The stone seemed to pulse with energy, its beams flashing directly into Scythak's eyes. "Yes, I understand," the hunter replied obediently.
"You will not remember that this is your true mission until you actually see Decker. Until then, you will do exactly as the Gaunt Man has told you. Only when you see Decker will you remember that you must kill him. For every moment that you delay, total disconnection will become more inevitable. You will become transformed to an alien reality. Do you understand?"
Another pulse of energy. "Yes, I understand."
"You will forget that we have spoken, that I have told you anything. All you remember is that I gave you a pendant of Orrorshan reality. Only when you see Decker will the fear flare within you. Then you must kill him. Do you understand?"
The pendant glowed from within. "Yes," Scythak said, "I understand."
The spell complete, Thratchen snatched up the pendant nimbly, cutting off the beams of light. Slowly, the hunter's vision cleared. Scythak stared at Thratchen like a man who has awakened to find something particularly odious in his bed. "If you have something for me, give it here," the weretiger growled.
Thratchen held out the pendant and Scythak grabbed it away. He slipped it over his head, letting the stone fall into the folds of his shirt. "Now get out of my way," Scythak warned. He moved off, down the corridor in the direction he had been going when Thratchen had stopped him. "I have no more time for the likes of you," Scythak called as he walked past. And then he was gone.
Thratchen stepped back into the shadows, smiling broadly. There was still a chance the spell might fail. But if it worked, the Gaunt Man would be deprived of Decker's strength just when he needed it most. Then, when the High Lord was frantically trying to improvise a new solution, Thratchen would strike. If all went well, he would be firmly in control of Orrorsh when Kurst arrived with the women stormers. Just in time for Thratchen to attach them to the machine for his own use.
Yes, Thratchen thought, his schemes were working out very well. Now if Kurst could only keep Mara and Tolwyn alive long enough to reach him, then everything would fall into place.
67
Kurst sat beside Tom O'Malley in the cockpit of the airplane, listening to the hum of the engine. Outside the window, the snow was a frenzy of white that made vision useless. It was like flying inside a snow drift.
"How can you see where you are flying, Tom O'Malley?" asked Kurst.
"I'm flying by instrumentation," Tom answered.
Kurst had no idea what that meant. He decided that further explanation was not necessary, however, just so long as the plane stayed in the air.
"We're over Timor now, Mr. Kurst," Tom explained. "My radar is picking up a major disturbance about three hundred kilometers in front of us. That must be the storm front."
"We'll have to pass through it to reach Borneo," Kurst said.
"We should hit the edge of it in about twenty-five minutes. Then the ride will get pretty rough."
Kurst let his thoughts wander, thinking about everything that had happened thus far. As he replayed scenes in his mind, he looked for anything he might have missed the first time. Any piece of stray information could possibly prove useful at some point. Then his thoughts turned to the upcoming climax in Orrorsh. Would Tolwyn and Mara put up a fight? Yes, he was certain. The others would fight as well. Especially Bryce, who had grown stronger than he or the others realized. But Kurst saw it. And a powerful holy man in Orrorsh could prove troublesome. Only Djil was an unknown quantity. Kurst had no clue as to what the shaman was capable of.
"There it is, Mr. Kurst," Tom said, snapping Kurst out of his pondering.
Before them was a huge wall of swirling cloud, driving sleet, and crackling lightning. It stretched to both sides and as far up as they could see. As they flew closer, great claps of thunder shook the plane violently. But Tom held it steady. He was a good pilot.
"Be prepared to experience some disturbing visions, Tom," Kurst warned. "Reality is not stable on the boundaries between two axiom sets. Ignore what you see and simply fly."
To his credit, Tom O'Malley did not question Kurst. He concentrated instead on holding the airplane steady, on keeping their course true. The wall of storm was on top of them now, its jagged stripes of lightning shining into the cockpit. The harsh light made Tom look corpselike, and Kurst felt a strange sensation of premonition come over him. The feeling saddened him, and he thought that odd.
The plane hit the wall then, jerking wildly as rain and wind engulfed it. Kurst held on to the panel in front of him, forcing his mind to remain calm. If he gave in to his instincts, he would change form. The wolf was not what he needed now — he needed the man.
Outside, rain splattered the windshield. But the rain was not water. It was thick, steaming blood. Kurst let his gaze rest on O'Malley. The pilot ignored the gore dripping down the window. He was fighting with the controls, pulling up on the stick in a valiant effort to keep their altitude. Lightning flashed in front of them, exploding through a nearby cloud. Where the jagged bolt touched, the cloud transformed into silvery batlike things that flew into the windshield as well. Soon they covered the glass, and visual flying was again hampered.
"I'm not picking up any navigational beacons anymore, Kurst," Tom yelled so that the hunter could hear him, raising his voice above the constant thunder that battered the plane. "And I can't see where we're going. All I can do is fly straight and hope there's
nothing too big and heavy somewhere in front of us."
