torg 03- The Nightmare Dream

by Jonatha Ariadne Caspian

  screamed.

  "What are you doing to me?" he shouted, hysteria creeping into his voice. "Let go!"

  The mirror held him fast.

  It was draining him, taking vital energy from him. He thought of Sabathine and their time together. While he enjoyed the vampyre's company, he was never truly comfortable, for in the back of his mind he could not stop the image of her red lips kissing his neck, of her pure white fangs breaking his flesh, of the sucking sounds, from invading his thoughts. But none of those images became real. Sabathine controlled herself. He had made it through a night with a vampyre, his life intact. It did not seem fair that he would now lose it to a vampyric mirror.

  "No!" Thratchen raged, gathering his will to use against his captor. The crack was almost gone now, retracing its way back to the place his fist had battered. "Release me!"

  With a final effort, Thratchen pulled his hands free. He felt the wood let go, allowing his fingers to slip out with only a soft plop. The mirror, still clouded over, was whole again, unmarred. And though he knew some part of himself had been taken, he felt that no lasting damage had been done to him.

  "Wicked," he said again, focusing his will into the command, "let us try that again. Reveal to me Kurst!"

  The surface shimmered, rippling like the surface of a still pond after a pebble had struck it. When it again calmed, Thratchen was looking at Kurst.

  The hunter was riding in a motorized vehicle. It was one of the primitive wheeled transports used by the Earthers. He was with three others. One was Decker, who showed no lingering damage after his long ordeal with the rune staves. The others Thratchen did not know. From their surroundings, he guessed they were in the Living Land. He reached out with his mind, projecting a question into the mirror.

  "Who are you, Kurst?" he asked. "Who are you?"

  The hunter looked up, staring directly into Thratchen's eyes across the distance of the mirror. It was disconcerting, as though Kurst was aware of this intrusion, able to watch his watcher. That was impossible, Thratchen told himself. Kurst did not possess such powers, no matter what racial tag he claimed.

  The mirror shimmered again, and Kurst was gone.

  "No!" Thratchen shouted. "Bring him back!" His mind reached into the mirror, probing, searching for the connection back to Kurst. As he searched this unfamiliar place, Thratchen felt the touch of another image. Tentatively, he touched back, trying to determine if it was Kurst or some other agent the mirror was attuned to. As he made contact, the techno-demon decided it wasn't Kurst. There was too much darkness in this image, and a disconcerting slice of madness.

  The mirror's surface rippled, swirled, and the image that Thratchen found took shape. It was the image of a man, as seen through a blood-red haze. The man was large, with long blond hair. A tattoo adorned one forearm. It was a picture of a cobra, coiled and ready to strike. He wore heavy, metal-toed work boots, and he carried a long knife with a serrated edge.

  "Malcolm Kane," Thratchen gasped, remembering when he interrupted the Gaunt Man in the tower room. The High Lord had been looking at the mirror, and he had said the name of his Earther servant. But Kane was dead! The stormers had killed him in the Grand Canyon! Or had they? Thratchen remembered that the body was not recovered.

  The techno-demon watched the scene in the mirror. In it, Kane was standing over a woman. Wet crimson stained his knife, his hand. He had murdered, and Thratchen knew it was not the first time. Or the last. He studied the image, probing for other information. Then he had it.

  "He is in Orrorsh realm," Thratchen gasped. Why had the man come here? "To find the Gaunt Man," he realized as understanding dawned.

  With a wave of his hand, the mirror returned to normal. He was getting the hang of this, Thratchen decided. He would come back to it later to learn what other uses the mirror had. Right now he had to find Cheltenham and send him after Kane before the man got too close. It would not do to have him find the Gaunt Man.

  No, it would not do at all.

  52

  Malcolm Kane examined his masterpiece. The cut was exquisite, better even than what the master artists he had learned from could produce. He studied the pattern the blood made on the still-warm body and the surrounding area, looking for the answers he sought. There were clues there, hints within crimson designs, but no solid, all-encompassing knowledge to satisfy his craving.

