He expanded the image even more, and he found what he expected was the reason for the battle paint and the ritual. He saw two High Lords approaching, not realizing that they were walking into a trap.
"Do you really think you can stand against two High Lords, Mara?" Thratchen asked, realizing that she could not answer him. "Of course you do," he said in wonder. "You believe that you can do anything! You believe that you can stop Uthorion and Malraux, just as you neutralized the Gaunt Man."
The presence far back in the mirror was stronger now, but still Thratchen ignored it. He had to see how Mara's ploy would end.
His curiosity demanded it.
135
Kurst, Decker and Julie were at the back of the group, following as Tolwyn and Bryce led them toward the maelstrom bridge. Kurst thought that the valley was darker than the hour demanded, filled with shadows almost as deep as full night instead of the gray shadows of twilight. They walked further, and Kurst barely noticed as Tolwyn set foot upon the stone bridge. His senses were occupied by other things. There was something wrong, but he could not yet identify what that something was.
Bryce and the dwarves were next onto the bridge. Then Tom O'Malley. Kurst motioned for Decker and Julie to go as he stood at the bridgehead.
"Come on, Kurst," Decker called. "It's time to go."
"There is something wrong here, Decker," Kurst
said. "Something is not right."
Decker looked around, but Kurst could tell that if he felt anything at all, it was just a vague premonition. "What do you sense, Kurst?" Decker asked at last.
"I sense ... watchers," Kurst said carefully, deliberately choosing his words. "I sense ... hungry eyes watching us."
That was when the shadows moved. They slipped from the castle wall, from behind trees, from the very ground itself, becoming the warriors of the Wild Hunt as they flowed toward the bridge. One shadow sprang up behind Kurst, forming into an armored warrior wielding a two-handed sword. Before the shapeshifter could react, the shadow warrior plunged the sword into Kurst's side. The shapeshifter screamed, flowing from human to werewolf to werebear as the sword passed through his shifting flesh and emerged from the other side.
"Kurst!" Decker screamed. He charged the warrior, leveling his rifle but refusing to shoot while Kurst remained between them.
The huntsman pulled his sword free, and Kurst slid to the ground. His body continued to shift from one form to another, sometimes combining two forms before one or another was complete. The huntsman turned to face Decker's charge, but the congressman stopped running well beyond the range of the sword. Decker aimed the rifle and squeezed the trigger, and the huntsman went down in a cloud of bullets and blood.
"When they become solid, they can be hurt," Decker whispered. "They can be killed."
More shadows were approaching, becoming huntsmen and wolves as they got closer. Decker did not hesitate. He tossed a grenade into one group of huntsmen, then charged forward into the others. He was firing bursts from his M-16, using the last magazine as efficiently as possible.
Kurst watched through a haze of pain. The huntsman's weapon hurt him! Never had he felt such physical pain. It rivaled the worst that the Gaunt Man had done to his spirit over the years. He was able to stop his runaway shifting with considerable effort, stabilizing it in his werewolf form. He started to rise. He had to reach Decker, fight beside his friend until there was no life left to fight with. That was his destiny, to die beside a friend. But he heard someone running toward him from behind, and he spun to meet whoever it was.
"Ace!" Julie called frantically as she tried to run past Kurst. But the werewolf grabbed hold of her, stopping her.
"Let me go, Kurst! Let me go!" Julie raged, banging him with balled fists.
Kurst held her tightly, letting her vent her rage upon him as he turned to see how Decker was doing. The congressman was standing in a clearing, two dark forms lying still at his feet. More shadows were closing on him, and he only had a moment to rest. Decker met Kurst's gaze.
"Get her out of here, Kurst," Decker called. "Don't make this sacrifice be in vain."
The two friends looked at each other for long moments, communicating on a level that neither thought possible. Kurst felt his heart go out to the Earther, and he longed to aid him in the final fight. But he also respected Decker's wishes, even though the decision he was about to make would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Then the Wild Hunt was upon Andrew Jackson Decker. There were only moments left before Decker fell. Kurst knew that. He had no other choice. "I am sorry, my friend," Kurst whispered.
