torg 03- The Nightmare Dream

by Jonatha Ariadne Caspian

  With that, Djil dove into the rock, passing through it without any resistance. He pulled the insect creature with him, and it too passed into the rock.

  Djil stopped once half of the monster had passed into the rock with him. Its back half, from its torso to its legs, was still in the natural world. Its head and arms were with Djil in the Dream Time. The aborigine still held its arm.

  "I have changed my mind, dead thing," Djil said I irmly. "I do not want to take you with me. You can stay

  here."

  So saying, Djil released his hold on the monster. Unable to enter the Dream Time on its own, it found itself stuck within solid rock. Whatever magic held its unnatural form together could not operate in such confines, and the pile of dead insects came apart.

  Djil stepped out of the rock, careful to avoid crushing any of the tiny carcasses that littered the ground around him. He turned to the rock and sang a few more verses, thanking the spirit ancestors for granting him access to the Dream Time.

  "I shall come back for a longer visit," he promised. "But first I must try to find the preacher and the dwarf." He turned, pushing his way into the jungle. He looked down the incline into the valley, but saw no sign of Bryce or Toolpin. He shrugged, and started his walk down.

  10

  The Earthers had an annoying tendency to debate every topic, Kurst reflected, including war. As if the process of debate would hold back the denizens of the invading realms or sap the High Lords of their powers. He despaired at times like these of Earth's chances.

  "We haven't got the manpower or the material to launch a strike across the storm front," Major Covent argued. "The enemy would pick us off as we crossed, like they did the last time that we tried. Or worse, our own equipment would fail when we needed it most, leaving us defenseless. Or our troops would succumb to their wildest urges and join the invaders. We've seen all of these scenarios happen before. W ha t makes you think this time will be any different?"

  "You're giving these creatures too much credit, Major Covent," Colonel Matthews shot back, pointedly ignoring the edeinos that sat at the table with them. Tal Tu raised his head at the statement but said nothing.

  "They may not be sophisticated in tactics, but they've got a nation's worth of army behind that storm," Eddie Paragon added.

  Colonel Matthews, rabidly doctrinaire, was having none of it. "Not from what we've observed by recon, they don't. Spotters a long the front haven't reported any activity in over forty-eight hours. We drove them back last time they advanced, now we have to go in there and mop them up before they can regather their forces."

  "We've tried that," Decker said, exasperated. "We need to hold them where they are, keep them from crossing the storm front. Once we contain them and stop the Dead Ring from advancing, then we can figure out a way to drive them back."

  "Boy, I've fought in wars you weren't born for, and I know how to run a campaign," the colonel said. "You stick to politics and leave the fighting to those of us who know how to do it."

  Kurst let the conversation go on around him as he stood and walked to the edge of the command tent. He could barely make out the swirling wall of storm through the trees beyond the camp. He had a feeling, and he had learned over the years to trust his feelings.

  Major Julie Boot walked over to stand beside him. She was a nurse, and it was through her ministrations that Decker eventually overcame the Gaunt Man's control. She was still frightened of the hunter, but not nearly as badly as she had been when he first appeared at

  Twenty nine Palms with Decker's comatose body after the incident in the Grand Canyon. He had recently returned to save Decker from Scythak, and to Julie's mind that counted as an indication of positive intentions, But Kurst was still a shapeshifter from another reality. He was able to shift from human to werewolf to werebear, and that was not an ability she thought of as normal. And since it was not normal, it made her nervous.

  "Is the conversation boring you, Kurst?" Julie asked, trying to be friendly.

  He continued to stare at the storm, but he answered her just the same. "Debate that serves no purpose annoys me, Major Boot. As Decker said before, Colonel Matthews is a fool."

  Julie nodded, then followed Kurst's gaze toward the tree line. "What do you see out there?"

  "I see the soldiers, and the trees, and the wall of storm," he said.

  "What else, Kurst?" she urged despite her nervousness. "You look like you're ready to spring. Tell me what you see."

  "I see nothing, Julie," Kurst replied matter-of-factly. "I see nothing. Yet."

