torg 01 - Storm Knights

by Bill Slavicsek

  However, Mara's readings suggested that the similarity was looking back. She took her new findings to the General Council, and they, in turn, took them to the World Council.

  This time they listened to Dr. Hachi. Cautiously, the planet Kadandra prepared to meet a new reality. While the World Council hoped that the meeting would be friendly, they insisted on also being ready for any hostilities. That saved Kadandra.

  The war that followed lasted only three months. The alien reality broke through the boundary and attached strange bridges to Kadandra. Then, from the other side of those bridges, came the stuff of Kadandra's nightmares.

  turned toward him. It held his flashlight in its other hand, playing the beam onto Alder's face.

  The woman's roar reminded the officer of the remaining danger, but she was upon him before he could react. Her leap knocked them both to the floor as she attempted to bite and claw him. The officer struggled, but it was all he could do to keep her teeth and nails away from his neck and face. She was strong, he had to admit. Maybe she was on some kind of new drug.

  Her left hand broke free of Alder's grip, and she slashed out with dirt-caked fingernails. They dug into his right cheek, drawing deep gashes of red across his face. Then, as quickly as she attacked, she was gone. The officer looked up as the lizard man smashed her with his heavy forearm. She collapsed without so much as a sound of protest.

  The first brute appeared to have recovered somewhat, but the fight was out of him. He ran into the street, leaving his companions behind.

  Alder and the lizard man regarded each other warily, curiously. The lizard examined the flashlight for a moment, reverently turning it over in its massive claws. Then it extended it to Alder.

  The officer tried to get a sense of the creature's intentions, but he had no common experience to judge this by. So he took the light as it was offered, nodding a thank you.

  "Tal Tu," the lizard man said. Then it repeated it, thumping its chest.

  That must be its name, Alder thought. No, not it. He, he guessed.

  "Rick Alder," the officer said, thumping his chest just as Tal Tu had. "You saved my life. Thank you."

  The gray cat rubbed up against Alder's leg. He bent down and lifted the cat, gently scratching it behind the ears.

  "You're not like the others, are you Tal Tu?" Alder asked, not expecting an answer. But Tal Tu provided him with one anyway.

  The lizard reached out and petted the cat.

  14

  The trek through the subway passed for Bryce as a dreamy, detached memory. After leading them down onto the tracks, Coyote had Rat douse the torch. Immediately Bryce missed the fluttering, smoky light. The uniform blackness was unending and quiet. After a failed attempt at small talk by the priest, the three fell silent. So Bryce concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other, on keeping a hand on Coyote's shoulder, on listening to Rat's cracking gum.

  Bryce lost track of time. It seemed as though the only reality in the dark tunnels was the pain in his legs and the leather jacket he held to firmly. His mind turned to other things. He listed his experiences of the past two days, the creatures he had seen, reconstructing events as he understood them.

  Could these be the Last Days? Certainly there were similarities between what he saw and what John described in the Book of Revelation. But were those lizards some type of demon? Was the Judgment Day at hand?

  The priest tried to recall specific passages, tried to form the words in his mind. But for once his memory failed him. The words would not come. He tried to pray, but that, too, failed to calm him.

  Coyote halted abruptly. Bryce banged into him, unaware of the boy's intentions. Then the youth was gone.

  "Coyote!" Bryce called, suddenly very afraid of being left in the dark by himself.

  "Cool it, Father," whispered Rat as he grasped Bryce's hand. "We've reached Lexington Avenue and Coyote just wants to check out the station before we keep going."

  Lexington Avenue. The first stop in Manhattan on the E and F lines, Bryce thought. He hefted the familiar weight of his mass kit, then leaned against a pillar to wait.

  Moments passed. Then Bryce said, "Why are you down here, Rat?"

  "Same reason as you, man," he said quietly, keeping his voice low.

  "But what about your parents?"

  "Don't got none. I mean, we don't got none no more. We're orphans, man. We got only each other, but we take care of ourselves real good."