Then Kurst lifted Julie, who was still struggling with him, and stepped onto the bridge.
136
Decker watched as Kurst did as he asked. It was hard for the hunter to walk away from this fight, but if he didn't then all three of them would die. Maybe Tolwyn and the others as well. Decker thought about what Kurst had said, how all six of them were needed.
"Sorry, my friends," Decker whispered. "You'll have to finish this one without me."
He emptied the M-l 6's magazine into the approaching shadows, but they still crawled closer. He tossed his last grenade, then pulled his pistol from its holster. It was the last real weapon he had.
"You have fought well," a huge man atop a black stag said, riding out of the shadows by the castle. "You will make a fine addition to the Hunt."
Decker knew instinctively that this was the leader. What had Paragon called him? The Horn Master? If Decker could take him out, then the others might have the time they needed to finish this business. He stepped into the stag's path.
"I'm Andrew Jackson Decker," the congressman said, pointing his pistol at the Horn Master. "And this is for my world."
Decker fired four shots before the stag's pounding hooves brought him down.
137
Mara stood in the Dream Time, letting its shifting panorama reel about her. She focused upon the bridge before her, concentrating on the few shaped stones that remained to form a path back to Aysle. The rest of the bridge, walls and all, drifted into the exaggerated landscape of the Dream Time.
Djil had finished his dance, and now he was singing a dream song. She tried to follow the words, but did not know enough of the aborigine's language to understand what he was singing. She looked toward the horizon, tracing the stone path with her eyes. Distance was almost meaningless here, for she could see unbelievably far. That was how she saw the two figures.
They were walking straight toward her, not straying from the stone path. The first was a tall woman in a white gown. She reminded Mara of Tolwyn, only older, more refined. But there was a darkness to the woman as well, a swagger that was definitely male. The second figure was a man in priestly garments and a tall hat. He carried a staff topped with an ornate cross, and was obviously dressed for a high mass or other important function. He, too, had a darkness about him, and Mara shivered though the air was not cold.
"Djil?" Mara asked, trying to get the shaman's attention. He did not respond. He just continued to sing. He was painted with a white chalk she noticed, although she had not seen him pause to apply it. The white showed clearly against his dark skin, making him appear ghostly, more like a part of this spirit realm than of the natural world. "Djil, help me," she pleaded, but he continued to sing his song of dreams.
Beyond the approaching figures, Mara noticed that more people had stepped upon the bridge. There were seven more shapes walking the stone path, but they were still too far away for Mara to see clearly. For a moment, she had a feeling that someone was watching
her from far away, but she knew that was impossible. She shook off the feeling of paranoia and reached for her laser pistol.
"No, Mara," Djil said, coming out of his song.
"I think that's Uthorion walking toward us, Djil," Mara returned. "I'm not going to face another High Lord unarmed. Triple damn, I wish I still had the Heart of Coyote!" She grasped the pistol's handle.
"Mara, the pr
iest, do you see him?" Djil asked.
"Yes," she responded.
"He is the one you built the jaz pack for. He is the one that desperately needs to see your world."
"Why?"
Djil did not answer her. He resumed his dream song.
"I hate it when you get all mysterious on me, Djil," she grumbled. "But you haven't led me wrong yet." Mara relaxed her grip on the pistol, letting it slide back into the holster strapped to her side. She opened one of her belt pouches, then reached into it with her right hand.
She pulled out the date plate/jaz pack assembly.
"I hope you know what I'm doing, Djil," Mara whispered, stepping forward to meet the approaching travelers.
138
"Do you see that, Angar?" Jean Malraux asked. "Do you see that young woman and the savage?"
"I see them," Uthorion said, his voice again filled with nervousness. Things were not going the way they usually did, and that made the High Lord of Aysle very unsettled.
The young woman stepped toward them. She was scantily dressed, with a wild mane of silver hair. Dark
paint covered parts of her face, and her body seemed to be partially made of metal. She stopped before Malraux, locking him with a fierce gaze.
