torg 03- The Nightmare Dream

by Jonatha Ariadne Caspian

  She gripped his hair and pulled him close, causing him to fall upon the pillows before her. So near, her scent forced itself into every pore of his body. He shuddered with desire for her.

  "Your... perfume..." he said, and she laughed again, still gripping his hair.

  "Do you like it, my slave?" she asked. "And you are my slave, a real slave, not a pretend slave as you were to Mobius. The scent is a special blend I had made just for me. It enhances my natural charms quite wonderfully, don't you think?"

  "Mobius ...?" Cage managed to ask, trying to force rational thought through the haze of perfume. "The guards?"

  "Mobius is gone, out working on getting the infernal machine you told your friend about. You shouldn't have done that," Clemeta scolded. "And I dismissed the guards so that we could talk ... undisturbed. Now how should I punish you? How should I teach you that Clemeta is your mistress now?"

  Cage tensed, tried to pull away. She held his hair tight, pulled him closer. He could not resist. She kissed him, and his body responded. Every part of him was sensitive to her touch, and he felt as though he would explode with the joy of each brush of her hand or caress of her lips. He kissed her back, and they fell into the pillows in a passionate embrace.

  "Yes," Clemeta purred, "you understand what I want. And you want it too, don't you? Don't you?"

  Cage, still kissing and fondling her, answered in gasping sobs. "Oh yes, yes!"

  "Yes, who?" she demanded, pushing him away with sudden fury.

  "Yes ... mistress," he choked, gasping for the return of her touch, ashamed but unable to respond any other way.

  "Very good, my slave," Clemeta laughed.

  Then she pulled him back down into the soft, fluffy pillows and showed him how to please her.

  63

  Tom O'Malley had led the group to a small airport he knew of outside the main city of Singapore. He reasoned that they should be able to find an airplane that was waiting to depart when the reality of Orrorsh had replaced that of Earth. Luck was with them, and a small jet was on the runway, fully fueled and waiting for someone to provide it with the reality it needed to take off. Tom was that someone.

  Father Christopher Bryce, Tolwyn of House Tancred, Dr. Hachi Mara-Two, Djilangulyip, Pluppa, Gutterby, Grim, and Toolpin entered the plane with Tom. The majority of the group took seats in the cabin and buckled in. Mara, however, joined Tom in the cockpit and strapped into the co-pilot's chair.

  Tom let out a gratified sigh when the engines started up. "The fuel tanks are full," he informed Mara as he checked the instruments. "I guess this is going to work, after all."

  "You mean you had doubts," Mara asked.

  Tom laughed. "After what we've been through, I wasn't sure what was going to happen."

  "But it works, Tom," Mara stressed. "That means we can leave this awful place."

  "Yes, and go on to another awful place," the pilot said sadly. "Do you think this is such a good idea? Going to Aysle, I mean?"

  Mara gripped Tom's hand with her one remaining hand and squeezed it tight. "Good or bad, Tom, it's what we agreed to do. And yes, I think it was the right decision."

  Tom sighed. "I knew you were going to say that. All right, let's get this show on the road."

  The airplane lifted off without incident, and soon they were all on their way west, toward what was once Great Britain.

  Toward Aysle realm.

  64

  "No!" Baruk Kaah screamed, trying to pull free of the black vines that wrapped around his body and connected him to his Darkness Device, Rec Pakken.

  "Please, Saar, you must lie still," the gotak named Dar Ess urged, trying to calm her High Lord.

  "You do not understand," Baruk Kaah said, already the burst of strength leaving him. He was badly hurt, injured by the stormer that accompanied Eddie Paragon. Had it not been for the ravagon, the gotaks might not have returned him to Rec Pakken in time to save him. Even now it might be too late, but he had no time to think such negative thoughts. "The bridge is ... gone," he finished, trying to express what he felt deep inside himself.

  Dar Ess looked at him, confused. "Which bridge, my lord?" she asked.

  "The nearest one," the High Lord said in frustration. "The bridge that supplied troops to the storm front. It is no longer open. I cannot feel the flow of energy that was only recently sweeping down it. I cannot feel Takta Ker."