  "We sure do," Coyote said, his voice reaching out of the darkness. "The station's clear, preacher man. We can go on."

  "What were you looking for, Coyote?"

  "Gangs, lizards, winos ... you name it man, it might be down here."

  "Yeah," Rat said, "if you're asleep, they might bite your ass."

  Bryce wasn't sure, but he thought he saw Rat smile in the darkness.

  Then they moved on.

  15

  Sergeant Dykstra couldn't get his radio to work. He also couldn't get his jeep to start or his compass to tell him which way was north. In fact, nothing seemed to be working.

  "Damn," he said, throwing the compass in anger. "What do we do now?"

  Corporal Wilson slammed the jeep's hood and shrugged. "Beats me. You're in charge of this operation."

  Yeah, he thought, what a privilege.

  They had been on practice maneuvers when the call came through. The two of them had been given a jeep and a radio, then told to range ahead to reconnoiter the land while Alpha Company waited to hook up with

  Bravo Company, another National Guard unit from further south. Who were they kidding, anyway? The whole lot of them were nothing but a bunch of weekend warriors from Buffalo and Erie. But until the army could get its act together, it was up to the National Guard to scope out the situation.

  "You'd think that they could have found a couple of units closer to New York City," Wilson muttered as he tried the radio again.

  "They tried. But they couldn't reach anyone within three hundred miles of the place. No radio, no telephone, no nothing."

  "Just like us."

  "Yeah. Just like us."

  They were going along well, making good time. They wanted to reach Elmira, on the New York-Pennsylvania border, before it got too dark. But just twenty-five miles out or so, everything shut off. They were stuck, and they couldn't even get word back to their unit.

  "So what do we do, Sarge?"

  "What else can we do? We wait."

  16

  Kurst was controlled chaos in physical form. Not that he appeared wild — but his eyes hinted of savage sport and his sweat smelled of thick forests. If you watched him long enough, you could detect his primal nature. He wore a compact, powerful body around his wildness. Just under six foot, he was definitely muscular, but not bulky.

  He moved with fluid grace, almost lupine in nature. Every silent step appeared to be the one that would set his taunt muscles free, that would send his body springing wildly into the night. But he stayed on track, in control of every movement.

  Thick brown hair fell to just above his jaw line. A warm wind blew his hair back, exposing the tapered tips of his ears. His slightly angled eyes glowed in the dim twilight.

  He paused briefly, unconcerned with the falling rain. Bending down, he scooped up a handful of mud and sniffed it. A step. Another scoop of mud. Then he was off, sprinting silently into the gathering gloom. hidden behind overgrowth, barely perceptible to pas-shadow that was subtly deeper than the shadows around it. He could hear the change in the wind as it blew across the hollow opening. And he could smell the fear of his quarry, drawing him forward.

  Pushing past the overgrowth, the hunter filled the cave mouth. He paused for a moment, reaching out with every sense. The stormer within the cave pulled back, trying to shrink from the hunter's dark form. This world was no different than the countless others, the hunter

  filled the cave mouth. He paused for a moment, reaching out with every sense. The stormer within the cave pulled back, trying to shri
nk from the hunter's dark form. This world was no different than the countless others, the hunter thought. Even those with the power to oppose him and his master were too frightened to fight for their miserable lives. Perhaps that was why the Gaunt Man was destined to succeed in his grand vision.

  Was it not the way of every reality that the stronger take what they need from the weaker? Does not the wolf kill the deer for sustenance? Why shouldn't the Gaunt Man take what he needs from these pathetic beings? It was the way of nature — no matter what world you were on.

  The hunter entered the small cave. The game was over. He just had to finish his move. Then he could return to the keep.

  "Come with me, stormer," Kurst said, using the words of this world that the Gaunt Man had impressed into his mind. "You never had a chance against me. You are the deer, I am the wolf, and the conclusion of our chase was never in doubt."

