Lord as it completed a magical circuit.

  And then Heketon was gone, disappeared in a burst of arcane sorcery. The Gaunt Man found himself alone

  in the tower.

  "I have placed you into hiding, as you advised me," the Gaunt Man said, speaking to the now-empty place once occupied by the Darkness Device. "What have you foreseen, Heketon? What is coming that you refuse to share with me?"

  The Gaunt Man needed answers, but he could not get them from the Darkness Device. Though it was his to control, in many ways it controlled him. The Gaunt Man understood this, accepted this. But it was sometimes frustrating. He almost wished that Heketon did not have such a strong will of its own, but he left the thought unfinished lest the Darkness Device pick up the thread of it and become angry. He had enough to deal with right now, without an insulted Darkness Device as well.

  He stepped over to the ornate mirror that rested against the wall. "Wicked," he said the word that activated the mirror, calling it by its name. "Reveal to me Scythak, the weretiger."

  For a moment, the Gaunt Man was gazing on his own reflection. Then the image shifted and Scythak appeared. He was just stepping off the dimthread the Gaunt Man had provided him with. From the view behind him, which was mostly obscured by a thick mist, he must be in Takta Ker. Yes, there was the jungle bridge that led to the Living Land realm on Earth.

  The High Lord laughed as Scythak looked around. He sensed he was being watched, but he did not know where the observer was. Good, the Gaunt Man thought, a little paranoia will keep the weretiger cautious.

  As Scythak started to descend the jungle bridge, on his way to find Andrew Jackson Decker and bring him to Orrorsh, the Gaunt Man called up the image of his servant, Picard.

  "Yes, master?" Picard asked when he sensed the High Lord's presence.

  "Find Thratchen and send him to my tower," the High Lord commanded.

  "As you wish," Picard replied, and his image faded.

  Next the Gaunt Man ordered the mirror to seek out Kurst. For some reason, it was harder to observe the werewolf than it was Scythak. Perhaps something from the hunter's past that was not entirely obliterated remained as a source of interference. Perhaps it was the same thing that made him betray his master—if he had indeed done as Thratchen said. The Gaunt Man concentrated, and the form of his most-favored hunter appeared. But the scene was obstructed, not vivid.

  He could barely make out the deep jungle that surrounded Kurst, or the large number of folk that stood by him. He recognized the blue-and-red patterned energy that marked many in the crowd as stormers. The scene, full of so many stormers, disturbed him for some unknown reason. They were only stormers, after all, albeit a rather large and uncommon gathering. The two women were there, and they carried an eternity shard with them. How rich! An added bonus to go along with his prize! And were those Ayslish dwarves? The Gaunt Man almost laughed out loud. How could such an entourage cause him distress?

  "What stories will you tell me, Kurst?" he wondered. "How will you explain these odd companions to me?"

  He reached out with his mind then, trying to locate Kurst's position by the examining the axioms around him. He gasped. Kurst was here, in Orrorsh. So close!

  "How did he get so cl
ose without my knowledge?" the Gaunt Man asked. The mirror image offered no answer. Instead, it shifted and blurred, and Kurst

  disappeared from view.

  "Why does that happen?" the High Lord raged. He reached into the mirror with his will, trying to recover the image of Kurst. But something else was there. It was another image, vague, less defined than even Kurst's was. He tentatively touched it, seeking to discover its identity. It was slippery, elusive. He tried again to grab hold of it, and for a moment it was his.

  "Kane?" he said.

  Then the image was gone, slipping away from him like sand through his fingers.

  "You sent for me, master?" Thratchen asked from the doorway. How much had he observed, the Gaunt Man wondered. No matter. There was other business to attend to.

  "Kanawa is apparently ready to drop his bridge," the Gaunt Man explained. "I need someone there to observe the process. Someone I trust. My own operations are nearing their critical junctures, so I am needed here. But someone must make sure that Kanawa does not attempt any actions that could jeopardize my carefully laid plans. You are that someone, Thratchen."

  The Tharkoldan nodded. "Very well, High Lord. I will leave immediately."

  The Gaunt Man smiled. "Yes," he said coyly, "you will."

  Thratchen quivered, an almost imperceptible reaction. Was he afraid? The Gaunt Man hoped so.

  "As you command," was all Thratchen said.

  "True," mused the Gaunt Man. "I want you to go to this place called Japan and witness the invasion. I estimate that the storm will break upon the island nation within the next hour."

  Thratchen's eyes went wide. "An hour? How can I

  get there in time?"

  "Simple," the Gaunt Man said, nodding at the mirror. "The power of the mirror is not limited to viewing. It is also a portal, although a fickle one at best. I can send things, living and unliving, through it — to whatever destination I choose. You shall travel that way."

  Thratchen eyed the mystic device with evident displeasure. "But High Lord ..." he started uncomfortably.

  "Is the eternally curious Thratchen afraid?" the Gaunt Man mocked. "Did you not travel to this world in similar fashion, without the aid of a dimthread? I admit the sorcery involved in the mirror is not as refined as the process your stormer invented, but it serves its purpose."

  "But High Lord ..." Thratchen tried again, but the Gaunt Man cut him off.

  "In fact," the Gaunt Man said, reaching forward and grasping Thratchen's shoulder in a crushing grip, lifting him into the air without effort, "some of the minions I sent through the mirror actually survived the trip. Do you remember my early experiments sending advance scouts to other cosms without dimthreads? This method is vastly superior to that costly venture."

  The Gaunt Man spoke arcane words and pushed Thratchen into the mirror. The High Lord's hand plunged into the silvery coldness, and Thratchen let out a brief cry. He pulled back his hand. Thratchen was gone, on his way to Japan.

  With any luck, he would arrive in one piece. And with all his parts intact and in the correct positions.

  80

  Dr. James Monroe found Coyote at the large window overlooking the compound, holding the ever-present gray cat on his lap. Monroe put on his doctor-to-patient face and walked up to the teen.

  "How's it going, Coyote?" he asked in a tone that suggested that he and the teen were old friends.

  Coyote looked up and smiled. "Okay, I guess." The cat looked up as well, but its eyes were not as trusting.

  "Good," Monroe said, ignoring the cat. "I'm glad to see you guys made it here all right. I was really worried about you after you left Philadelphia." He even sounded like he meant it.

  "Oh yeah? It did get pretty hairy a few times, but we made it through. Except for Rick Alder. And Decker."

  Rick Alder? He was the cop, wasn't he? Monroe asked himself. What happened to him, he wondered. He had to find out more. Especially, he needed to know what happened to Tolwyn.

  "Look, have you eaten?" Monroe asked.

  "No, not yet."

  "Come on, then. Lunch is on me."

  Coyote smiled, gently placing the cat on the window sill. "If you toss in desert, I'll follow you anywhere."

  "You got it," Monroe shot back. "But you have to promise to tell me all about your trip across country."

  "You got it," Coyote laughed.

  Monroe laughed too, and deep inside he was thrilled. He couldn't get the image of Tolwyn's emerald eyes out of his mind. Coyote could fill in the blanks in the amazing woman's story. After all, he had a right to know what happened to her. He did help bring her back from the dead.

  "So," the doctor said as the two walked toward the stairwell. "How was Tolwyn when you saw her last?"

  As Coyote began to tell his story, Monroe risked a glance back at the cat. It was standing where Coyote had left it, its suspicious gaze locked on the doctor. He was very glad when the door closed and he could no longer see the cat's eyes.

  81

  Scythak did not particularly enjoy traveling by dimthread, but a perversity in his nature reminded him that Kurst hated it even more, and so he made the pretense to himself of reveling in the sensation. Then the trip was over. Scythak had arrived in Takta Ker, the cosm of the edeinos. He was at the bridge of living jungle that connected this world to Earth. He was that much closer to completing his mission. There was a faint moonglow, lighting the deep mist that covered everything. For a moment, the great weretiger had a feeling that he was being watched. But the feeling faded as quickly as it had come.

  "The Gaunt Man," he muttered. He had often felt his master's eyes upon him as he went about his work. He knew that such observation bothered his smaller rival. If Kurst did not like it, then to Scythak it was an honor to be cherished.

  The world around him pressed against him, trying to impose its laws of reality upon him. He roared with laughter. There was no way the primitive axioms could eliminate his own laws. He withstood the wash easily. Things in his own world were darker, more innately connected to the realms of magic and the unliving. Here in Takta Ker that connection felt tenuous and unreal. How could the edeinos exist without magic and technology? The thought of losing his connection with Orrorsh upset him. He fingered the pendant around his neck, remembering Thratchen's words.

  "It is a pendant of Orrorshan reality," Thratchen had told him. "In case the impossible occurs and you become disconnected."

  Just remembering its presence helped him. He let his thoughts return to the mission at hand, and Scythak started down the jungle bridge.

  As he walked the living path, he considered paying a visit to Baruk Kaah. But he dismissed the thought quickly. He had nothing to say to the High Lord, and no time to engage in protocol. He had to find Decker. He had to protect the runes and the stormer who was able to interrupt their work.

  And he had to —

  (kill, kill, kill)

  — to bring them both back to Orrorsh.

  Scythak was sure there was something he was forgetting, but he could not remember it. Oh well, he thought, it would come to him in time.

  He barely noticed that the pendant was pulsing in his hand.

  82

  Mara thankfully dropped to the ground when Father Bryce announced a rest stop. Kurst did not appear pleased, but he offered no protests. The others merely flopped down without a word, their weariness a silent agreement to the priest's suggestion. Tolwyn, who seemed the least affected (other than Kurst) by the exertion, stepped over to Bryce and crouched next to him, a soft smile on her lips. They exchanged quiet words and laughs, then she nodded and stood, stretching the kinks of the journey out of her limbs.

  "Why is it so hot here," Mara asked as she wiped sweat from her forehead.

  "It is as the Gaunt Man wills it," Kurst replied. His voice sounded strange, forced. It was as though he were fighting some inner battle, a battle that became more evident the longer they stayed in this realm.

  What hold does the Gaunt Man have over
you, Kurst? What is your connection in all this? But she could not ask him that, so she tried to think of other things.

  Kurst was beside her then, leaning close to whisper in her ear. "Do not alarm the others, but follow me."

  He got up and moved nearly silently into the jungle. She looked around quickly. The dwarves were lounging. Tom and Bryce were on their backs, eyes closed. Tolwyn was beside a small pool, splashing water on her face. Djil was sitting quietly, examining his knotted rope. So Mara did as Kurst asked, following him into the overgrowth.