  He leaned over the body and gazed into the dead woman's eyes. This was the sixth pair of eyes he had gazed into since arriving in Singapore, and the fading light of life teased him with its secrets, but gave up precious few revelations. Perhaps his next masterpiece would be the one.

  He cleaned off his blade and returned it to the sheath hidden beneath his pants leg. Then, without another look at the dead woman, Kane left the alley and joined the crowds.

  He had come to Singapore in search of the Gaunt Man. The man owed him, and Kane meant to collect. He remembered how the Gaunt Man had come into his mind back in the United States. He had praised Kane's use of the art, and promised to reward him. He promised him a Darkness Device. Kane did not know what a Darkness Device was, but the images its name conjured fascinated him. He did know that it was an item of great power, and through it he could control this world.

  If not for the priest and his group, Kane would already have the Darkness Device. He met the priest in New Jersey, on the night of his initiation into the art. At the Gaunt Man's urging, he followed them across the country, finally meeting them in the Grand Canyon for the confrontation he had longed for. But things did not go as Kane had planned. The priest and his companions were stronger than he thought, and they defeated the small army he had put together.

  Kane reached up and touched his face, tracing his fingers along the scar. It, like his damned memories, was a reminder of the events that haunted him. The woman with the priest had cut him, leaving her mark upon him. The woman named Tolwyn.

  He was losing the fight, he remembered, but the battle wasn't over. He would have won out, but the Gaunt Man had taken away his chance — and his prize. The Gaunt Man sent a dragon to the group, and it brought an offer. It promised them the Darkness Device — Kane's Darkness Device — if they would end their quest and join the Gaunt Man. It was unfair, and Kane hated unfairness.

  So Kane left them, and began his quest to find the Gaunt Man. He had left a trail of bodies behind him, masterpieces of murder for the appreciative to fawn over — and everyone else to fear. Each use of the art brought him closer to his goal, for in the patterns of blood he saw pieces of a map that only he could follow. They had led him here, to Singapore, and he knew that he was very close to his destination.

  "Malcolm Kane?" a man asked.

  The man was dressed in an old-fashioned suit, and appeared to be in his early forties. He was standing in a shadowy doorway, waiting for Kane to respond.

  "I'm Kane," he said.

  "I am Lord Cheltenham, and I have orders for you from the Gaunt Man," the man said, remaining in the shadows, keeping his distance.

  "Go ahead," Kane told him, trying not to show anger. How dare the Gaunt Man presume to order him! Perhaps in the past, when they still had an agreement, orders would have been tolerated, even welcomed. Now they were simply laughable.

  "You are to come with me to see a man named Kibos, a sorcerer in the Gaunt Man's employ," Cheltenham explained. "Aid Kibos in his work, and then the Gaunt Man will grant you an audience."

  "In person?" Kane asked.

  "Of course," Cheltenham answered.

  "Will this help me in my art?"

  "I am certain."

  "Then take me to this Kibos," Kane demanded, already planning how he would learn what he could from the sorcerer, then use that knowledge to force the Gaunt Man to give him the Darkness Device.

  Then the power would be his.

  53

  Angus Cage stood in a small alcove off of the main audience chamber. The chamber was full of people. They were there to hear the words of their Pharaoh, to petition him fo
r help or justice, and to take away whatever knowledge he deemed fit to share with the masses. Cage didn't know how, but Mobius had captivated these people. He had charmed their reality away, and in its place he set up his own twisted version of Terra on this world called Earth.

  With Cage was the Guardian, another of the heroes from Terra who came to Earth to end Mobius' reign of villainy. The Guardian had left his mask and dark coat elsewhere, but he carried his trademarked, diamond-tipped cane.

  "Are you sure we're safe here?" the Guardian asked, falling silent as a young couple walked past on their way to the throne.

  "As safe as anywhere. This is the only place I could think of," Cage shrugged. "It's the only part of the palace you could get into without risking a break in, and it allows me to stay in character."

  The Guardian smiled. "Yes, how does it feel to pour wine for Mobius? Do you have to peel his grapes, too?"