  "How can that be?" Dar Ess asked. She sounded frightened. "How could the bridge be gone?"

  "Paragon," Baruk Kaah cursed. "Somehow he and his companions have severed the connection."

  The black leaves of the dead forest ruffled, then parted, as the Horn Master forced his way into the center of the Darkness Device. "Why have you summoned the Wild Hunt back from the wall of storm?" the Horn Master demanded, forgetting that he was addressing a High Lord. "First you send the Hunt to assist your warriors, promising that the Earthers' reality would soon be replaced by your own. Then, when that did not occur and your own warriors fought to escape the weapons of the Earthers, I ordered the Hunt forward to destroy them for you. The Earthers could not stand before the Hunt. But you called us back. I ask again. Why?"

  Baruk Kaah was near death. He was weak from wounds he never expected to receive. But he was still a High Lord, and the Horn Master, though powerful, was not. Baruk Kaah's tail slashed out, striking the Horn Master a deadly blow that sent him sprawling.

  "Do not forget who you are speaking to, Horn Master," Baruk Kaah shouted, drawing strength from Rec Pakken. "I have called you back because stormers have invaded my world. Even now they are making their way across Takta Ker for some unknown purpose. They have even managed to sever a maelstrom bridge! I have called you back to do what you do best! Hunt them down, Horn Master. Let the Wild Hunt fly and hunt them down."

  The Horn Master picked himself off the floor of the black-stone forest, glaring at the High Lord with fiery eyes. He stood before Baruk Kaah, visibly shaking with rage. Their eyes locked, and Baruk Kaah let his own reveal the depths of his power. Even in his current condition, he was a High Lord. He was the power of Takta Ker personified. The Horn Master finally lowered his gaze.

  "I will find them, Saar of the edeinos," the Horn Master pledged.

  "Find them, then destroy them," Baruk Kaah added.

  The Horn Master nodded, then exited the black-stone forest. Once he was gone, Baruk Kaah allowed himself to fall into a deep healing sleep as Rec Pakken sang to him of power.

  He dreamed of conquest, of Lanala, and of his eventual victory as the Torg.

  Nightmares

  They are the plots and schemes of arch-villains. Madmen call them dreams. The rest of us know them for what they are — the worst sort of nightmares.

  — Dr. Alexus Frest

  I have a dream, a vision that is the cornerstone of my being. In it, I come face-to-face with my dark god. I meet the Nameless One. And in that moment, I am transformed.

  — Thratchen of Tharkold

  65

  Thunder rolled across the sky like the gallop of a thousand iron-shod horses, announcing the passage of a tower of cloud and darkness that rumbled through the air. Within that tower, the Horn Master rode his mighty stag. Lightning slashed with every pounding stride the stag took, filling the cloud with brief flashes of luminance. The Horn Master held the great horn in one massive fist, waiting for the moment when he would sound it and call the Wild Hunt from its incorporeal sleep.

  Ahead was the bridge, or at least what was left of it. Baruk Kaah was right. Someone had severed this link to Takta Ker. All that remained was a piece of the growing jungle path, cut off as it jutted from the ground and reached for the sky. It was huge, but still only a fraction of its original size. The hole that it dropped from, the opening in the storm above that once led to Takta Ker, was gone. As the Horn Master watched, he could see that the base of the jungle bridge was dying. Soon it would be a rotting husk, a dead thing to mark what was once a passage to a world of life.

  This way was closed to
them, the Horn Master knew. The Wild Hunt would have to take another road to the edeinos homeworld. That would make the hunt more difficult, but not impossible. With a rush of anticipation, the Horn Master raised the great horn to his lips and sounded its call.

  Lightning sliced through the tower of dark clouds, revealing the black forms as they slid out of the mists and took shape. Cloud flowed into shadow, which then solidified into either raven or dog or mounted huntsman. The Wild Hunt swirled around their leader, adding their caws and barks and voices to the thundering call.

  "We have prey to hunt, my companions," the Horn

  Master shouted, his voice like a storm raging in the night. "Examine this area. Pick up their scent."

