Mindwar

by Andrew Klavan

  “You!” Reza breathed the word with fury. And then he snarled, the disdain nearly dripping from his lips: “The American.”

  “My name is Rick Dial,” said Rick, and he drew Mariel’s blade. “And I’m here to destroy this place.”

  The demon’s face contorted with anger, yet he managed to nod with a measure of respect. “You must be a man of great spirit. You are the first to learn to change shape like that. I congratulate you.” He even gave a courtly little bow. Then he said, “I am Reza. And I’m going to kill you.”

  And without another word, he attacked.

  Rick nearly died in that first assault. It was so quick, he could barely react in time to defend himself.

  Reza dove at him out of the air—and, as he dove, the claws of his right hand extended into razor-sharp blades. His long, thin, flexible arm snapped like a whip. The claws snaked toward Rick’s head with incredible speed and violence.

  Reflexively, Rick threw up his sword and ducked, off-balance. Reza’s claws struck Mariel’s blade hard. The impact sent Rick sprawling. He stumbled over his own feet, tumbled down onto his side, rolling across the narrow walkway until he hit the walkway’s rail. Beside him, above him, below him, the generator’s enormous wheel turned and flashed with energy bolts, drawing in the purple lightning from the energy pods below and shooting it forth again into the circuits of the fortress.

  Reza came after Rick where he lay. The demon landed on the walkway, drew back his arm to slash again.

  Rick kicked out, hitting the creature in one of his elongated legs. His foot caught Reza squarely on the knee and Reza’s leg buckled. To keep his balance, the demon had to flap his wings and lift up. He had to draw back before he could strike again. That gave Rick the time he needed to scramble to his feet.

  But that was all the time he had. Reza renewed his attack. His arm whipped—his claws flashed—again and again in rapid succession. Backing up along the walkway, Rick turned his sword this way and that, catching the claws bare inches from his face and body, feeling the vicious steel tips brushing past his cheeks.

  Panic began to flood through his nerve endings. Reza was a master fighter. His whipping blows came on so fast and furious that Rick didn’t have time to strike back. If this kept up, he’d wear out, slow down. Then Reza would move in and cut him to pieces. He had to get away, gather his strength, gather his thoughts . . .

  But Reza kept pressing in on him. The air whistled and snapped as he struck again with whip-like speed. There was a clash of claws on blade—and then another and another. Rick backed away . . . backed away . . . blocking . . . looking for a chance to deliver a strike of his own.

  There was no chance. Reza moved in closer, struck again—then again—forehand, backhand. Blindingly quick. One blow got past Rick’s defenses but by good fortune struck only his breastplate. Still, it sent a jolt through his body and a clang through the air that warned of worse to come.

  Rick leapt back, but the claws slashed again and this time sliced across a vulnerable spot on his forearm. He cried out as the steel tips tore through his skin, sending trails of blood spitting into the air. The thin cuts on his arm were like lines of fire burned into his flesh.

  Rick stumbled on the walkway. The great generator wheel turned above and below him. The purple lightning flashed everywhere.

  Reza saw his moment and charged in. Off-balance, Rick had no chance to fight him. He had to get away. He grabbed hold of the railing and flung himself over.

  Reza’s claws whipped past him—missing by a hair as Rick went over the rail. Rick held on with one hand, gripping his sword in the other. He dangled over the side, his sword trailing down, its steel blade reflecting the purple flashes that went in and out of the generator wheel.

  Reza didn’t hesitate. He flew over the side of the railing and began to come down after Rick where he hung.

  Rick sheathed his sword—and then let go. He dropped through the sizzling air of the generator pit. His body began to turn helplessly, and he felt his stomach flying up as he fell and fell. He knew the fall might knock him senseless, might even break his legs. But before he struck the bottom, he passed the lower walkway—and with those quick, athlete’s reflexes of his, he managed to grab the railing with one hand, then the other, dangling now from the lower walkway as he had dangled from the walkway above.

  He looked down. The floor of the Generator Room was not that far beneath him. He could make that drop if he had to.

  But right now, he needed a place to stand and fight. Reza was already flying down after him.