  Colonel Matthews and the others noticed Kurst and Julie staring out of the tent. Leaving his argument, the colonel joined them. "Too good to sit in on the discussion, Mr. Kurst?" the colonel prodded, speaking loud enough so that everyone at the table could hear. "Tell me, what's so important out there that it dragged you away from our meeting — a meeting, I might add, that I strongly believe you have no business attending anyway."

  A feral snarl curled Kurst's lip as he leaned close to the colonel. "I do not care what you believe, nor did I ask to sit in this tent and listen to you bleat endlessly when

  there .ire more important things to be done."

  "Such as, Mr. Kurst?" the colonel retorted furiously.

  "Rallying your soldiers, for one," Kurst said calmly. "The edeinos are about to cross through the storm."

  Decker, Paragon, and Tal Tu looked at each other, then at Kurst, trying to determine if he was joking. Colonel Matthews made ready to hurl his fiercest barbs at the shapeshifter, but Covent interrupted him.

  "Corporal West, one of the spotters along the storm front, is on the line," Covent said. He was standing beside the field radio, cradling its receiver on his shoulder. "He says that there's movement down there."

  "What kind of movement?" Matthews demanded.

  "There's something gathering on the far side of the storm front," Covent relayed to the group in the command tent.

  "Your debate is finished, colonel," Kurst informed him. "All of your options are gone. The invaders are coming to you, and all you can do is defend yourself."

  Matthews looked from Kurst to Decker, anger raging in his brown eyes. But he was also a soldier, and he knew his duty when push came to shove. He turned to Covent, snapping orders briskly. "Mobilize the troops, Major," he said. "Let's keep those lizards from coming through."

  11

  Father Christopher Bryce opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. The sunlight, even diffused as it was by the canopy of trees and the volcanic ash that hung in the sky, sent sharp pains through his head, which added to the various pains shooting through the rest of his body.

  If it hurts this much, Bryce thought, then I must still be alive. He remembered the fall down the incline with

  Toolpin and the insect creature, but little else beyond 111.it. He tried to rise, but was only able to manage sitting up.

  "Father Bryce, are you all right?" Toolpin asked. "I was afraid you were going to leave me alone with these terrible people."

  "What people?" Bryce asked tentatively, looking ,i round to see where they were.

  They were in a clearing at the bottom of the incline. Toolpin was a few feet away, held fast by the insect creature. Sitting on a rotting log beside him was a bald man in black robes. He nodded to Bryce, and gestured at the insect thing.

  "Do you appreciate the amount of power it takes to keep one chthon active, let alone four of them?" the bald man asked.

  "Is that what that thing is called, a chthon?" Bryce managed to get the question out as he got his feet under himself and stood up. He wobbled, but caught himself and leaned on a tree for support. He hoped he didn't have a concussion as he mentally checked off the symptoms — headache, dizziness ...

  The bald man ignored Bryce's question, instead moving on to other topics. "The dwarf already identified you as Father Christopher Bryce. As it is impolite for me to know your name while you are ignorant of mine, allow me to introduce myself. I am Wilfred Markham, of
the Royal Society of Exploration."

  "How nice to meet you," Bryce said, casting about on the ground for his cross. He did not see it. He feared he lost it further up the incline, which meant it might be gone forever. "What can we do for you Mr. Markham?"

  Markham smiled. It was an evil smile, more like a skull's perpetual grimace than a reaction to humor.

  "You can give me the source of power you carry. Do not deny that you have it. I have alread y identified it through arcane means."

  Bryce reached into his pocket and put his hand around the shard of blue-red stone he carried. It was but a sliver of its original self, its song nothing but a whisper now. Any power it possessed, Bryce knew, was trapped with the Gaunt Man in a perpetual cycle of creation and destruction. Still, Bryce wasn't going to let the shard fall into Markham's greedy hands.

  Grim had said that the insect things — chthon, Markham called them — reeked of necromancy. As Bryce understood the term, necromancy referred to a wizard who communes with spirits of the dead. Apparently, in Markham's case, that included dead insects.