"Perhaps," Kurst called back, "it is better that you cannot see what occurs outside. I have known the shifting realities to drive men mad."
Tom didn't comment. He simply flew as best he knew how. And that was very good indeed. Then, as quickly as it had begun, they were out of the storm. Kurst could tell because the thunder had died off drastically, and the constant pelting of blood-red rain ceased, too. But more, Kurst felt his world's presence like a wash of warm water. Immediately the ever-present tension of holding his own reality in another cosm was gone, and he felt his body and mind relax. He closed his eyes and nearly growled with pleasure.
"We're not out of this yet, Mr. Kurst," Tom warned. "We must have been struck by a stray bolt of lightning. The left engine is on fire and we're losing fuel. I'm going to have to take us down."
Kurst tried to get their bearings by looking out the window. The bat-things and the steaming blood were evaporating within the set reality of Orrorsh, so his line of sight was better. "Can we make it to Borneo, Tom?" he asked.
"I don't know if we'll even have the option to try, Mr. Kurst," Tom said.
Then they were dropping, down through the clouds of black ash, down through the gently falling snow.
Down toward the sea.
68
The army that Baruk Kaah established on the border between the Living Land and Core Earth Sequoia National Forest was like many armies: it contained air elements and ground assault elements.
In other ways, it was very different. Its air element was a boiling cloud of blackness and lightning, where shapes of mad dogs and frothing horses could be seen by those that could stand to look into the heart of it. It also had flying reptiles and twirling starfish-shaped creatures that seemed to hover in the air. Its land groups were lizard men and huge dinosaurs, wild men and women, and terrible giant insects.
Baruk Kaah struggled to maintain order among his people, but it was difficult. The concepts of military units and strategy on a grand scale were alien to their world, and even the High Lord had trouble focusing on such thoughts when his Darkness Device was not aiding him.
He commanded the Wild Hunt to remain above his forces, ready to strike at any Earthers that proved too powerful for his spiritual magic. The gospog had arrived recently, and the gotaks were busy outfitting them with the dead weapons taken from the Earthers. His singers, those especially strong with the living magic of the land, chanted ceaselessly about him, weaving a song of speed and strength that would make them power
ful in battle.
Baruk Kaah took a mighty breath and let it out slowly, savoring the live taste of the air and the promise of seasons to come on this new world. He had healed well after his defeat to the Core Earth hard point, and he felt stronger, more powerful than ever before. The setback his forces suffered when trying to create another dominant zone to the south was temporary at best. This time he would lead the charge himself. This time the land would become his. All he required was a little more time to gather the Jakatts and the gospog. Then they would surge forward, a living army to defeat the dead of Earth.
The High Lord noted the presence of the ravagon, the only one of the three originally sent to him by the Gaunt Man who still remained in his camp. But he could not see the Earth singer Eddie Paragon anywhere. A terrible feeling started to crawl up his knobby spine, making his body twitch in a combination of fear and rage.
"Ravagon," he called, "where is the singer Paragon?"
"I do not know, High Lord," the ravagon said. His words were subservient on the surface, but Baruk Kaah could hear the contempt that rippled beneath them. "I last saw him during our discussions with the Horn Master."
Anger blurred his motions, making it hard to read his desire. But a stalenger reached out its tentacles to communicate with the High Lord. The stalenger said nothing; it waited for Baruk Kaah to make his wishes known.
"Fly, stalenger," the High Lord commanded. "I want Paragon found. And then I want him brought back to me. He will pay for this affront to my generosity. He shall learn what life is—and the lesson will be very long, and filled with the most terrible sensations."
69
Eddie Paragon stopped to rest, leaning against a tall tree. He was tired, thirsty, hungry, and very sure he was lost. Why did he ever think he could find his way out of this forest? He was a rock'n'roll star, not Daniel Boone. He let his body drop heavily to the ground. If he was going to die out here, he might as well be as comfortable as possible.
God, he needed a shower! And a shave and a haircut, too. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed any of those ministrations. With little else to do and no desire to start walking again, Paragon decided to examine his weapons. Both were heavy, and he assumed they were loaded. But he didn't want to start taking things apart in fear of not being able to put them back together again. Also, he didn't want to accidentally shoot himself. That would be embarrassing, he imagined; to die by a self- inflicted gun shot wound after escaping from the High Lord of the lizard men. That would make a wonderful article in one of the check-out counter tabloids.
There was a loud crashing sound, and Eddie almost screamed when he heard it. He forced himself back to his feet and peered around the side of the tree. If it was Baruk Kaah, or the ravagon, or even the Horn Master, Eddie was determined to fight to the end. He had no illusions that the end would take very long to arrive, however.
