torg 02 - The Dark Realm

by Douglas Kaufman

  Julie looked around, spinning wildly at the sound. A short black man was standing a few yards down the beach. He was impossibly old, with a tangle of stark white hair atop his head, and a matching white beard hanging from his chin. She felt no malice in this man, no threat.

  "Decker?" Julie asked. "You know Decker?"

  The black man nodded. "We have to help him. He's reached the final door, but he can't get it to open. The Gaunt Man's a tough one. Very strong."

  Julie spun around frantically. "Which door? There are so many of them!"

  "Look again, woman," the black man smiled. "Things

  in the Dream Time aren't always what they seem."

  He was right. When she looked again there was only one door. She approached it cautiously, carefully reaching out to touch it. The door buckled out and she pulled her hand back. She turned again to the black man.

  "Decker bangs on the door, but it will not open," he said. "He needs your support to finish his journey."

  Julie swallowed hard, watching the door shake as something on the other side pounded into it. What if the black man was wrong? she asked herself. What if that isn't Ace on the other side of the door? What if it's

  (a monster)

  something else? She shook the thoughts away and grasped the door knob with both hands. Using all her strength, Julie pulled.

  The door swung open with no effort, and the sudden release when she was expecting resistance caused her to lose her balance and fall. A form fell from the open doorway, landing in the sand beside her.

  "Ace?" she asked. The form, clearly a man lying facedown in the sand, offered no response. But a bellowing cry of rage emerged from the doorway. The beach literally shook with the sound of it.

  "Be on your way, woman," the black man said leaning over her. He closed her eyelids with his fingers. "Be on your way."

  And Julie was back in the hospital, her hands releasing the glowing staves in Decker's chest.

  "Weird," she said aloud.

  "Who are you?" The voice was rough, scratchy. It sounded like Dr. Monroe, but it came from the man lying on the bed. It came from Decker.

  "Ace?" she inquired, not caring that excitement made her voice sound higher.

  "I haven't been called that in a long time," the man on the bed said. "But I am Andrew Decker."

  92

  James Monroe watched the sentimental scene from the hallway, refusing to enter his brother's room. They were all in there: Coyote, Rat, Tal Tu — even Julie and the damn cat. They were all laughing and congratulating Andrew Jackson Decker on his miraculous recovery. How typical! His brother the wonder kid comes out of a coma and they want to give him a medal! The whole scene made him want to throw up.

  Worse of all was the look Julie was giving Ace. It was the look of a woman in love, not the look of a nurse to her patient. How do you do it, Ace? How do you make them fall for you even when you're flat on your back unconscious? Monroe felt the jealousy rise within him, and he welcomed it. It was warm and thick, something to hang onto that was all his.

  He noticed that the staves were still embedded in his brother's chest. He wondered if they hurt him. Monroe smiled wickedly. He hoped they hurt like hell.

  He looked once more at Julie Boot, remembering the few fantastic nights they had together. Part of him wept for the loss he knew had already occurred, even if she didn't realize it yet. But another part of him was glad to be rid of the bitch. She was just in his way, trying to block out his memories of Tolwyn of House Tancred. Coyote had told him all about the woman warrior and her travels across the country. He couldn't believe that he had missed her by only a few days. But he would find her again. She was his destiny. That's why he had brought her back to life, so that the two of them could be together forever. That's why fate led him here.

  With a final glance at Julie Boot, and a sneer at his brother, Monroe turned and walked toward the stairs. He had a quest now, a mission in life. His brother's return was his signal to get on with it.

  So Dr. James Monroe, once of the famed Deckers of Pennsylvania, began the next portion of his life. And all he took with him was his hate for his brother, and his obsession with a woman who had come back from the dead.

  93

  Andrew Jackson Decker looked up at the faces around him. The teens were there, young Rat and Coyote. The edeinos named Tal Tu was there, holding his gray cat in scaly hands. And the nurse, Major Julie Boot, who had been with him when he awakened, sat in the chair beside his bed. He felt he owed her something, but he didn't know why.

  He glanced at himself, examining the staves that jutted from his chest. They didn't hurt, but there was a draining sensation associated with them that seemed to sap his strength.

  "So the others have moved on?" Decker asked.

  "Yeah, they went to Australia," Coyote offered. "They said they had to get to Orrorsh so they could save you."

  "Did they take the Heart of Coyote with them?"

  "Yes," Rat chimed in. "Father Bryce is carrying it."

  "Good, they might need it," Decker said, thinking of his own confrontations with the Gaunt Man. But already those memories were fading with each waking moment, dissolving like dreams in the light of day.

  "I'm glad to see you're better, Ace my boy," said a friendly voice from the doorway.

  Decker recognized it immediately. President John

  Wells was standing there, surrounded by a few security types.

  "Well, are you going to invite me in?"

  "Of course, Mr. President," Decker smiled.

  "What did I tell you about formality, congressman?"

  Decker laughed, especially when he saw the looks on Rat and Coyote's faces. He thought that laughing might hurt, but it actually made him feel better, stronger. Julie, too, seemed stunned to see the President of the United States in her hospital. Decker quickly introduced everyone, and Wells seemed genuinely pleased to meet them.

  But then he became serious. "We need to talk, Ace."

  Decker nodded. "Could you give us some time alone?" he asked, and his visitors exited.

  Wells motioned for the security men to wait outside, and they reluctantly closed the door behind them.

  "So tell me, Ace," the President began, "what in the world is going on?"

  Where should he begin? Decker tried to sort out everything that he had experienced over the past few weeks. Finally he decided that the best place to start was at the beginning.

  "Sit down, John," Decker urged. "This may take a while."

  94

  Bryce and the others set up camp in the clearing where Kurst had secured the horses. They had a small fire going, and Praktix was covered in blankets beside it. Mara was still with her, doing what she could to ease the dwarf's pain. The priest sipped hot coffee and watched as the other dwarves patrolled the perimeters of their camp site. They were extremely military in their mannerisms and, after a brief inspection, Tolwyn had declared that the dwarves would sound the alarm before anything got within twenty meters of the camp.

  That's why it came as such a surprise to him when Djil walked out of the jungle and into the circle of light cast by the fire. Kurst, sitting beside the priest, quietly said, "Do not blame the dwarves, Bryce. The aborigine walks where he wants. He is like the jungle itself, moving with it instead of through it."

  Bryce didn't understand Kurst's words, but he gathered that the hunter was impressed by the shaman. Djil sat by the fire. He had discarded the furs he wore when they arrived in Orrorsh realm, for the night was warmer here. Sitting there, illuminated by the flickering flames and free of the bulky furs, Bryce could see how skinny the aborigine was. Nothing but flesh and bones.

  "My name is Djilangulyip," the shaman said in a sing-song voice. "I've seen a lot of things as shaman to my people. Tonight I want to tell you about some of them."

  He looked slowly about, from face to face, and Bryce admired his style. Djil was a master storyteller.

  "Decker is better," he continued. "I walked his drea
ms and watched as he broke free of that nasty fellow. The Gaunt Man, Kurst calls him. Anyway, Decker's still in danger, still has the evil magic upon him, but at least he's awake now."

  "We're glad to hear that. But why did you call us here?" Bryce asked. "Why did you enter Tolwyn's dreams — however you accomplished that — and urge her to come to this place?"

  "I didn't call you here, I just guided you."

  "Doesn't that amount to the same thing?"

  Djil shook his head. "The Earth called to its children, preacher-man. But the children have lost their ability to hear. But I heard, and I don't mind saying that I was frightened by the sound. Imagine what it must take to scare something as big and powerful as this old world! But scared or not, I was also responsible, so I cast about in the Dream Time to find others who heard. That's how I found the sword-woman. That's how I found all of you."

  Bryce began to ask another question, but Djil spoke first. "Hold your questions for a while longer, preacher- man. Let me tell you a story first. I saw it in the Dream Time, and I think it may answer some of what you want to ask."

  "The story begins a long time ago, so long ago that time had no meaning," Djil began. "Let us see this place where there was no time. There was no space, no space at all. There was only the nothing, and the nothing was all alone."

  "The Void," Kurst corrected. "In Orrorsh, the legends call it the Void. It existed in the Place, in the Time of Nothing."

  "Who's telling this story?" Gutterby asked angrily.

  "I will! I will!" Toolpin offered.

  "No, it is Djil's story," Kurst said. "I apologize for interrupting."

  Djil smiled, showing the hole where a tooth had once been. "It is everyone's story, a part of the Dream Time. But I will tell it now. The nothing was alone, empty. Then one day (although days had no meaning) the nothing met the everything."

  "Eternity," Kurst explained, then fell silent when Djil and the dwarves gave him fierce looks.

  "The nothing and the everything were different in every way," Djil continued. "Where the nothing was empty, the everything was full. They met, touching in a whirlpool of energy. The nothing finally found something to fill it, but to do so meant destroying each piece of the everything as it came in contact with it. The everything, meanwhile, had found something to help it free the stuff that would build worlds. If only the crumbs weren't devoured as they burst free."

  "The Maelstrom of creation," Kurst clarified.

  "Will you shut up!" the dwarves yelled as one. Bryce smiled. They really did like stories, he thought.

  "Well, two of the crumbs were strong crumbs," Djil said. "They were able to survive the raging whirlpool — excuse me, Maelstrom. These crumbs were live things, great spirits fallen from the mouths of greater spirits, and one was the Nameless One. He was like the nothing, empty, needing every kind of sensation to fill him. He reveled in destruction and chaos. The other child, Apeiros, saw the good in all and was full of hope. She loved freedom and creating things — making the impossible possible."