  Cage said nothing, ignoring the barbs. There was too little time remaining to waste it exchanging meaningless banter. He quickly explained what he had overheard, leaving out no details of the conversation between Mobius and his underlings.

  When he was finished, the Guardian asked, "And you have no idea who this Gaunt Man is?"

  "Not a clue," Cage admitted. "I hope Frest can make sense of all this."

  In the chamber beyond, Mobius was finishing his address. Soon the crowd would be breaking up. The Guardian clasped Cage's hand. "I should leave now, while everyone's attention is still on Mobius."

  Cage nodded.

  "Good luck, Angus," the Guardian added as he turned to go. "Don't take any unnecessary chances. Mobius is dangerous, and apparently far more powerful than we ever imagined. Don't try to take him down by yourself."

  "You just don't want to be left out of the action," Cage laughed.

  "That, too," the Guardian admitted, and then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd.

  Cage looked around to see if anyone had noticed them, but the crowd was caught up in Mobius' words. He was an excellent speaker, Cage knew, persuasive and charming when he wasn't cackling insanely. He started to make his way out of the alcove when the scent in the air finally registered. He breathed deep, letting the smell fill his lungs. It was the fragrance of Clemeta's perfume. He looked again, but he did not see her anywhere. Could he be imagining it? Was he that infatuated with the woman that he smelled her scent on every breeze?

  He walked forward, stepping out of the alcove. He only took a few steps when he stopped short. There, on the stone floor beneath his sandaled foot, was Clemeta's silk scarf.

  54

  Andrew Jackson Decker studied the map with his flashlight, realizing that the best he could do was make a guess as to where they were. He figured they were still in the national park lands, maybe as far north as Sequoia National Park. The mist and the overgrown roads offered few clues though, and Kurst was following his own senses.

  "There it is," Kurst said, pointing into the mist.

  Decker and the others strained to see, but the mist obscured their vision. Then it was before them, emerging from the fog as Julie drove the jeep closer. It was an arch, like the one in St. Louis, rising from the ground and like an obscene bean stalk, or a bridge. It was definitely living, this bridge, a green-clothed, entwined, multi-trunked monstrosity that thrust into the ash-drifted sky.

  "How far?" Decker asked.

  "Soon," was Kurst's answer.

  Decker thought about climbing up the vine bridge into another world. The plan was a reality now, in a way it could not have manifested before he had seen the bridge.

  "Fe fie fo fum," Decker said, recalling a fairy tale from his youth.

  Nobody laughed, and Kurst wore a look of puzzlement at the strange words.

  "Fe fie fo fum?" Kurst asked. "Are those words of power?"

  Julie began to laugh then, and Paragon too. Decker ignored them all, staring intently at the fast-approaching bridge to Takta Ker.

  55

  Decker, Julie, Kurst and Paragon said goodbye to the jeep and shouldered as much of their supplies as they could. The jungle bridge loomed before them, an open invitation to another world.

  "It will resist you," Kurst explained. "The bridges are for those from its corresponding reality. Others have a harder time of it."

  "What could be harder than climbing that thing?" Julie asked. "It looks as dangerous as trying to climb a deadfall. What am I saying! It looks as dangerous as trying to climb a million deadfalls!"

  "Those from Baruk Kaah's world would find the bridge solid beneath their feet," Kurst explained. "Gaps would close as they passed, thorns would move aside. But for us, every step will be a battle. The bridge between realities is a hard bridge to cross."

  "Then let's get started," Ace said.

  Almost, Julie thought, it was like climbing a huge gnarled apple tree. There was smooth bark in some places, roped and whorled growths in others, and branches overshadowed her. At times her face was nose to trunk, and she was hanging on for dear life. At others she stood for long moments, scanning for handholds to grasp so that she could pull herself another yard along. Kurst climbed in front of her, Decker and Paragon behind, moving in tight sequence.

  As soon as they stepped onto the bridge, dense green foliage closed in around them, cutting off their view of the land below. Kurst took care to stay only a few holds ahead of Julie, but his foot ascending to the next branch looked like it was moving yards away instead of simply inches. When she looked back for Ace he seemed to lag farther and farther behind. He had taken to reassuring her by grasping her ankle every several steps, and even though he seemed too far behind to reach her, he always did.