He waited, straining to see into the shadowy forest. There was another crash, and then he could see leaves and bushes swaying as something pushed through them. Paragon raised the rifle, placing his finger around the trigger. He hoped it was as easy to use as it always looked on TV and in the movies. There was probably a step they never showed you, a secret that he wouldn't be able to figure out. Then he would have to use the rifle like a club. That would rush the end along that much faster, thank you very much. He pushed all thoughts from his mind, watching the rustling bushes ahead of him.
It exploded out of the foliage with a high-pitched squeal, startling Paragon. He dropped the rifle. But what emerged wasn't Baruk Kaah, or the ravagon, or the Horn Master. It was a small, dog-sized lizard that reminded Paragon of a giant armadillo. It was running very fast on its four legs, its armor plating bouncing up
and down with the effort. As the fear subsided, Eddie began to laugh.
"You're what scared me half to death?" he said to himself, retrieving the rifle from where it had fallen. "Eddie, you are just too nervous for your own good."
The roar that followed set off his frazzled nerves again, but he caught the rifle before it could fall.
"Shit!" he screamed. "What was that?"
Out of the forest, chasing after the giant armadillo, was a man-sized dinosaur that burst into sight running on two tri-toed legs. Its head was all jaws and teeth, and it bellowed loudly as it ran. Its long tail chased behind it, swaying back and forth.
Paragon raised the rifle and took aim, but then the dinosaur was gone, crashing through the woods in pursuit of the armadillo. He lowered the weapon and took a couple of deep breaths to settle himself.
"Eddie Paragon, you really must get a grip," he said.
Then he started walking again, moving in the direction he hoped led to the storm front.
And toward home.
70
"Let's go," James Monroe said, standing in the doorway. He was looking only at Julie Boot, suggesting they leave Andrew Jackson Decker to die.
Or what amounted to the same thing.
"What about Ace?" she asked, a trace of bitterness in her voice.
"There's nothing more we can do," Monroe replied stonily. "But there are other patients here who need us. It's time you got your priorities straight, Major."
"Don't you see?" she screamed angrily, regretting the anger instantly. She stopped, fought for calm. "Don't
you see," she continued shakily, "he responded to me. However slight, it was a response. That has to mean something."
"He'll come out of it or he won't," Monroe said. "It's out of our hands, Julie. Let him go and come help those who really have a chance."
She almost gave in then, almost rose from her seat and walked with James Monroe out the door. But something in her screamed, "wrong wrong wrong!" Decker did have a chance, but he required her help. And he required it now.
"I'm not wrong, James," she said, tired. "Not this time. I've never felt so sure. We've got to help Ace and we've got to do it now."
"We have a responsibility to those who need us more. We don't have time for a lost cause." Monroe, disgusted with her, turned and left the doorway. She heard his footsteps move slowly through the hall, finally fading in the distance.
Julie put her feelings for Monroe aside and tried to concentrate on the man before her. What had she done to make Decker respond? Had she truly done anything? Unsure, she took hold of his hand and squeezed it.
"Ace," she whispered, leaning close to him. "Ace, hear me. You must wake up. You must live."
And then she began to talk to Decker, telling him about herself and the situation at Twentynine Palms. She told him things she never told anyone before, carrying on a conversation as though he were listening to every word she said. She hoped he could hear her, that he would follow her voice back up to the surface. That he would open his eyes and talk back to her.
But even if he didn't, she would sit there and continue to talk to him. Because deep down, she knew that it was
helping.
71
Andrew Jackson Decker stepped through another door in the unending dream of choices. He had been alone for some time now, not even interrupted by a visit from the Gaunt Man. The dream kept him busy, however, constantly moving from scene to scene as he made his choices. Most of his decisions involved natural disasters of some sort and how to avert them. So far, he had found the least destructive paths.
A few times he had experienced a weird sensation. He thought he heard a voice, calling to him from some great distance. But when he paused to listen for it, the voice slipped away. It reminded him of Vicky's voice, soft and full of love. He missed her so much. It wasn't fair that something as unpredictable as cancer had taken her from him. How could you fight something like that? In the end, he discovered you couldn't. You could only hope the hurt would not be too great as the disease ran its course.
Thinking about Vicky, he again heard the gentle voice. It seemed closer now, more urgent. He tried to focus on it, but it remained vague, insubstantial. If he had to make choices, then let him choose to find the v
oice!
"Vicky!" Decker called. "Where are you?"
Then he heard the voice, clearer, more distinct. It was beyond the doorway behind him, back the way he had come. Decker ran to the door. He reached for the knob. But before he could grip it, energy crackled from the knob and pushed him back.
"No!" he screamed. "This is my choice!"
He reached for it again, forcing his hand through the glowing field of energy, ignoring the pain it caused. Again his fingers closed on the door knob. And the knob faded away.
torg 02 - The Dark Realm Page 16