"You look to be in terrible need of redemption, girl," Malraux smiled. "Perhaps I can lead you back to salvation. Shall we pray?"
"I don't think so," the girl responded. Then metal blades snapped from sockets in her left hand.
"Uthorion, beware!" Malraux warned, turning to protect the High Lord of Aysle. But the girl wasn't after Uthorion, and Malraux exposed his back to her by his action.
Claws flashed, slicing through the antipope's fine raiment. Then she struck him with her other hand, slapping it against the bare flesh of his back. Malraux felt the pinpricks of a dozen tiny needles and the cold of metal touching his exposed flesh. He reacted as swiftly as she, striking with a hard, back-handed blow. She crumbled to the stone path.
"How dare she assault my person!" Malraux raged. He stepped toward her, raising his cross-topped staff like a spear above her still form.
"No!" screamed another voice, and Malraux turned to see a man charging toward him from the Aysle side of the bridge. The man held a weapon of some sort, lifting it to use against the Vicar of Avignon.
"Blasphemy!" Malraux said in stunned surprise, pointing his staff at the heathen sinner.
"Tom, stay back!" another man yelled, and Malraux saw that there was a small army approaching them. It was led by Tolwyn of House Tancred. He invoked a simple prayer, and fire leaped from the cross. It wrapped around the man called Tom, engulfing him in all-consuming fire.
Malraux turned back to Uthorion. "Your prophecy has finally arrived," he said. "I leave you to settle matters however you see fit, for I have my own realm to conquer."
A spiral of light fell from the swirling sky, landing beside the antipope. He stepped into its glow, and immediately it retreated, taking him away from the strange scene that he had no desire to see to its conclusion.
139
Tolwyn watched in horror as unholy fire consumed Tom O'Malley. His killer stepped into a beam of light before the paladin could react, disappearing as the light retreated into the sky. But the one she was after was still before her.
"Uthorion!" Tolwyn shouted. "I have come for you!"
It wasn't Uthorion standing there, however. It was the Lady of the Light, and even though Tolwyn knew that the evil Uthorion possessed her form, she hesitated from attacking the leader she long-ago pledged her sword to.
"You have come to die, Tolwyn," Uthorion said through Ardinay's lips, in Ardinay's voice. "You and your companions shall fall before me!"
Tolwyn drew Battlestar from its scabbard, letting the enchantment flow from its ornate hilt into her sword arm. She started forward when she heard Djilangulyip call her.
"We are so much alike, Tolwyn," Djil sang. "We are both custodians of our land. The aborigines must use art to connect the land to the Dream Time. You must do the same, paladin. Put away your sword, set aside the warrior. Become an artist instead!"
"What does that savage mean, Tolwyn?" Uthorion
demanded. "Tell me!"
The paladin slid Battlestar back into its scabbard. An artist, Djil said. How was she to become an artist? She took the crys flower she had carried throughout her quest out of the folds that held it. It was still fresh, still alive. Its blue and red swirls vibrated with excitement as she looked upon it. Then she knew what she had to do.
"Let me tell you a story, Uthorion," Tolwyn began.
"Yay! A story!" yelled the dwarves behind her.
And then the Dream Time was plunged into a deep, eternal darkness.
140
Thratchen watched the unfolding scene through the mirror in the Gaunt Man's keep. He saw Malraux flee. He saw Tolwyn sheathe her sword. Then, when it looked like the final conflict was going to begin, he felt a powerful presence ripple through the mirror.
"What in ...?" Thratchen said, startled. It was as though something was pushing up through the depths of the mirror, reaching for the surface. Reaching for freedom.
Tentatively, he stretched out his own senses, searching for some hint as to the identity of the presence. He found it quicker than he expected as the presence grabbed hold of him. Like a drowning swimmer, it pulled itself along the line of Thratchen's consciousness, higher and higher through the mirror.
Toward freedom.
