torg 03- The Nightmare Dream

by Jonatha Ariadne Caspian

  A priest stood on the church steps, emerging from beyond the ornate doors. He raised his hands high into the air, and the crowd fell silent. He waited a moment, letting the silence grow thick, then he spoke.

  "My children!" the priest called, blessing the crowd with the sign of the cross. "We have seen a great many things these past few months. This bridge of light was but the first of the miracles bestowed upon us, the chosen people! We have thrown off the tyranny of technology and returned to the simpler ways. The temptations of Satan are behind us, and before us is a brave new world!"

  The crowd cheered, and Guerault found it difficult not to be swept up in the excitement. She reached into her pocket, fingering the miniature tape recorder that rested there. If the crowd knew what she carried they would probably tear her apart, but just touching the chunk of the world she remembered helped her fight off the contagious emotions running through the crowd.

  "My children," the priest continued, "let us pray! For one is coming who has been to the throne of God our Father, and he shall bring us the new laws of the covenant to spread throughout the world! That is our mission before God! That is the world's salvation!"

  "Who is coming?" a man yelled, and the crowd took up the chant.

  "Who is coming? Who is coming? Who is coming?" the crowd asked over and over.

  Guerault put her hands to her ears, trying to block out the obnoxious sound. But she could only muffle it as the words crashed together.

  "Whoiscomingwhoiscomingwhoiscoming?"

  The priest raised his hands again, and the chant stopped as quickly as it had begin. He looked through the crowd, seeming to make eye contact with every individual. He lowered his hands.

  "The one who comes was called up to God," the priest shouted. "And now he is being returned to lead us into the new world!"

  "Who is coming? Who is coming? Who is coming?" the crowd chanted again.

  "The new pope of Avignon!" the priest answered. "Jean Malraux I! And the bridge of light is his symbol for the coming age of enlightenment!"

  The crowd went wild, praying, chanting, bowing in obedience toward the light bridge. Guerault wanted to scream and run away, but she knew she had to see this new miracle first hand. So she steeled herself and waited for the coming of the world's supposed saviour.

  121

  Djilangulyip looked at the panorama from the maelstrom bridge in wonder. The bridge actually passed through the dimensions of Earth on its way to the sky, as anyone sensitive to such things could plainly see. Djil was such a man, for he regularly walked two worlds — the awake world and the Dream Time. He specifically looked for one particular dimension, searching the warping space as the steam carriage bounced along the curving arch of stone.

  "There it is!" Djil proclaimed, pointing at the shifting horizon that hurt the others to look at.

  "What?" Mara asked, squinting as she tried to follow the aborigine's finger.

  "England's Dream Time," Djil whispered reverently. "This is where I get off." The aborigine stood on the running board, ready to leap from the moving carriage.

  "Djil, what are you doing?" Mara asked, grabbing his arm tightly with her right hand.

  "What I have been brought to do, Mara," Djil explained. "Come with me, for this is where you must also do what you have come to do."

  "I don't understand you," Mara admitted, looking over to Father Bryce who was now watching their exchange.

  "But do you trust me?" Djil asked.

  "Yes," Mara said.

  "Then come with me," the shaman said as he reached out his hand.

  Mara took it, and together they leaped from the carriage to the maelstrom bridge.

  122

  Bryce was stunned by what he had seen. Mara and Djil had jumped off the steam carriage! What were they thinking of? He got to his feet, moving toward Toolpin and Gutterby who were at the engine's controls.

  "Stop this thing!" Bryce demanded. "Mara and Djil have fallen overboard."

  "They didn't fall," Toolpin assured him.

  "But they aren't here anymore! We've got to go back for them!" the priest shouted frantically.

  "We all have a role to play, priest," Gutterby explained. "Let them get on with the one fate has dealt them. You should get ready for your own."

  Bryce was about to argue when he felt Tolwyn's familiar touch upon his arm. He turned, and she shook her head softly. "They are up to something, Christopher," Tolwyn said. "Perhaps what they do will help us in the end."

  "Do you believe that, Tolwyn?" Bryce asked. "Don't you think we'll need Mara's skills when we face Uthorion?"