  "While my other chthons chase your companions, I have narrowed my own search to you, priest," Markham said. "You will give me the shard, whether of your own volition or of mine."

  The priest backed up a step, hoping that a solution to this predicament would reveal itself. His cross was gone, and he carried no weapons. All he had was the shard of stone, and that had demonstrated none of the abilities that the unbroken Heart of Coyote had performed for him. Maybe he could find a heavy stick or a rock, he thought, desperately searching the ground.

  "Recover the shard," Markham ordered, and the chthon dropped Toolpin and shambled after the priest.

  Bryce hefted a fallen tree branch. It was solid, and he decided it would make a serviceable club. However, he was fairly certain that it would cause the chthon little, if any, harm.

  "Stay back," Bryce warned, but the chthon ignored him. It continued forward at a steady pace, all of its dead insect eyes fixed on him with hungry glares. He swung the stick like a baseball bat, hoping to keep the monster at bay.

  "Hang on, Father Bryce," Toolpin called as he rushed .it the chthon's exposed back. He still had his battle spike, and he smashed it into the chthon with all his might.

  "Toolpin, be careful," Bryce started to say, but his warning came to late.

  The chthon whirled on the dwarf, knocking him senseless with the back of one chitinous claw. Toolpin fell to the ground, landing heavily as he slipped into unconsciousness.

  "Enough of these distractions, priest," Markham said. "Give me the shard and I will let you and your companions continue on your way in peace. But if you try to thwart my will, I will use each of you as a host for some foul entity. You would not like sharing your body with something that is alien, Father Bryce."

  The chthon stepped closer, looming over the priest like a mantis over some lesser insect. Bryce imagined he heard thousands of dead insects grind thousands of mandibles together in hungry anticipation. This close, he could see the separate carcasses stacked to form the chthon's humanoid shape. He could see his reflection in a thousand insect eyes.

  "No!" he screamed, shattering his stick across the chthon's chest.

  "You cannot harm the chthon, Biyce," Markham explained. "How can you hurt that which is already dead?"

  In answer, a whirling sound emerged from the jungle. Bryce looked up to see a massive war boomerang spinning through the air. It caugli 11 he chthon in the back of the neck, actually staggering it.

  "Who dares?" Markham demanded, spinning to look into the jungle.

  Bryce followed Markham's gaze, al t hough he already had a good idea where the boomerang came from. Sure enough, a small black man with a white beard and a patch of white hair walked into the clearing. He smiled at Bryce with his missing tooth grin, then turned to the necromancer.

  "We must leave now," Djilangulyip said solemnly to the dark mage. "We have no desire to become hosts for evil spirits, but we also have no desire to give you the stone shard."

  "You have no choice," Markham raged. "The chthon will destroy you."

  "Perhaps," Djil agreed. "But perhaps not." He started to sing then, and though Bryce didn't understand the words he somehow sensed their intent. It was a song to the spirits of the dead insects, intoning them to return to their rightful resting place.

  "No!" Markham raged, and began making gestures with his hands and arms.

  Bryce could feel the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up as the dark mage gathered power. He was preparing to cast a spell. The priest had seen Grim make similar motions throughout this trip, but Markham's exhibited none of the dwarf's joy or light. These motions were dark and forboding, suggesting evil intent.

  The chthon staggered as Djil sang, the words and melody striking the creature like blows from a hammer. Toolpin was rising, but still looked dazed. Neither would be able to protect themselves from Markham. It was up

  to Bryce.

  With a yell, Bryce ran at the dark mage. Markham saw him from the corner of his eye and spun to meet his charge. They locked hands, caught in an enemy's embrace. Bryce could feel power emanating from the man, but he also felt the gathering energy s(ip away as Markham lost concentration.

  "You are a brave fool, priest," the necromancer proclaimed through clenched teeth. "You may have interrupted my spell, but I have other weapons at my disposal."

  The two pushed back and forth, testing each other's strength as they grappled. It was obvious to Bryce that the mage was stronger than he, but not by much. But as they struggled he could feel some of his own strength sap away, seemingly swallowed by the blackness that surrounded this man.