  "Why is the distance distorted?" she asked Kurst.

  "As one reality curves away to another, time and distance become almost meaningless," Kurst said. "I do not understand it myself, but without this feature it would take more than our lifetimes to walk across a

  maelstrom bridge."

  Her pack straps cut achingly into her shoulders as she climbed. It had taken some time to get used to the height and bulk of it, and she struggled to keep it from slamming into the undersides of tree limbs as she moved upward.

  "Where are the edeinos?" Decker called from below.

  Kurst shrugged. "They only use the bridge to transport large numbers quickly. These are not constantly used thoroughfares like your highways. I assume all of the edeinos in the area are at the storm front, fighting your soldiers."

  They climbed in silence after that, saving their strength for the effort. Soon they reached the top, and the dense foliage parted to let in the fog-filtered light of Takta Ker's sun. Julie and Paragon dropped to the ground, exhausted from the climb. But Kurst remained standing, alert for any dangers. Decker, meanwhile, opened the packs that contained the explosives and timer. He set the charge at the mouth of the bridge and pressed a switch.

  Julie saw that a digital readout had flared to life, counting down numbers with precise efficiency.

  "That does it," Ace said, gathering his gear. "We've got ten minutes to get clear and find cover."

  "Terrific," Julie moaned, but she got to her feet and followed the others into the new world.

  56

  Quin Sebastian ordered the pilot to make a third pass of the area indicated on the map. Time was running out, and if they didn't find the stelae's hiding place soon, the edeinos' primitive reality would wash over the battlefield to the north. When that happened, the soldiers would be cut off from their weapons and easily slaughtered by the lizard warriors.

  "There," Tal Tu said, pointing to a clump of trees on a small hill.

  Quin scanned the site, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "How can you tell?" he asked the edeinos.

  "The restan is there."

  Restan. It was an edeinos term. As Quin understood it, a restan was a squad of edeinos charged with the placement and protection of stelae. He saw nothing below to indicate the presence of a restan, but he heeded Tal Tu's advice.

  "Tak
e us down," he ordered the pilot.

  The helicopter came to rest in a clearing some hundred meters from the hill. Sebastian leaped out, landing softly in the tall grass. He carried an uzi, a grenade belt, and a .357 Desert Eagle. Tal Tu landed beside him, carrying nothing more than a tool belt which was slung across his chest.

  Two other soldiers followed behind them, making up the remainder of Quin's squad. Major Covent wanted him to take more men, but he didn't want more than he could handle just in case another Delphi agent was hidden in the-mix. They spread out, racing toward the hill with heads down and guns drawn.

  Quin and the others hit the ground at the base of the hill, looking for any signs of resistance. Nothing moved. He glanced at the edeinos hunched down beside him.

  "Tal Tu?" he asked.

  "They are here, Quin," the edeinos responded.

  "Okay, move out," Quin called, "but watch yourselves."

  The first soldier, not seeing anything that looked even remotely dangerous, ran forward. He was fast, and he wanted to reach the top of the hill before the others. He almost made it, too, when the ground exploded.

  Shards of bone and bits of plant matter burst info the air, burying themselves deeply in the surprised soldier. He landed hard, rolled once, and lay still.

  "A pain sack," Tal Tu said. "I should have warned you."

  "What else haven't you told us?" Quin yelled, suddenly fearful that Tal Tu was a traitor.

  Before the edeinos could answer, the second soldier screamed. Flailing tentacles dropped from a tree above him, wrapping around his neck and limbs. Quin fired two bursts from his uzi, aiming for the foliage that the tentacles emerged from. A moment after the machinegun fire cut through the leaves and branches, a body fell to the ground.

  Sebastian ran over to the soldier and helped him pull free of the lifeless tentacles. Once he assured himself that the man was all right, Quin nudged the fallen body with the toe of his boot. It was a starfished-shaped creature with a hole in the center of its five radiating arms. The tentacles were attached to its underside. He gave it another nudge, making sure it was dead.