  "We will need Mara, and Djil, too," Tolwyn admitted. "I hope they are there when the final battle is waged. Now sit down and rest. This trip is far from over, and the hardest part is about to begin."

  123

  Angar Uthorion knew that time was short. He had to start his journey down the maelstrom bridge soon if he had any hope of sealing his reality to Earth. But he was still afraid, and a part of him knew that the maelstrom bridge was the key to that fear. He had no idea why.

  Jean Malraux rose from the couch he had been reclining upon, setting his goblet of wine on the floor. He stretched, working out the kinks in his muscles. Then he placed his miter upon his head.

  "It is time for me to go, Angar," Malraux said. "The flock expects me, and I must make an entrance most grand."

  "Wait a moment longer, Jean Malraux," the High Lord of Aysle urged. "Just a moment longer."

  The elven mage entered the tower room at that moment. Delyndun looked very weary, but he kept his head held high as he approached his master.

  "The Darkness Device has been relocated to your chambers in Aysle realm, Lord Uthorion," Delyndun reported. "The place called Oxford has been taken as you requested, and it is prepared for your arrival."

  "Good," Uthorion answered absently. Was that thunder he heard in the distance? He stepped to the window to see.

  "Lord Uthorion," Delyndun pressed, "you must leave now. There can be no more delays. Already the giants are becoming restless, and the lesser folk require firm leadership. Ardinay must appear to bolster her troops."

  Uthorion turned to regard the elf. Unlike the rest of his kind, Delyndun had pledged himself to Uthorion's service. He had served well over the centuries. Someday he would be rewarded with a cosm of his own to control, Uthorion promised. The High Lord turned to Malraux.

  "Come with me, Jean Malraux," Uthorion said. "You can take my bridge to Earth as easily as your own. Then, when we have crossed over to that cosm, you can call for a dimthread to take you to your own bridge of light."

  The antipope considered the request, turning all of the possibilities over in his mind. "I have my own realm to conquer, Angar," Malraux said carefully, trying not to sound pitying.

  "I need your help, Jean Malraux," Angar begged, hating himself for it. "Together, two High Lords can easily destroy Tolwyn and her companions."

  The antipope regarded Ardinay who was Uthorion, looking for some hidden game that the High Lord might be playing. Evidently he found none, for he smiled and said, "Lead the way, Uthorion. Lead the way."

  124

  Decker, Julie and Kurst reached the castle by late afternoon. The sun was already well on its way toward the horizon, and dusk would soon be upon them. They were on the side of the great wall that surrounded the castle grounds, far from the main gate. Decker saw a huge stone arch falling from the sky to land in the courtyard. It was massive, and as impressive as the jungle bridge in its own way.

  "Is that a maelstrom bridge?" Decker asked.

  "Yes," Kurst replied. "Each High Lord fashions the bridges to suit their own reality and individual taste. It sometimes seems like a game to me, that they are trying to outdo each other."

  "They sound like children," Julie said.

  Kurst nodded. "But they are very powerful children."

  Decker heard thunder rolling toward them from behind. As he turned to look, the thunder became the gallop of an army
of horses. He swung the M-l 6 from his shoulder and backed against the courtyard wall. Kurst and Julie did the same. The sound of the pounding hooves washed against them as the black cloud rolled past, staying to the road that led to the courtyard gate. In the cloud, Decker saw huge horses and armor-clad riders sweep by. Black ravens like pieces of cloud itself flew with the hunters, and gigantic wolf hounds ran beside them, blood-red tongues lolling from teeth-filled maws.

  Lightning shattered the darkness of the storm cloud at uneven intervals, but each jagged bolt illuminated the riders and their animals. In fact, when the lightning flashed they seemed transparent. They took on the shapes of skeletal things and twisted shadows, foul beasts that wore the illusion of flesh and blood.

  When the cloud finally passed, Decker breathed a sigh of relief. They had missed them! The fabled hunt that had chased them across two worlds had ridden by without so much as a glance to either side. Perhaps this mission had a chance of success after all.

  "Kurst, how do we ...?" Decker started to ask when he heard the low growling. It was an angry, rumbling sound, and it was very, very close.