  Everyone looked at Kurst. He looked back, and everyone waited expectantly. "Those are the names my legends use," he declared.

  Djil resumed without missing a beat. "Don't think good and bad where these two are concerned. Those concepts have no meaning to beings one step removed from the primal forces. They simply were; reflections of the nothing and the everything that spawned them. Apeiros set possibilities free by making them real — things of color and shape and sound and idea; creation was her power. In this way other, lesser things were able to survive the Maelstrom. But when the Nameless One (who Apeiros named because he coald not summon the creativity to name himself) saw the bits of creation, he gobbled them up. So Apeiros had to set more possibilities free. And they were both surprised, because neither one knew how to do what the other had done: Apeiros had never thought about destroying things before, and the Nameless One had never thought about making things before. So they both learned something.

  "And in the learning came the problem. The Nameless One was furious that Apeiros could do something he couldn't. So the war began. It was a war of creation against destruction, of two equal forces trapped in a conflict that could last forever—just like the Maelstrom that raged above them. The Nameless One, maybe learning just a bit from Apeiros, eventually came up with a solution. He cheated. He called to the nothing for help.

  "He opened up the door to the nothing, and let the nothing in to eat the morsels Apeiros made. To a great spirit like the nothing, even Apeiros' power was hardly a moment's problem. So it looked like the Nameless One would win after all.

  "But Apeiros was smart, too. She created something —but not just another thing to be destroyed. She created a whole new place, a new space that wasn't the same nothing space she and the Nameless One lived in. Oh, she had the help of the everything, but sometimes everybody needs some help. Together, Apeiros and the everything left to live in the new place, leaving the Nameless One alone with the nothing. And the nothing was still hungry.

  "Now the Nameless One was in a terrible fix. If it didn't find things for the nothing to eat, the nothing would eat him! Try as he might, though, the Nameless One couldn't find where Apeiros and the everything had gone. But he could sense them. And he sensed that somehow Apeiros had released all of the everything so that whole universes were springing into being.

  "The Nameless One, using what possibilities remained floating around him and what little he had learned from Apeiros, fashioned bundles of power and threw them in all directions. These bundles were full of destructive urges, and they had intelligence, too. They flew and flew, finally landing on worlds where people could find them. People like Kurst's Gaunt Man. And when enough of these bundles cause enough destruction, then the Nameless One will come running, hoping to finally catch Apeiros or the everything."

  "And where the Nameless One goes, can the Void be farbehind?" Kurst finished. Then he added, "Frightening stuff — if you believe it."

  Djil pointed at the Heart of Coyote, which Bryce discovered resting in his hands. He must have taken it out of the pack during the story, but for the life of him he couldn't remember doing so.

  "Belief is a funny thing, Kurst," the shaman said. "But do you know what that silly blue and red stone is? It's belief made solid. It's a piece of the everything."

  95

  James Monroe walked across the tarmac toward the motor pool on the far side of the compound. He needed to find transportation to one of the big cities. San Bernadino, maybe. Or even Los Angeles. Then he could get on with his quest. Excitement coursed through his body; with each step he was closer to reaching Tolwyn.

  He heard the approaching helicopter before he saw it. The low, steady beat of the spinning rotor blades built slowly at first, getting louder until the craft finally appeared over the buildings across the compound.

  Monroe watched as it rocked back and forth erratically, dropping its blades dangerously close to one of the buildings as it tilted to one side.

  "What's wrong with that pilot?" he muttered. "He can't fly worth a damn."

  The helicopter set down roughly, landing with an audible crash that bent the undercarriage. Before Monroe could decide whether the pilot was crazy, reckless, or in trouble, he saw a splash of red splatter across the inside of the windshield.

  "Good God!" he screamed in surprise, and started off at a run toward the helicopter.

  Monroe made his way around to the door of the large transport. Each window he passed was marred by dripping red splattered upon the inside of the glass. He reached the door, but found that it was already swinging open. The doctor stepped back, and something inside him screamed "run away!" He just stood there, however. This moment was important. He knew it was! And if he survived, there would be power as a reward for his bravery.

  The door completed its swing, revealing the dark opening into the belly of the chopper. Monroe swallowed, trying to ignore the cold chill running down his spine. A form appeared in the darkness. At first it
was indistinct, nothing more than a huge shadow moving within the deeper shadows. Then it stepped into the diffused light of the ash-filled day, and Monroe gasped.

  The man that emerged from the helicopter was close to seven feet tall and as wide as two men. He had a wild look about him, crazy eyes that reminded Monroe of the gray cat's eyes.

  A hunter's eyes.

  He held his hands at his sides, bent like claws. Red covered those large hands, staining them, painting them all the way up to his elbows. The doctor identified the liquid immediately. He had seen enough of it over the years. It was blood. And worse, the bright crimson also stained the man's lips and mouth. The man stepped closer, and it took every ounce of willpower Monroe could muster to keep himself from bolting like a rabbit before a wolf.