  "You are... evil," Bryce said, searching for the words to express himself. This close, actually touching the dark mage, Bryce could feel the evii of the man as a tangible thing. "You cannot have the shard, or us." Bryce pushed then, throwing all of his strength into the action in hopes of unbalancing his opponent.

  Markham slipped, but caught himself before he fell. "This is not a battle you can win, priest," he warned. "Don't you feel your strength slipping away? Don't you feel my darkness smothering your light?"

  Markham shoved back, and Bryce went down hard. Air exploded from his lungs as he landed. For a moment he thought he was going to black out, but he fought the tug of unconsciousness. He managed to roll out of the way as Markham brought a booted foot down into the dirt where Bryce had been.

  The priest rolled back, catching the mage behind his legs. Now it was Markham's turn to fall, and he did so with no grace or style. He fell in a tangle of black robes, hitting the rotting log he had been sitting on when Bryce first saw him.

  Bryce got to his feet, keeping his eyes upon the mage. Markham also began to rise, and Bryce saw that he had produced a gleaming dagger from out of his robes.

  "I am not going to waste magic on you, Father Bryce," Markham said as he twisted the dagger. "I am going to cut you and watch you bleed."

  "That's not very nice," Toolpin said.

  His voice surprised Bryce, who was so engaged with the mage that he forgot the others. Apparently so did Markham. He barely turned to look at the dwarf when Toolpin's battle spike caught him across his bald forehead. He collapsed without a sound.

  Bryce whirled to see how Djil fared. The little aborigine was standing in the middle of a puddle of dead insects, sifting through them curiously.

  "Djil?" Bryce asked, checking to see if the shaman was all right.

  "Insect spirits are not as stubborn as other spirits," Djil said, stepping out of the litter of carcasses toward Bryce. "They decided to listen to my song and return to their place of rest."

  Djil reached into his pack and produced Bryce's cross. "I found this," the shaman said as he handed it back to the priest. "You should take better care of your possessions."

  "I'll keep that in mind, Djil," Bryce said, a faint smile on his lips.

  "What should I do with the necromancer, Father Bryce?"
Toolpin asked. He was standing over the mage's still form, holding his battle spike at the ready.

  "Leave him," Bryce decided. "Let's just get out of here."

  12

  Mara led the way through the jungle, running only as fast as the slowest among them. Behind her was Tom O'Malley, Pluppa, and Grim. Gutterby, being the oldest of the dwarves, was slightly behind his companions, and Mara could hear his ragged breathing. At the end of the line was Tolwyn, doing her best to keep Gutterby moving. Mara deliberately chose her path through bushes and thick patches of trees — anything that made the going harder for the insect things chasing them.

  She hated running as much as Tolwyn did, but fighting appeared to be useless. The few blasts that she managed to get off from her pistol had barely slowed the monsters, and she didn't relish a hand-to-hand fight when she had only one hand to fight with. She wondered how Bryce and the others were faring, then she put the thought out of her mind. Worrying about the priest and the others would just get the rest of them killed. She couldn't afford to mourn right now, because the others depended on her to get them to safety.

  Mara crashed through the brush and found herself in a clearing. It was a road, much larger than the paths they had been following, and it wasn't empty.

  Tom emerged from the trees, gasping for breath. "Why have you stopped?" he asked.

  Mara tipped her head toward the road. Tom looked up, finally noticing the others. There were a dozen men standing in the road, all wearing military-style uniforms and brandishing old-style rifles. Pluppa pushed between Mara and Tom so that she could see better.

  "Who are they?" Pluppa asked.

  "I'm not quite sure," Tom began, "but they look like British soldiers from the nineteenth century."

  Tolwyn and the others bounded out of the jungle. "Move," the paladin commanded. "The insects are ..."

  She didn't get to finish. One of the insect things smashed into her back, driving her forward. Marastarted to turn when she saw the sold iers lift their weapons and take aim. She barely managed to grab Tom and throw herself and the pilot to the ground when the soldiers let off a volley. Bullets whiz/ed over their heads, thudding into the insect things.