  Quickly, Rick hauled himself up and dropped onto the walkway, his metal armor ringing against the walkway’s metal floor. Then he leapt to his feet, drawing Mariel’s sword again as fast as he could.

  And none too soon because there was Reza, flying in the air on the other side of the railing, the big wheel turning behind him, the lightning flashing all around him.

  The demon’s purple face split in a white smile. “Do you understand what’s going to happen now?” he said, shouting over the slow grind and buzzing sizzle of the generator. “Death in the Realm is a fearful thing, Rick Dial. It’s not like ordinary death. It’s worse, much worse. It goes on and on. There’s a slow, slow fade into helplessness. Then an endless agony of decay. Your spirit gets trapped in here, you see. It can’t free itself to go on to the next life. Death in the Realm is death forever. Think about that, Rick. Think about it hard.”

  Rick did think about it. He couldn’t help himself. He knew that what the demon was saying could not be wholly true. Nothing humans make lasts forever. Even the agony of death in the Realm would end when the Realm collapsed and the spirits trapped here were free to move on. But knowing that wasn’t much comfort. He remembered the sight of that poor creature in the spider-snake’s tunnel, his skeletal face and the look of pain in his huge, bright eyes. He remembered the terror that haunted Favian, who knew that one day—one day soon—he would be a creature just like that. And now he, too—Rick—would become such a creature, if Reza finished him off in here. He thought about it, and the thought made him feel weak inside.

  Which, he understood, was exactly what the demon wanted. Fear. Weakness. An expert killer like Reza understood that ninety percent of any battle is won or lost in the mind. In the mind was where Rick had to fight him. He gritted his teeth and forced the terrifying thoughts down inside him. He gripped his sword tighter, lifted it into the air. He remembered Mariel’s courage, how she had given up her own dwindling strength to armor and arm him. He couldn’t let that go to waste.

  He glared at Reza across the shining blade, trying to look braver than he felt.

  “Come and get me,” he said.

  Reza’s smile vanished. He flapped his wings once and shot at Rick through the air like a bullet, snapping his arm, swiping his clawed hand directly at Rick’s face.

  Rick was ready for him. He blocked the strike with his sword. He spun away. He grabbed the railing. He leapt.

  The next moment, he was falling past the great Disperser Wheel, down through the flashing darkness. He hit the floor at the wheel’s base. He bent his knees to absorb the impact, but still had to drop and roll, his armor rattling on the cold stone.

  He leapt up, his sword gripped in his hand. He looked around him. He was in the heart of the machine. The enormous wheel was grinding above him. The air was filled with noise, the mesh of gears, the snap and crackle of electricity. Everywhere, lines of purple power flashed and sizzled—shot into the spinning wheel—then went dark. There were power outlets built into the stone wall, he saw, each with a metal diaphragm. Each diaphragm in its turn would twist open. There would be a faint hum, the smell of ozone, then the purple burst would shoot out for several seconds, fueling the wheel. Then the diaphragm would twist shut.

  Lifting his eyes through the flashing, smoky air, he saw Reza descending after him, the demon’s bat-like wings spread wide to steady his descent. Even in the chaotic atmosphere, Rick could see Reza’s oversized eyes
burning brightly in anticipation. Another moment, and the creature would be on him, slashing at him with those vicious claws.

  Rick’s mind was working fast, his eyes moving everywhere, even as his heart pumped hard with fear. He saw a spiral staircase against one wall. It led up to the walkways and to the door above, but if he tried to climb it now, if he even tried to reach it, Reza would cut him down. There was no other way out of here, no more railings to jump off, no more quick routes of escape, no place left to run. Rick would have to stand his ground and do battle with the demon. One way or another, this would be the end of it.

  He didn’t have much hope. Reza was just much better at this killing game than he was. Plus he was exhausted. Mariel’s blade was growing heavy in his hand. His lungs were pumping and his muscles growing weak with both weariness and fear.