"The Nameless One," Thratchen gasped, struggling to maintain his own hold on reality.
And then the darkness engulfed him, spreading to fill the spaces of Dream Time that the mirror also looked upon.
141
Dark. So dark. Cold. Iam so cold. Iam... Bryce. Christopher Bryce. Father Christopher Bryce. And I am so utterly, completely alone.
Bryce slowly came awake, but no light greeted his opened eyes. He was floating in darkness so total that he almost believed he had ceased to exist.
Why is it so dark?
He tried to move, but his legs did not respond. Or, if they did, he was not aware of it. He was only aware of the darkness.
"Hello!" he yelled, but it sounded muffled in the expanse of nothing around him. "Is anyone there?"
No answer. He was alone. All alone.
"I don't want to be alone like this!" he cried. In the darkness, no one could see him weep. But he knew, and it shamed him.
Why is it so cold?
Time passed. It must have. Bryce continued to float in the dark, struggling to suppress the fear that played across his nerves and threw terrible images into his mind.
What happened to the others? Where had the dark come from?
Bryce waited, trying not to think, not to imagine. He was so lonely! Was this the way Earth felt, he wondered, floating all alone in a sea of darkness? No, he decided, for even space had stars to look upon. This had nothing.
"I don't want to be alone," Bryce said aloud.
A moment later, he heard something. It was low at first, and very far away. But he strained, and the sound became louder, clearer. It was another voice, reaching toward him through the darkness. It was a haunting voice, screaming with fear.
"I do not want to be alone!" the voice cried over and over. He heard it with his ears, but it also echoed within his mind, resonating with strong emotions. "I do not want to be alone!"
...in the darkness ...
... total darkness.
"You are not alone!" Bryce called back. "I'm here!"
Nothing, no response. But Bryce still felt the presence close to him, tentatively touching his thoughts. "Who are you?" he asked.
"Katrina," the sound and thought conveyed. "Katrina Tovarish."
Bryce saw a pinpoint of light far away in the darkness. It was a glowing point of blue and red, swirling alone in the vast blackness. "Katrina?" he asked.
"It is so dark," the young woman said, speaking not necessarily to Bryce but to the darkness itself. "And now I know what the voice
that is not a voice feared so much."
The Nameless One.
The thought was so powerful, shooting from the point of light into Bryce's mind. What was the light, that it could know fear? That it could communicate?
Apeiros.
The second thought was still strong, but it did not batter Bryce's mind as it made itself known. The light was warm, like a tiny sun, and the priest welcomed the spot of heat in this place of utter cold. He listened to the thoughts it conveyed, and recognized it as something he had experienced before. Bryce reached into his pocket and grasped the shard of stone that was once part of the
Heart of Coyote. He pulled it from his pocket, regarding it solemnly. The shard was full of light, shining in his hand like a miniature sun. In the vast nothing, the swirling blue and red looked like endless potential, full of possibility. Like the far-away light.
He held the shard tightly, letting its light shine before him. "I don't want to be alone," he said.
"I don't want to be alone," Katrina repeated.
Then the light exploded into a rainbow of color, connecting to the far-away light, and another presence touched Bryce's heart.
The presence came from beyond the shard, beyond the darkness. Beyond all reality the priest knew. It came from very far away, but it also came from within his own heart. It was the presence of faith.
I am not alone. You are not alone. We are not alone.
The voice-thoughts flowed through him like a warm burst of air. It was the shard's voice, the far-away light's voice. And more, it was a voice from beyond even the swirling blue-red star that identified itself as Apeiros. For the first time in all the years that he had been questioning, Bryce finally received an answer. It filled him with joy and warmth and light, and not even this utter darkness could hurt him.
"I am not alone!" he called happily.
And everyone heard him.
142
The blue and red light extended in all directions through the darkness, thin ropes of energy searching for others. It found them, connecting them one to another in a knot of light. Tolwyn. Djilangulyip. Mara. Kurst. They heard Bryce's voice shouting through the blackness, somehow strengthened by other voices they could barely
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