  Perhaps the hunter had grown careless. Perhaps his confidence had blocked out the messages of his senses. Whatever the reason, he barely reacted in time as the stormer slashed out with a long knife. As it was, the sharp blade had cut through his tunic, leaving a long gash across his chest. He could smell his own blood, feel the heat of it as it oozed from the gash. It wasn't deep, and he had endured worse pain, but it had been a long time since a quarry had drawn any of his blood, let alone first blood. Perhaps there was more to these stormers, after all.

  "So," the hunter growled as he stepped back, out of range of the knife, "the stormer has claws."

  In the darkness of the cave, the hunter could see the wide whiteness of the stormer's eyes. He could see the glint of the silver blade. But more, he could smell the intense emotions that emanated from the man, a combination of fear and excitement and anger. Suddenly, the hunt had become interesting again.

  "I have claws, too, stormer," Kurst explained in a low, menacing voice.

  He advanced, ready to end the game.

  17

  Penn Station was filled with people. Bryce gaped in astonishment as he and the boys climbed up from the subway platform. Flickering torches were everywhere, and groups huddled around fires burning brightly in trash bins. In recent years more and more homeless people had come to sleep in the semi-warmth of this terminal, but never had the priest seen it filled with refugees. There were so many people, but unlike a normal rush hour, no one was hurrying to catch a train or get to work. These people warmed themselves before fires, or paced nervously, or slept upon the tiled floor.

  "Coyote, who are all these people?" asked Rat.

  "Orphans," Coyote whispered. "Rabbits hiding in

  this hole until the lizards go away."

  Bryce and the boys wandered for a time. The priest looked into frightened faces, confused faces. But he had no words of comfort for these people. He could not think of a thing to say.

  The priest recognized the traditional bums easily. This was where they came to escape the streets and the weather. But now they shared their quarters with businessmen in soiled suits, with young mothers and their crying children, with old women and their mewing, barking pets. They shared their benches with teachers, made room in their corners for office workers. Suddenly, because of the dinosaurs, everyone was a little more like everyone else. Bryce wondered why it took disasters to bring the crowds together.

  He noticed a young woman walking aimlessly, carrying a little girl in her arms. The priest watched as she stumbled once, then twice. He reached her just as she stumbled a third time and caught her before she or the little girl could fall. He helped them down, leaning the woman against a wall.

  "Are you all right, miss?" Bryce asked. Coyote and Rat stood behind him, unsure of whether they should stay or go.

  "I just need to rest a bit," the woman said. Then she noticed Bryce's collar. "Thank you, Father."

  "No trouble at all."

  The little girl reached out and touched the priest's nose, pushing her tiny finger into the bulbous flesh. "Are you a priest?" she asked quietly.

  "Yes, I am."

  "I don't go to church."

  "Honey!" the young woman protested, but Bryce waved her off.

  "That's all right. Let me tell you a secret, little girl." Bryce leaned closer, like he was going to share something very important with her. She leaned forward to meet him, resting her tiny head against his bald forehead. "I only go when they make me."

  The little girl laughed, and her mother smiled at the sound.

  "Do you know what's happening, Father? Do you know when the trains will start running again?"

  Bryce shook his head. He had no answer for the young woman, no words of hope he could spare.

  Rat produced a pack of gum from one of his many pockets and offered it to the little girl. She looked at it hungrily, then turned a dubious gaze on Rat.

  "Sugarless?" she asked.

  "Four out of five doctors recommend it," he answered, and she quickly snatched it away.

  Coyote, his eyes darting constantly, tapped Bryce on the shoulder. He pointed toward a bench some twenty feet away. Bryce followed his finger and saw the ragged man sitting there. But he was doing more than just sitting. He was shaking uncontrollably. He stood up, a wild look in his eyes. The ragged man started walking toward Bryce. As he came forward, he reached up and buried his fist in his thick, unkept beard. Then he started to pull on it, and Bryce grimaced at just the thought of the pain. But the ragged man seemed to enjoy it, tugging harder as he approached.

  "I am surrounded by corpses!" he called out, fixing his gaze on the priest. "I am trapped in the land of the dead!"