  The Hunt obeyed, galloping out of the cloud to ride a frenzied circle around the remains of the jungle bridge. When they reached the jeep, parked beside the bridge's base, they swarmed over it. Black wolf hounds scampered over its seats and hood, sniffing at the steering wheel and the heavy machinegun mounted on the back. The ravens lighted upon it, picking at hairs and threads of clothing that the prey had inadvertently left within it. The horses, spurred on by their terrible riders, galloped around the vehicle so that their masters could study foot prints and other signs of passage. Then the Hunt returned to the tower of cloud and darkness.

  One of the ravens, a huge, black, bloated bird, landed upon the Horn Master's shoulder. It offered him a length of hair, holding it fast within its serrated beak. The Horn Master took the strand, rolling it in his fingers. Then he sniffed it.

  "Paragon," he spat, tossing the hair away. It disappeared, carried aloft by the swirling wind within the towering cloud formation.

  "We have the scent," the Horn Master called. "We know our prey. Let the Wild Hunt ride!"

  The riders turned their mounts toward Sacramento, where another bridge led to Takta Ker, and the Wild Hunt galloped forth like a thundering storm, lightning marking its passage with frightening bolts that cut the sky.

  66

  After the airplane cleared the storm that surrounded Singapore and the craft was safely flying over the Indian Ocean, Mara gave up her seat to Father Bryce and went to sit in the rear of the cabin. Once there, she pulled the jaz pack, her data plate, and her tools out of the many pockets in her jumpsuit. The tools weren't as refined as the ones that had been built into her hand, but now that it was gone they were all she had to work with.

  She studied the pack carefully, remembering the idea she and the dwarves had come up with. Then she lifted the data plate. It was full of memories, and just touching it made Mara long for the world she left behind. She ran the fingers of her remaining hand over the intricate circuitry patterns, remembering how she had worked to inscribe each one.

  "You are an artist," Djil had told her, "like my people. Your artwork connects to your Dream Time, assuring that the things of your land will always be there."

  Remembering the aborigine's words, Mara felt a wave of gratitude for the shaman. Djil had made her feel better, and she wanted to let him see her land, to experience it via sensover. But he had no ports to plug the plate into, no cybernetic circuitry to process the data. She had her world in the palm of her hand, but no one except her was able to experience it. Unless she was able to accomplish a minor technological miracle.

  "That's what I've always done," she whispered to herself. "That's what I'll do again."

  Holding the jaz pack with her knees, Mara began to modify its connectors, using her one hand to manipulate the delicate tools. But the work was maddeningly slow with only one hand. She had to continually stop one action to reach for another tool or to reposition the pack. At a critical juncture of the work, Mara reached for the data plate with her nonexistent hand. She cursed when she realized what she was doing, and the break in concentration threw off her realignment of the connection

  pins. She would have to start again.

  "Can I help?" Toolpin asked quietly.

  Mara looked up at the young dwarf. She had not heard him approach, and didn't know how long he had been standing beside her. She glanced at the seat across the aisle from her. The package that Thratchen's emissary had given her rested there, patiently waiting to be opened again.

  "Yes, Toolpin, you can help me," Mara said. "Bring me that box."

  67

  When Decker, Kurst and Julie reached the bridgehead, they found the remains of the growing path. The explosives had done their job, severing enough of the bridge to collapse the opening between worlds.

  "That's it, then," Julie said, "we're trapped here."

  "We were not going to return this way, Julie Boot," Kurst explained. "There are other openings between the cosms for us to exploit."

  Decker found the remains of Eddie Paragon and the ravagon. There was not much left of either of them. The blast had been powerful, and already the decomposing elements of this world were working to return the bodies to the soil.

  Julie saw them, then buried herself in Decker's arms and cried. She wept for the man named Eddie Paragon, and for the sacrifice he made for them and Earth.

  "Shouldn't we bury him?" Julie asked.

  "No," Kurst said flatly. "Takta Ker is already working on the remains. Soon nothing will be left to bury."

  "Then let's get out of here," Decker said. "I'm sure we still have a long trip ahead of us."

  Kurst nodded in agreement. "The trip will be long, but there are ways to make it easier. Let's go find some transportation."