  "Ace," Julie warned, speaking as calmly as she could, "it's right behind you. Don't make any sudden moves, and for God's sake don't try to run."

  Decker slowly turned his head. Behind him was a gargantuan wolf hound, perhaps the size of a lion, but more massive. Its red, lightning-filled eyes had no pupils, and foam matted its jaws, spilling from its open mouth. Its black coat of fur was wet and slick, and claws jutted from its huge paws. It made no move to attack, but its eyes never left Decker's. It stared with intelligence and

  undisguised hatred.

  "Easy, boy," Decker addressed the monster as though he was talking to a household pet, and he felt ridiculous doing it. "Nice puppy."

  "I would not attempt to pet it if I were you," Kurst said. Decker wondered if the shapeshifter was trying to be funny, then dismissed the notion.

  They heard the hoof beats of the huge black stallion a second before it turned the corner. It cantered to a stop, directed by its rider with practiced grace. The rider was a giant of a man, dressed in furs and wearing a horned helmet. He smiled, drawing a sword from the scabbard strapped to the horse's flank.

  "I was wondering where you had gotten to, Heimdal," the hunter laughed. "It seems you have found our quarry. I shall receive a feast in my honor for this kill!"

  "It will be a funeral feast then, my friend," Decker replied, sweeping the M-16 around as he squeezed off successive bursts.

  Decker saw the rounds strike the hunter, but he did not fall. He also saw, with extreme clarity, that the wolf hound was springing for him. He knew he had to keep his gun on the hunter, but if he didn't take out the dog it would feast on his exposed throat. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The hunter, hit with as many as ten slugs, was still moving, lifting his sword high into the air. The wolf hound, its teeth bared, was flying toward the congressman, its red eyes crackling with excited lightning. Something pushed past Decker, catching the wolf hound in mid air before it could finish its attack. It was Kurst, in his own demonic wolf form, and the two fur-covered demons fell upon each other in a frantic dance of war. Decker, still watching the hunter, emptied the magazine of the M-16 into the fur-clad giant. The force of the automatic rifle knocked the hunter from his saddle, and the horse reared.

  Slow motion continued, and Decker felt as though trapped in an underwater scene. He saw Kurst flip on top of the great beast he was fighting, raising a blood-covered claw into the air. The claw came down, and more blood splattered. Kurst continued to tear at the creature for long seconds, then it was over.

  "We must leave here at once," Kurst said as he shifted back into man form. "The others will smell the blood and converge on this spot."

  "Look!" Julie shouted, pointing into the trees at the clearing's edge.

  Decker snapped another magazine into his rifle as he looked. There were eyes watching them. Hungry eyes. They seemed suspended in the murky shadows extending through the forest, bodiless things. Then the shadows separated from the trees, sliding toward them. Black shapes, humanoid but not human, slipped across the clearing and swarmed over the fallen hunter and his hound.

  "This way, Decker," Kurst urged. "Hurry."

  "What are they doing to them?" Decker asked, his question framed in revulsion and curiosity.

  "The Hunt takes care of its own," was all that Kurst would say. He pulled Decker along the wall.

  But Decker still watched as glowing balls were pulled from the hunter and hound, two spheres of light that pulsated as though alive. He heard the shadows giggle, withdrawing into the trees with their prizes.

  125

  Twilight was drawing near as the steam carriage rolled to a stop at the bottom of the stone bridge. Tolwyn gasped as she recognized the valley they had reached. The fading light of day reflected brilliant colors off the surface of the Inland Sea, bathing the great Castle Ardinay in a rainbow of light. But the fields of crys flowers were gone, and the forest beyond looked dark and foreboding. Where was the light and joy she remembered? Where was the magic?

  Father Bryce, Tom, and the dwarves jumped down from the carriage, gathering around Tolwyn. The village still stood outside the walls of the castle. That would be the place to start her final search, Tolwyn decided.

  "Leave the carriage," Tolwyn commanded. "We will walk from here."

  The village itself was deserted. No smoke rose from chimneys, no children played in the streets. Even the square, usually filled at this time of day, was empty.

  "Where is everyone, Pluppa?" Tolwyn asked.

  "Lady Ardinay sent them down the bridge," Pluppa explained. "No one should be here."

  But there was something here, Tolwyn could feel it. It was watching her. Not the others, just her. She did not like the sensation. She noticed the overgrown building in the square then, catching a glimpse of gray stone almost completely hidden by the thick shrubbery. She started forward.

  "Tolwyn, wait. Where are you going?" Bryce asked, running to catch up with her.

  "A building stands here that was not here when last I stood within this square," the paladin said. "I want to find out what it is. The rest of you wait here." Tolwyn turned away from Bryce, striding forward resolutely.

  The building was a crypt of some sort, but what was a crypt doing in the village square? She used her sword to clear away some of the more stubborn vines, finally reaching the door to the crypt. There were no names inscribed upon the door, only the striking symbol of Dunad — the ornate sword hilt with the broken blade. She pushed open the door, barely noticing as Father Bryce moved behind her.

  Tolwyn entered the crypt, stepping through the aged portal. Christopher Bryce was behind her, holding a lantern, lending his presence at this awkward juncture. Six stone coffins were within the small chamber. She stepped carefully, trying to disturb as little of the tomb as possible.

  "This was not here," she whispered to herself. "I do not remember this place."

  "It seems very old, though," Bryce said, holding the lantern forward so that they could see. "Maybe you've forgotten it."

  The paladin ignored his remark and stood over one of the coffins. She brushed away the dust that coated the stone lid, gently running her fingers over the carved words. Bryce moved beside her.

  "Is that Ayslish?" he asked. "What does it say?"

  Tolwyn felt tears well in her eyes, and she was suddenly grateful that the dark interior hid her features. "Seris of House Liandar," she said, keeping her voice even. "We jousted together. She ate pears in my orchard and we compared our taste in boys."

  "You knew this person?" Bryce gasped.

  Tolwyn walked between the five coffins, reading the inscription on each. "Hogar, dear Kwev, Abonon, Candal." She stopped at the sixth and last coffin, resting her hands upon its dusty lid. "I knew them all," she choked. "These are the Knight Protectors who fought at beside me the day I died."

  "And that?" Bryce asked, his voice
filled with

  sympathy.

  "Tolwyn of House Tancred," she read. "Here is where I rest." In anger, Tolwyn gripped the stone lid and shoved with all her might.

  "Tolwyn, no!" Bryce shouted, but it was too late. The stone lid crashed to the floor, cracking into three pieces.

  "Christopher Bryce, tell me what this means," Tolwyn demanded, looking into the coffin.

  Bryce shined the lantern into the coffin and let out a startled cry.

  "Why is my coffin empty?" Tolwyn shouted. She turned to the lid marked Seris and gave it a mighty shove. Then Hogar, then Kwev. Soon all the lids had shattered on the floor and Tolwyn stood in the middle of the wreckage.

  She turned to Bryce with tear-filled eyes. "Why are they empty, Christopher Bryce?"

  126

  Uthorion approached the maelstrom bridge, registering the presence of a dwarven steam carriage but not thinking much about it. He had other things on his mind. There was something in the air this evening, and whatever it was made the High Lord's flesh crawl. He wished he did not have to leave the castle. He felt safe within its thick stone walls. Out here he felt exposed.

  "Night is coming, Uthorion," Jean Malraux said, walking casually beside the High Lord of Aysle. "What time of day do you think it is on Earth?"

  "The planet has stopped spinning, my lord," Delyndun informed the two. "It had been slowing down since the invasion started, but a few days ago it finally stopped completely."

  "The Gaunt Man's doing," Uthorion decided, turning

  Ardinay's lips into a sneer.

  "What time of day did the world stop during?" Malraux pressed the elf mage.

  "Over both of your realms it is twilight, neither full day nor total night," Delyndun explained.

  Uthorion smiled. "I like that," he laughed. "Perhaps I'll have to thank the Gaunt Man after all."

  A giant black stag galloped to a stop before the maelstrom bridge, and its rider leaped down to bow before Uthorion. "My lord," the Horn Master said, "I return with news which you may not like."