  Coyote moved to stand in front of Bryce, placing himself between the others and the ragged man.

  "But I have heard Lanala's voice," the ragged man continued as he stopped a few feet from Coyote and Bryce. "I hear the song that the Jakatts sing! They sing of Baruk Kaah! They sing of Life!"

  "What do you want?" Bryce asked, trying to move Coyote aside. But the youth would not budge.

  "I want everything," the ragged man said, his voice growing wilder, more guttural. Bryce noticed that he still tugged on his beard, and the priest could see blood dripping down the ragged man's fist. "I want everything."

  Now the man began to hunch forward, his limbs seeming to re-form as Bryce and Coyote watched. His arms elongated and his legs shortened. Then his face changed. The jaw jutted out and the bridge of his eyes grew thicker, more pronounced.

  "Everything," he repeated, forcing the word through crooked teeth.

  "Run," Coyote ordered without turning his head from the ragged man.

  "But ." Bryce began to argue, but Rat grabbed his arm.

  "Coyote said run, you run," Rat explained, handing the little girl to the priest. Bryce looked at the young woman as she lifted his mass kit. They started to run.

  They had only gone a little ways when Bryce halted. The young woman looked at him, confusion in her eyes, as he set the little girl down in a deserted corner. He turned to the woman, wanting to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. He couldn't quite get his hand to do that, however.

  "You'll be safe here," he assured her, awkwardly dropping his arms to his sides.

  "Where are you going, Father?"

  "Take care of my mass kit," he said, avoiding her question. "And watch out for your little girl."

  Then he ran back the way they had come, back toward Coyote and Rat.

  Bryce arrived to find that a crowd had gathered. Many of them were shouting and carrying on in a way that scared the priest. He pushed through the throng, using more strength than he would have expected to. In the center of the crowd was a small, circular clearing. And within that clearing, the ragged man lunged for Coyote.

  The youth kicked out violently, but the blow seemed to actually amuse the ragged man. He laughed out loud as each punch connected, relishing the sensations that wracked his deformed body.

  Then, quite suddenly and with a speed that caught Coyote off guard, the ragged man's large, hairy hand shot forward. Thick, knobby fingers wrapped
tightly around Coyote's arm, and the larger man lifted the youth off the ground.

  "I bring gift, little dead thing," the ragged man said, struggling with the words. He squeezed his fist closed, and Coyote screamed in pain. "I give you feelings." He squeezed again, and some of those in the crowd screamed along with the youth.

  Rat leaped upon the ragged man then, beating upon his broad back with small fists. But the ragged man simply flexed his bunched muscles, and Rat was tossed to the hard floor. Before he could regain his breath and move, the ragged man had grabbed him as well.

  Bryce, desperately trying to decide what to do, noticed that a man standing near him was leaning on a long metal pipe. The pipe was about three feet long, probably found somewhere back in the subway tunnels. The man was banging the metal onto the floor, beating out an almost-tribal tune in time with the ragged man's violence. Without hesitating, the priest snatched the pipe from the surprised man.

  "Yes, this will do nicely," he said lightly, trying to calm his frazzled nerves.

  The ragged man held the two boys at arms length, smiling savagely over his double catch. "Maybe I will present you as gifts to Lanala, as a sign of my love for the goddess," the ragged man said as he tightened his grip once more.

  "Maybe not," yelled Bryce as he swung the pipe into the ragged man's brutish face. The sound of the impact was awful as bone and flesh gave way to the unyielding metal. The ragged man crashed to the ground, releasing the two teens as he fell.

  Bryce dropped the pipe, disgusted at what he had done. He grabbed both boys and shouted, "Now we run!"

  They did.

  The woman and little girl were gone when Bryce and the boys returned. Only Bryce's black mass kit sat in the otherwise empty corner, alone. He picked it up and held it close.

  "She left, man," said Coyote. "We should be going, too."

  The priest nodded, following Coyote and Rat toward the exit.