  68

  Angus Cage awoke nestled in pillows, lying beside the Royal Escort, Clemeta. She was beautiful, even in sleep, and his heart ached at the sight of her. He remembered their night together, and though it was wonderful, he shuddered at the way he behaved. It was as though his will was gone. He was her slave, just as she had told him, and part of him found that exciting. Another part of him, the one that was awake now, was disgusted with himself.

  He got up carefully, trying not to wake Clemeta, and dressed. He was strapping on his sandals when Clemeta rolled over and sat up to look at him. The thin sheet that covered her fell away with the motion, and Cage gasped as her succulent flesh was revealed. Clemeta took no notice of his discomfort, made no attempt at modesty. She simply smiled.

  "Good morning, slave," she said cheerfully. "I take it you slept well?"

  "What sleep I got was bothered by dreams of you, Clemeta," Cage admitted. "You have cast a spell over me, reduced me to a fawning pup with your fragrance and your touch."

  "Yes, I see that I have," she laughed, and her eyes twinkled mischievously. "But you have cast a spell of your own, Angus Cage. You have made me betray my Pharaoh's bed, and I long for another taste of betrayal."

  Clemeta crawled across the pillow, reaching for Cage. He backed away from her touch, however, knowing that even a glancing caress would render him helpless before her. He had to hold on to what little control he now maintained.

  "Clemeta," he began carefully, searching for the words he needed, "you must help me."

  "Come here, slave, and I will help you over and over again," she smiled slyly.

  "No, though you do tempt me," he said. "You must get me into Mobius' workroom."

  Clemeta backed away as though slapped. "You ask much for a slave," she said, turning from him.

  "But I am not a slave," he said, moving closer to her. "You know that. The only thing that I am a slave to is your touch."

  She turned back, smiling. "That is true. You are an adventurer, and you are my slave. What is it you want from the Pharaoh's workroom?"

  "I need to know what he knows about the infernal machine," Cage said. "The fate of worlds could depend on that information."

  "Is this machine an instrument of power?" Clemeta asked. She sounded like a child at Christmas, fawning over some as-yet-unopened present.

  "If Mobius wants it, then you can be sure he is after it to increase his personal power," Cage explained. "Clemeta, he has destroyed at least six worlds since leaving Terra. Perhaps more. This world is next, unle
ss you help me."

  Clemeta rose from the pillows, draping the sheet around herself like a tunic. She tossed back her shining black hair and stood before Cage. This close, he felt his will weakening again. If she ordered him to kill himself, he would die happily at her feet, he realized. This woman was dangerous! Had she worked similar charms upon Mobius?

  "I will help you, Angus Cage," Clemeta declared. Then she smiled. "Then you shall help me."

  69

  The workroom was empty of people when Clemeta showed Cage in through a secret passage. Weird science gizmos of indescribable purpose were everywhere. Some were complete; many more were in various stages of construction. Astronomical charts were scattered acrpss tables and hung from walls, and blueprints for devices were haphazardly displayed. It was a mad scientist's dream come true. It fit Mobius quite well.

  "Hurry about your business, Cage," Clemeta urged. "I do not know when the Pharaoh will return."

  Angus Cage nodded, then began to leaf through piles of papers that littered the work tables. Beside a map of Earth he found what he was looking for. It was a scroll from the Green Shroud, informing the Pharaoh of what he found.

  "This is it," Cage declared as Clemeta joined him. "It says that the device that will help Mobius become the Torg is located in the Indian Ocean, just north of Christmas Island."

  Clemeta looked puzzled. "Mobius has mentioned that word on more than one occasion," she said. "What is the Torg?"

  "I'm not sure, but if Mobius wants the title then I have to prevent him from getting it," Cage said. "These papers list the locations of Mobius' strike teams, the ones he is preparing to send after the machine. Come on, it's time to go."

  "Go? Go where?" Clemeta demanded.

  "We have to get word to the Guardian," Cage said, grabbing her hand and leading her out of the workroom.

  70

  They had trekked through thick fog for over three hours when Kurst called them to halt. He had found a cluster of trees that formed a protective shelter, and Decker and Julie gratefully collapsed to the grass-covered floor beneath the hanging branches.