  But even as his shoulders sagged, he felt the hilt of the sword pulse against his palm. He heard Mariel’s voice speaking in his mind:

  You’re going to be afraid, but if you surrender to your fear, you’re lost. You might despair, but if you give in to your despair, they’ll destroy you. Remember, your emotions are only emotions. Live in your spirit, Rick, however you feel. Live in your spirit and you can defeat them.

  He tried. Focusing his thoughts, he tried to leave his weariness and fear behind him. He tried to enter into the clean, cool, shining place of his spirit, to send the power of Mariel’s blade flowing down into the deepest part of himself. For a moment, he could almost feel it, could almost feel himself becoming one with the shining steel . . .

  And a fresh thought came into his mind, as if someone had whispered to him: a new idea.

  At the same moment, Reza gave a wild shout and dropped like Lucifer out of heaven. He struck at Rick’s head with incredible speed. A powerful flash lit his bright eyes and glinted off his whipping claws.

  Rick moved as fast as he could, spinning gracefully, swinging his sword. He could feel the power of his spirit coursing all through him. He could feel himself in full control of his body, the way he used to feel when he was on the football field.

  The two warriors came clashing together one last time. Reza snarled and slashed with his claws. Rick spun and blocked him—backing away toward the nearest of the power outlets. The wheel turned above them, sending out its flashes of lightning. The purple flashes bathed Mariel’s blade and Reza’s claws as they struck together, sending up fresh sparks of their own.

  The two warriors separated for only a second as Reza gathered himself for the final strike.

  Down by Rick’s leg, the power outlet hummed. Its diaphragm twisted, getting ready to open. There was the smell of ozone. A sizzle as the energy built to fire. It was going to flash.

  This was what Rick was looking for. He knew it had better work or else he was done.

  Reza attacked. The demon claws drew back, ready for the killing strike. At the same instant, the air went purple and a bolt of electricity shot out of the outlet toward the Disperser Wheel.

  Rick lowered his sword into the bolt.

  The purple lightning struck Mariel’s blade. The blade glowed bright as the blast hit it, but the hilt and handle blocked the flow, protecting Rick’s hands where they were wrapped around Mariel’s image. With a great breathless snap, the lightning ricocheted off the blade in a steady stream. Rick adjusted the angle of the sword and sent the blast directly into the onrushing demon. The lightning struck Reza just as he was about to deliver Rick’s deathblow. It hit him smack in the center of his forehead.

  Reza’s mouth went wide in surprise as he was sent flying backward through the air. The creature’s thin, whip-like arms flew out as he tumbled wildly across the room. He landed hard on his back, his wings crushed beneath him.

  Rick did not hesitate. With a roaring battle cry, he rushed across the space between them. The big wheel turned overhead, its engine grinding. The lightning flashed everywhere. The air filled with smoke. An instant later, Rick was standing over the dazed demon where he lay. He raised his sword.

  Reza’s huge, yellow eyes stared at the death that hung above him. He was all hatred in that moment, all hatred and rage. He cried out, “No!” not because he was afraid of dying but because it infuriated him to be defeated by this American intruder. The hatred was like a fire inside him.

  If Rick had had a qualm about killing something so much like a human being, it left him now. He could see Reza’s heart in his eyes and he knew: whatever soul this creature had been given had been withered to nothing, strangled by evil as by a vine. God might forgive Reza—God was God—but there was no place for a demon in the world of men.

  Rick drove the sword home. Reza’s dying scream was hellish. It seemed to fill the room, to wipe out every other sound, to grow hollow and huge as if echoing from the furthest canyons of damnation. The winged, purple body flashed and crackled with electricity—but it did not vanish as the alligator’s had. Instead, it shrank and shriveled around the point of Rick’s sword as if all the fluid were draining out of it, leaving nothing but a shrunken husk. Only the eyes remained huge, staring in agony and terror, staring up from the dead shell of a thing that lay at Rick’s feet.

  Rick remembered that stare. He had seen it in the spider-snake’s tunnel, seen it in the eyes of that poor creature buried in the niche, wrapped in the web. Seeing it again in Reza’s eyes—well, it was awful. He drew out his sword and turned away.

