torg 02 - The Dark Realm

by Douglas Kaufman

  "Wrongness," said another, and then he too began to chant. The sound was almost numbing.

  Thratchen shook his head, put one hand to his ear. What were they doing to him? How were they doing it? The third and fourth monk joined in the chant, and their voices were as one that rose and rose and fell and rose in steady rhythm. Thratchen started to sweat. They were invoking their religion to protect themselves from him! What did the holy men of Orrorsh call it? Ward enemy, he believed. How rich! Did any one of these pitiful monks think they could match his power? How absurd!

  He might have struck them all down then, in the moment before the last two began to add their voices to the chant, but he was curious. Besides, he was confident that he had nothing to fear from their premature abilities.

  The first monk had the aura of protection around himself, while the others seemed to be concentrating on some other kind of effect. Thratchen was intrigued. He moved toward the first monk, easily pushing aside the ward. He chuckled as the flimsy thing started to collapse. But then the ward reestablished itself, forcing Thratchen back and sending numbing pain through his body.

  How was that possible? It was as if ...

  Thratchen paused, taken aback by his own thoughts. Could it be? Had these stormers learned to share the possibility energy that their bodies stored? He remembered the transference facility on Kadandra and his blood ran cold. What Mara's people had accomplished with technology, these simple monks had done with nothing more than their own wills.

  They were preparing another ward, and Thratchen felt his fear rise. These stormers could hurt him! Perhaps even destroy him if they got lucky. No! Not when he was so close to the answers he sought. He backed away, stepping around the eternity shard. He could almost see the energy leap from one monk to another as they concentrated.

  "How are you doing that?" Thratchen raged. "How is that possible?"

  "The idol showed us how to shift our inner strength among ourselves," the first monk said. "It told us how to cooperate before it stopped singing."

  Singing? What was the monk talking about? But then Thratchen understood. The constant murmur, the background noise that filled this planet with sound to those sensitive enough to hear it, had died away. It wasn't completely silent, but it had been seriously stifled since the arrival of Kanawa. That meant the planet no longer had the power to repel the invaders.

  It suddenly made sense to Thratchen. He had discovered the secret of Apeiros' children. Through cooperation and creativity, they could accomplish the impossible—including this strange group power. Those stormers with affinity for the Nameless One had no capacity for cooperation, as evidenced by the problems happening all through the Earth invasion. He had to try one more attack so that his built-in computers could record the results. If he survived, he would be able to study the recording later.

  He rushed forward, charging through the ward to reach the monks. It began to buckle, collapsing under the strength of his own faith. But then the energy shift occurred again, and the monk focusing his faith into the ward received a burst of power. Thratchen was thrown back, the pain almost causing him to black out. This ability was dangerous!

  His experiment completed, Thratchen ran from the temple before the monks could focus their combined powers into some other form of attack. Outside, he let the cool air revive him. Still, it would take time for the pain to subside. He spread his wings, taking to the sky. If the recorder worked, he had the secrets he needed — all he had to do was decipher what he was watching.

  But there was something else of importance that this episode had taught him. The Gaunt Man's methods were doomed to failure. He had simulated this group power effect with his machine, but he was missing the key element. The stormers he attached to it were not cooperating. They were being forced. Eventually that would destroy the project, of that Thratchen was certain.

  That was the knowledge that Thratchen would wield against his master. That was the secret that would elevate him to the status of High Lord — — and then make him the Torg.

  89

  Tolwyn sat beside Kurst, admiring his handling of the team of horses. Finally, she thought, they were riding within a normal carriage. It was a vehicle she understood, drawn by horses she could see. It required no magic to work and did not lift them high into the air. It traveled as carriages were meant to — along the ground at a moderate speed. Although, she mused, they would get to their destination faster if they had one of Alder's magic vans.

  This was their third day of travel, and they seemed no closer to their goal, even though Kurst assured them they were making progress. She tried to get the hunter to tell her about Uthorion, but he pleaded ignorance and returned his concentration to the horses. At one point during their trek, she saw Kurst stiffen and look from side to side. She asked him what was the matter. All he said was, "the Gaunt Man," but afterward she noticed that he was more alert than before.

  As the day wore on, a half-remembered marching tune came to her lips. She struggled with the words for awhile, fighting to recall the entire song. When she finally had it all in her mind, Tolwyn started to sing.

  Her voice was clear and strong. Modestly, she thought it might even be considered good. Kurst looked at her strangely at first, but then he went back to watching the road. Braxon and Praktix, the two dwarves currently on guard duty atop the carriage roof, laughed at the sound. Then, before Tolwyn could become too self-conscious, the dwarves joined her in song. They seemed to know the words better than she did, and when the dwarves within the carriage picked up on the second verse, the carriage literally rocked with the sound.

  They traveled in this fashion for a few hours, singing Ayslish marching songs, dwarven ballads—Bryce even taught them the words to an Earth song he called "Burning Down the House." Even Kurst lost some of his aloofness as the songs lifted them out of the tiresome doldrums they had been sinking into. All was well, and they felt like nothing could stop them.

  Until Tolwyn screamed.

  Kurst pulled on the reins, bringing the horses to a halt. "What is it, Tolwyn? Are we under attack?" Kurst asked quickly.

  "No, I do not believe so," Tolwyn said in a ragged voice. "Not physically, anyway."

  "Then what is it?" he asked impatiently.

  "The song is gone," Tolwyn said, hunting for the right words to convey her distress. "It has been there since I awoke in Philadelphia, and when it just cut off ..." She hesitated, seeing that Kurst did not understand. He thought she meant the marching songs, not the deeper song that came from her dreams. She leaned over the side of the carriage and called down. "Christopher Bryce, come out here. And bring the stone."

  The priest emerged from the carriage carrying his pack. "Do you feel it too?" he asked. "Or rather, do you sense that something is missing?" he clarified.

  "Yes," was all she said, for a terrible fear gripped her.

  Bryce removed a wrapped object from his pack. He carefully unfolded the cloth, revealing the blue and red stone shaped like a human heart.

  "Ever since I arrived on this world, I have heard the song," Tolwyn explained. "This world was so full of life, so rich in possibilities! That was what the song was. But it was also through that song that the world called for my help. It has been with me through everything that has happened, a constant companion. Until a moment ago when the song stopped."

  "No, Tolwyn, it hasn't stopped," Bryce smiled with relief and raised the stone toward her. "You can still hear it if you listen closely. It's gotten much lower, less perceptible, but it's still there."

  Kurst nodded, finally understanding what they were talking about. "Another realm must have attached itself," he said. "When enough of them have attached to Earth, then the planet will weaken."

  "How many different realities are supposedly involved in this invasion?" Bryce asked.

  "There were supposed to be seven," Kurst replied. "But I believe one of the invading realms was beaten back before it could connect."

  "I'm sorry that your world has lo
st its song," Praktix

  said to Bryce.

  "It hasn't lost it," the priest declared. "It's only resting its voice until the time is right to sing the next chorus. And when that time comes, then all of these High Lords will see just what —"

  Praktix's cry cut off Bryce's speech. "Halt!" she called out suddenly, her hand moving quickly to the battle spike at her side.

  Tolwyn was up in an instant, her own sword drawn and ready.

  "Something's wrong," Praktix chimed.

  "Most definitely," added Braxon.

  "Explain yourselves," Kurst roared, tired of these guessing games.

  "There's a very odd disturbance in the ground ahead," said Praktix as she leaped from the carriage. "I've never felt anything like it."

  Praktix started forward at a trot as Tolwyn watched. All seemed clear. If it was an ambush, it was incredibly subtle and incredibly small. Then dread washed over her in cold prickles. The skin on the crown of her head tightened and a subtle shiver ran down her spine. "Praktix!" she cried, leaping from the carriage herself.

  Too late.

  A black fissure appeared in the path ahead, hissing open with a gout of dust and the smell of rotting meat. A sharp purple shape erupted from the hole, huge and writhing, a wormlike mass of lashing tentacles and chewing jaws.

  Praktix was unbalanced by the breaking ground. She flailed wildly, trying to keep her footing. But the monster kept rising out of the earth, shaking the ground as its unending mass swelled forth. With little else to do, the dwarf fell against the giant worm and dug into its body

  with her battle spike.

  The worm's howl was an ugly sound, and its bucking tore up more of the earth around them. Kurst fought to keep the horses under control while desperately seeking safer ground for the carriage. Neither he nor the others in the carriage would be able to help. Only Tolwyn, Braxon, and Bryce were clear and in range to aid Praktix.

  Hundreds of glistening eyes swiveled to find the source of irritation, fixing on Praktix where she hung on for dear life. The worm raised itself even higher, slashing toward the dwarf with the tangle of tentacles that dripped from its head. The wriggling mass rained a violent storm upon Praktix, striking and pulling away in a wash of blood.

  Tolwyn saw all of this on the move, taking it in as she rushed to the dwarf's aid. Braxon was beside her, keeping up with her long strides through sheer force of will.

  Praktix endured another lashing from the abrasive tentacles, then released her grip on the spike. Tolwyn heard Braxon cry out as Praktix fell. The worm writhed and pulsed obscenely above them all, and Tolwyn felt the bile rise in her throat. She sought an opening, a weakness to strike at. But the creature was too huge. What could her blows do to one such as that?

  Bryce pushed his way between Tolwyn and Braxon, placing restraining hands upon them both. "We must leave," he pleaded. "We can't hope to defeat this creature!"

  She barely acknowledged him as she searched for Praktix. The dwarf lay unmoving at the base of the beast, crumpled upon the broken ground next to the steaming fissure. A fury built inside her.

  "This is not right, Christopher," she said. "Praktix..."

  "We must help my sister," Braxon shouted as tears streamed down his face. "Lead us, paladin," he pleaded to Tolwyn. "Show us how to kill the beast."

  "No," Bryce tried to reason with the dwarf, "we've got to leave now."

  "Leave?" Pluppa asked outraged. "We can't leave! Praktix might still be alive!"

  "Could be!" called Gutterby, swinging his battle spike.

  Tolwyn saw that they entire group had gathered around them: the dwarves, Kurst, Mara, Djil and Tom. The horses and carriage must be out of danger, she thought absently.

  Bryce looked around dubiously. "What can we do against that?"

  "It would take every drop of energy in my weapon just to get the thing's attention," Mara yelled above the rumbling ground.

  "We must get to Praktix. We must at least try," Pluppa said.

  The other dwarves added, "Ho!"

  There was silence for a moment, then Bryce snapped out, "All right. But what do we do?"

  Mara strode forward, clutching Tolwyn's arm. "Provide me with a distraction," she said seriously. "I have the fastest reflexes. I'll go in there and get her out."

  "Fastest, eh?" growled Kurst, and even as he spoke his arm flashed out toward Mara's face. Her own hand was as fast and she grasped the hunter's wrist before he could touch her. His other hand shot out, but she caught that as well. Mara grinned.

  "We'll both go," he conceded.

  Without another word, the dwarves began trotting forward in single file, moving around to the worm's other side. A tremor ran through the beast's body from front to back as it moved to follow their motion. Mara and Kurst walked catlike, in the opposite direction, waiting for the proper moment to make their attempt.

  Bryce held Tolwyn's shoulder. "Stay in reserve," he suggested.

  Tom agreed. "They look like they know what they're doing."

  Djil simply watched the spectacle that was about to unfold without saying a word.

  "What can the dwarves do to distract it?" Tolwyn asked, uneasy about staying out of the fray.

  No one answered her, but she saw the dwarf named Grim step forward. He pulled a small amount of pitch from a pouch on his belt. With a wave of his hand, he spoke words that Tolwyn recognized as magical in nature. Then he lit the pitch, blew on it once to fan the flame to life, pulled a small piece from the burning mass, and heaved the larger portion with all his might at the looming worm.

  The other dwarves covered their eyes and ducked in a single motion that looked to have come with long years of practice. Tolwyn watched, amazed, as Grim seemed to guide the flaming ball by mimicking its motion with the small piece in his hand. It flew at the worm, striking into the mass of tentacles at the beast's head the same moment Grim struck his open palm with the smaller piece. There was a simultaneous explosion of fire where the ball hit, and a cry of pain from Grim.

  "Ouch!" he shouted. "I always burn my finger when I use that spell!"

  Mara and Kurst darted in with rapid, precise strides at the moment of impact. They hefted the fallen dwarf and started back toward Tolwyn. The worm, meanwhile, its upper body engulfed in fire, began to fall toward the ground. It smashed into the jungle with a loud crash, its coiled body flailing in death throes.

  "That was some distraction," Mara gasped as she gently lowered Praktix to the soft grass. Braxon pushed his way through the crowd to reach his sister.

  "Distraction?" Grim said in embarrassment. "I thought you said destruction!"

  Bryce stood aside as the dwarves and Mara leaned over Praktix's still form. He knew some first aid techniques, but Mara was definitely better suited to treat the dwarf's wounds. He turned to the aborigine standing beside him, hoping to strike up a conversation and learn more about the man. But Djil was looking blankly into the distance, as though he was seeing something far away. His hands, meanwhile, had clutched around the fifth knot on his rope.

  "What is it?" Bryce asked, beginning to take such events as commonplace among this group.

  "Decker," Djil said softly. "He needs help."

  "Of course," Bryce said impatiently. "That's why we're here."

  But Djil didn't stay to listen to what Bryce said. He was walking down the path. Bryce ran over to him.

  "What are you doing?" the priest asked.

  "Going to the Dream Time," Djil replied, and then he disappeared into the thick foliage.

  Julie Boot hesitated. She remembered what happened when Monroe had tried to remove the staves from Decker's chest. She didn't want to be subjected to something like that. But she felt that if she touched the staves... what? That Decker would open his eyes and sit up? That was ridiculous. But what if ...?

  She grasped the staves.

  And suddenly Julie was no longer in Decker's room. She wasn't even in the hospital anymore. She was ... somewhere else. She was on a sandy beach, beside an oc
ean of red

  (blood)

  water that constantly splashed against the shore. Dozens of doors stood along the beach, held upright even though there were no walls to support them. Where was she? How had she gotten here. It was like some crazy

  (nightmare)

  dream come to life. Had she gone insane? Or had she touched the staves and been killed by the same force of energy that almost fried Monroe? All she knew was that she didn't like this place. But something here needed her. She started toward the doors.

  "So, Decker has help," a voice said, startling her.. "Maybe I made this trip for nothing."