  He glanced down at his palm. His heart sank. His time was almost gone—under three minutes left! If he did not leave the Realm soon, his mind would start to come apart again. He, too, would die in here, trapped, staring, decaying. He had to move, had to find the exit, reach the extraction point—now.

  But he couldn’t. Not yet. Upstairs, in that domed room, Kurodar held his father captive, was taking his plane . . . who knew where? It didn’t matter. Wherever it was, it was where his dad would die.

  Rick could not leave the Realm until his father was free.

  He looked around him. He saw a control panel against the far wall, lights blinking on it, gears turning behind glass. This was the center of the Disperser Wheel’s mechanism. He rushed for it. A lightning flash cut off his path. He stood back, shielding his eyes with a raised hand as the power sparked and danced into the big wheel.

  Then the flash ended and Rick ran forward again—but another aperture in the floor opened. There was another hum, the smell of ozone. It was about to flash again. At this rate, his time would run out before he could reach the control panel.

  He looked to the aperture. He saw the flash building. He lowered his sword.

  The lightning flashed and hit Mariel’s blade, bouncing off it, away from the wheel. Once more, Rick turned the surface of the blade, aiming the reflected electricity at the generator panel this time.

  The lightning struck the control panel. The lights flashed rapidly. The inner mechanism smoked. Then the whole thing went dark.

  All the lightning died at once. The electricity went off. The great wheel ground to a shuddering halt. The deep pit of the Generator Room was plunged into near blackness, covered in thick, smothering smoke. The engine of the fortress was dead.

  I did it! Rick thought breathlessly.

  Then the control panel exploded.

  For Kurodar, it felt like dying. One moment, he was all power, his mind spread into the controls of seven jet planes plus the Traveler’s U28-A. Thousands of lives were his to destroy, an entire city at his mercy, and the only man who could possibly outthink him—the Traveler—was at his command.

  The next moment, the power in the fortress went out, and he lost his grip on all of it, on everything. He began to slip back into himself, the disembodied mind tumbling and tumbling down into that hunched ugly little body hidden in the basement of its island fortress, wired into its machines and . . .

  . . . Kurodar screamed. The sound filled the airplane—a cry so loud it seemed to blow Victor One back in his seat. Leila Kent covered her ears with her hands. The Traveler and all the others f
linched and recoiled as if trying to escape the noise.

  Something had happened. Something had changed.

  The scream faded. It grew dim. It died.

  And then, suddenly, the plane’s engine died as well.

  In an eerie new silence, the U28-A keeled over slowly like a sinking ship. It went nose down. Its right wing lifted and turned over. The plane began to spin, falling faster and faster toward the earth.

  Leila cried out once. Jonathan Mars lifted his arms uselessly, as if he could protect himself from what was about to happen. Bravo Niner and Echo Eight braced themselves, their faces grim and resigned. The Traveler’s lips moved silently as he prayed.

  Then, there was a weirdly soft sound, like a man coughing. Quietly, the engine started again. The propeller took on speed. For another moment, the plane kept falling out of the sky. But Victor One could feel the power surging into it again. The spin stopped and the wings leveled. There was another long, breathless second.

  Then the plane’s nose lifted. The U28-A straightened.

  A new voice came over the loudspeaker.

  “This is the pilot. We have the plane again. It’s back under our control.”

  Slowly, the plane turned upward toward the open air. The U28-A began to rise.

  The passengers looked at one another. Leila Kent’s elegant face was streaked with mascara and tears, but through the tears, she began laughing. Bravo Niner and Echo Eight were grinning, too. Even Jonathan Mars smiled.

  Victor One turned to the Traveler—to Dr. Lawrence Dial. For the first time, he saw real passion in the absentminded professor’s face. The mild eyes behind his glasses were brighter than the bodyguard had ever seen them. The professor lifted a fist in front of him and shook it at Victor One in triumph.

  “Rick did that,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “That’s my son. He’s beaten them!”

  Not far away, in the glassed-in tower that housed the GTD Terminal Radar Approach Control Facility, the calls began to flood the controllers’ headsets. Controller William Lasenby heard the first one: