torg 02 - The Dark Realm (28 page)

"You cannot defy me now, Kurst," the Gaunt Man

explained triumphantly. "There is nothing left of you

Kurst wept.

116

Scythak watched as the compound suddenly became alive with activity. Something had happened in the hospital, over in the area where all the soldiers and vehicles waited for someone to emerge from the building. Perhaps the activity was for the best. He could strike during the confusion and be on his way before they even noticed him.

"It's time," Scythak said to Dr. James Monroe.

"Time?" Monroe asked. "Are you going after Decker now?"

"Yes," Scythak replied, letting his hand shift into the tiger's claw. "And here is your reward for betraying your litter."

The claw slashed out, tearing a great, bloody hole in Monroe's throat. The doctor, eyes wide in surprise, tried to ask another question. But the words never reached his mouth; they simply bubbled out of the gaping wound in his neck, spilling more blood down the front of his shirt.

Monroe died. Then he fell to the ground.

"Stormer," Scythak spat, padding off toward the hospital.

Toward Decker.

117

Decker, numbed by the violent death of his friend and president, sat in the hall outside where the body lay. He couldn't think, couldn't weep. He could only see the pistol rise up, the bullets explode from the chamber in slow motion, the blood. He saw it over and over again, and he watched for something he could have done

differently. But all he saw was —

Blackness. It burst across his senses, blocking out everything else except the now-throbbing pain in his chest. A door swung open in the blackness before he could focus his thoughts, revealing a huge latticework pattern of glowing light. But the pattern wasn't complete yet. It still needed things added to it, removed from it. He pulled away an extraneous angle, ripping it from the pattern, and laughter filled his mind. It was a familiar sound. The Gaunt Man's sound.

"Ace, are you all right?" Julie asked, and the pattern and blackness fell apart like dandelions in the wind.

"Yeah, I think so," Decker said, but he knew it wasn't true. There was something about the pattern he had interfered with, something familiar.

"Kurst." The name appeared in his mind with blinding clarity. Somehow, the pattern was tied to Kurst.

"Julie, you have to help me," Decker said.

"Of course," she replied, but she looked confused.

"Next time the blackness comes upon me, let me go to it."

"What? Have you gone crazy? You want to go back to that awful beach? No way!"

"There's something happening," Decker explained as best he could. "It involves Kurst, and I think I was just used to hurt him. But if I go back, I think that I can help him."

"Maybe you're thinking too much, mister," Julie said angrily.

"Please, just be ready to pull me back after —"

The blackness was all around him again, washing over him like a breaking wave. Then the pattern appeared, and this time Decker studied it more carefully. He saw that it was actually two patterns. The dimmer pattern was an almost-uniform latticework that had rough edges and pleasing breaks from the whole that were a touch sporadic. The second pattern, the one that overlaid the first, was rigid and unyielding. There was no creativity inherent in the design, no flashes of brilliance. It was merely functional, defining its place with well-ruled lines and right angles. That was the pattern the Gaunt Man wanted him to force the other pattern — Kurst's pattern — to conform to.

"Choose," came the voice of the Gaunt Man.

Decker began his work, pointing out possible paths of deviance from the ordered pattern so that the Gaunt Man could tear them away. Decker hated himself more and more with each possibility the Gaunt Man slashed, but he knew that his plan was Kurst's only hope. For while he showed the Gaunt Man all of the minor deviances, he held back the bright glow in the center of Kurst's latticework.

Decker touched the glowing light, and waves of honor and nobility rippled through him. This was Kurst's greatest possibility, the destiny that life had originally set for him. But the Gaunt Man had changed all that. But maybe not as completely as he had hoped.

"Choose," the Gaunt Man said again.

"Done," Decker answered, pulling his hand back from the light that looked like all the other lights to the Gaunt Man. And then the blackness faded —

— and Decker was in the hallway, sitting on the bench beside Julie.

"I didn't know how long to wait, but you were gone so long and ..." Julie stammered.

"It's all right," Decker told her. "You did good."

"Too good, if you ask me," growled a voice nearby.

Decker looked up to see an enormous man that he first took to be Kurst in his man-wolf form. But then he saw that the man was larger than Kurst — even in his wolf form. He was fully seven feet tall, massively built, with thick forearms that bent unnaturally at the elbow and ended in curled claws. His face was huge, framed by black and gold-stripped hair that covered his entire body. Like Kurst, this man was a shapeshifter. But unlike Kurst, he was a man-tiger instead of a man-wolf.

"You're Decker," the man-tiger growled through sharp teeth. "I can smell it. I'm here to —"

The man-tiger paused, and Decker saw something flash briefly around the creature's neck. Then he finished his thought.

"I'm here to kill you."

Decker moved then, grasping the pistol from the holster at Julie's side while he shoved her away. He spun to fire, but the man-tiger was already in mid-leap. All Decker could do was roll out of the way as the massive body passed over him. Before he could get fully to his feet, the man-tiger was upon him, all claws and pointed teeth. Somehow, Decker managed to position the pistol so its barrel was pressed against the werebeast's stomach. He squeezed off four shots, and the creature fell back, crashing to the ground.

Julie was holding him then, asking if he was all right, asking what that creature was. He put an arm around her.

"Ace!" she cried, pointing. He turned to follow her finger.

The man-tiger was rising from the floor, his face a snarl of hate and death.

118

Kurst felt wet tears drying or his face, but he could not remember crying. He tried to get his bearings, but it was as if he was waking in an unfamiliar place. He lazily opened one eye and saw the sorting machine across the room. For a moment he saw himself suspended within the grid of energy above it, but then he saw that it was only a series of blue-red sparkles and not him. He moved his eyes, and there was the Gaunt Man, standing in front of his ornate mirror. What was the mirror doing down here? Kurst wondered.

The Gaunt Man was watching something in the mirror. Kurst looked up, the effort to crane his neck taking all the energy he had. His eyes fixed on the mirror, and he saw Scythak moving stealthily through a building of some sort. Good old Scythak, hunting as usual! Kurst smiled a tiny smile, continued to stare at the surface of the mirror.

The Gaunt Man turned away, looking back at Kurst.

"Awake?" he asked. "Good. We must re-educate you now. Scythak is about to secure Decker, and when he does I'll begin. I have already used Decker to do a little sorting, but it is so much more effective when he is not up and about."

The Gaunt Man moved forward, blocking Kurst's view of the mirror momentarily. He sat down next to the man-wolf, touched Kurst's wrists.

"The first phase is complete," he said. "You cannot act against me. Unfortunately, since I was in a hurry, I made it too difficult for you to act at all. We'll remedy that soon enough."

He looked back toward the mirror, turning as he did so, allowing Kurst to see its surface as well. He saw that Scythak was in the hospital where they left Decker, standing before a woman — she looked familiar — and a man. The man was Andrew Jackson Decker.

Kurst watched as Scythak leaped to attack and a warm spot suddenly flared within his heart. What was that? The Gaunt Man gasped in surprise at the scene and turned back to Kurst.

"Upsetting," the Gaunt Man murmured. "Scythak seems to have gone berserk."

Kurst quickly closed his eyes, waiting. The warm spot was a dazzling shower of blue and red sparks in the darkness behind his eyelids. It was the presence and commitment of Tolwyn. It was the faith of Father Bryce. It was the determination and humor of Mara. It was even the friendship of Decker. But more, it was him — not Kurst, not the Gaunt Man's created hunting machine, but him. Dire wolf.

Dire wolf.

What had the street rough meant by that? What did it have to do with who he really was?

He felt the Gaunt Man shift position, felt the touch of a dry finger on his face. There was a sense of
nearness.

Kurst struck.

One blow was all he had time for. The Gaunt Man's reflexive counter blow was devastating, hurling the man-wolf, howling, halfway across the chamber. He slammed against the wall, dropped, but the pain of the blow was half that of the pain in his hand where his claw had broken through the Gaunt Man's skin. That claw was now burned and twisted as if by acid. His whole hand throbbed with agony.

That agony was only half that of hearing the Gaunt Man scream.

It was the death-cry of a hundred souls, a hurricane wind; it was vibrating harmonics, an earthquake, and the sheer terror of an animal about to d ie. It was volcanoes erupting. It was all those things and more, indescribable and deadly to hear. Kurst moaned and held his ears, trying to block out the noise.

The Gaunt Man clutched his hands to his face, his eye. Bright white light spilled from between his fingers like blood. The light and the noise made Kurst black out.

It was for a moment only, but when he awoke there was silence. He raised his head, furred paws still cupped over animal-shaped ears, looking about the room. The Gaunt Man still stood where he had been, silent now, unmoving, staring at Kurst through one eye. The other, through splayed fingers, spilled forth blinding light like a miniature sun. They regarded each other silently, and Kurst could feel the tangible hate billowing toward him, like heat, threatening to crisp him where he stood.

"You dare much, my slave," said the Gaunt Man. There was no sign of pain in his voice now. "You think to slay me with a blow? See what you have wrought!" He pulled his hands from his face, and light flooded from the eye, bathing the werewolf in its burning starkness. Kurst howled and stumbled back, trying to escape the bright light, the heat, the hatred.

Through squinting eyes he saw the dim form of the Gaunt Man approaching, slowly and inexorably. Nowhere to run! Kurst licked dry lips, crouched, arms extended. Kurst had no choice now but to fight. Perhaps he could wound the Gaunt Man again.

"Come to me," Kurst said loudly.

The Gaunt Man stopped, his face twisting. "Bravado! How becoming!" He spat, and where the spittle landed on the stone there was a hiss of steam. "I'll flay the skin from your flesh, Kurst, and use your skull to hold the ashes of your body!"

"No," said another voice, a strong feminine voice that

echoed in the vast chamber. "Your reign is over, vile one."

The Gaunt Man whirled, and Kurst could see again. Tolwyn was standing in the doorway, sword upraised. The pilot Tom and the dwarves clustered behind her, their weapons ready as well. The Gaunt Man moved one step, but Tolwyn whirled with blinding speed. She threw her sword, twirling it through the air. It crashed into the wires and the tubes, shattering crystals and panels on the great machine. Flames jetted up from the blow, blackening and twisting the sword. But the damage was done. Fire quickly spread across the massive machine.

"You bitch!" cried the Gaunt Man, voice like thunder. He raised up one hand. "You'll pay for your audacity!"

Kurst sensed the buildings of a summoning, and he dove at the Gaunt Man. He heard his own yell as he was slammed away from the High Lord by the physical power of the building spell. But he knew he had disturbed the casting, because its power dissipated through his body.

The werewolf slumped to the floor, unconscious.

119

The weretiger was still alive! Decker clutched Julie's arm and started running down the hallway. He had to put space between them and the monster. They were almost to the end of the corridor when they heard a door open somewhere behind them. Decker looked back. The weretiger was on its feet, following them despite four bullets in the gut. Between them stood two soldiers who just emerged from a room off the hall.

The tiger loomed over the two men, who looked small and insignificant compared to the creature. Both men seemed stunned, unsure of what was happening. But they carried automatic rifles.

"Shoot it!" Decker screamed. "Kill the monster!"

One of the men responded, swinging his rifle from his shoulder and leveling at the beast. Before he could squeeze off a burst, the tiger drove his claws into the other soldier. Decker saw the sharp talons emerge from the man's back with a spray of blood.

Then the first soldier fired a burst of bullets that knocked the man-tiger into the wall. The soldier, his gun still pointed at the beast, turned to address Decker.

"What in God's name was that thing, congressman?" the soldier called. "Sweet Jesus, look what it did to Riley!"

Decker didn't have time to answer the man, for the tiger was pushing itself off the wall. It swiped its claws with such power that the soldier's head flew from his body, bouncing along the corridor floor like some crazy- shaped basketball. Then it grinned at Decker, showing its white teeth.

"Come on," Decker said to Julie, pulling her through the nearest door. He closed it, locked it, and ran on.

They only made it through two more doors when they heard the explosion of wood behind them.

120

Sorrow filled Tolwyn; she hated to use the sword like that, hated to lose it to the flames. But she had no choice. The machine had to be destroyed. She turned to watch the five dwarves hurl their battle spikes in a deadly volley of metal. The iron stakes hummed through the air and struck the Gaunt Man full on. But he was a High Lord, and High Lords were not so easily killed.

Tolwyn saw two of the weapons actually penetrate the Gaunt Man's pale skin, but the wounds did not bleed; they glowed instead. The other three spikes rattled harmlessly off the High Lord to clatter to the ground. Tolwyn realized that, even if she still had her sword, she would be hard-pressed to think of what to do with it.

The Gaunt Man bent down as she watched, picked up one spike, and hurled it back at the cluster of dwarves. Gutterby howled, clutching at his arm where the point now protruded from his shoulder. The Gaunt Man laughed.

"We cannot attack him directly with any hope of winning," Tolwyn said to the dwarves. "Maybe we can hurt him in other ways." She pointed at the now-flaming machine. "Grim," she called.

The sixth dwarf stepped out of the shadows, a ball of flaming pitch in his hands. He let the ball fly, directing its course with the magic he possessed.

But the Gaunt Man was not without magic of his own. He opened his hand and the ball of pitch changed direction. It spun in the air, turning away from the machine, and leaped into the Gaunt Man's hand. He closed his fist.

Grim, amazed at the sight, wasted no time however. He tapped the piece of burning pitch he retained into his palm, setting off the spell.

"Ouch!" Grim cried out.

The Gaunt Man was engulfed in an explosion of flame.

"Quickly, Grim," Tolwyn ordered, "toss another fire ball at the machine."

Grim shrugged. "That was my last ball of pitch. It will take me time to prepare another spell."

"We have no time!" she exclaimed. "Dismantle the machine any way you can!"

The dwarves nodded and moved to do her bidding.

Tolwyn circled away from them, eye on the Gaunt Man. As she watched, he stepped out of the flames. She contemplated grappling with him to buy the dwarves some time when Bryce, Mara and Tom entered the room. A moment later, a ravagon walked in, carrying Djil under one arm.

The Gaunt Man looked around at the strange gathering and laughed loudly. Then he became serious. "This has been very amusing, but now it's over," he said evenly, addressing Tolwyn. "Call the dwarves away from the machine, stormer."

Time stood still as the Gaunt Man and Tolwyn faced each other. She studied his fragile-looking form, examining it the way she would any foe. But the weakness was a sham, for blinding power spilled from the wounds Kurst had inflicted upon him. There were only two options available to Tolwyn, really. She could flee, turning away from this enemy. Or she could continue to fight, even if it meant her death. She made her decision and strode forward.

"Decker," called a weak voice. They all turned as Kurst said the word and struggled to his feet. He was in man form again, working his way to an ornate mirror leaning against one wall.

"Kurst, be careful," Tolwyn warned.

"Decker," the hunter managed again. "I saw him in the mirror. Scythak is after him, trying to kill him. I can go to him, save him. The mirror is a pathway. I have seen the Gaunt Man use it as such. I've even traveled its cold tunnel. Now I must do so again. If I don't reach him in time, we've come all this way for nothing."

The Gaunt Man stood in the center of the room, watching them all. His calm was unnerving. Then everything happened at once. There was a snapping sound from the machine, a sound like glass breaking, and the Gaunt Man whirled toward it. The ravagon dropped Djil, who appeared to be unharmed, and rushed to his master's side as they headed across the vast chamber. Tolwyn let them go, grudgingly leaving the dwarves to their own fate as she moved to the mirror.

Bryce and Mara had gone to Kurst, supporting him with their bodies and their strength. They were next to the mirror, watching as the image of Decker ran through dark rooms. She could feel his fear. Something was chasing him. Something terrible.

"We must do something," Tolwyn said, pointing to the mirror. "Can this be used as a weapon?"

"Not by us," Kurst said, a little strength back in his voice. "I've got to —"

Kurst stopped abruptly. Standing before them was a demonic form, winged and horned, with metallic legs that ended in wicked claws. It grinned at them, and mocked them with a bow.

"Thratchen!" Mara exclaimed.

"There's not much time," the demon said to Mara. "If you want to save your friend, you'll have to show me something." The demon reached down, touched the mirror with one extended claw. He swung the claw into the silver glass, sending cracks rippling across its mirrored surface.

"This path is closed to you, Kurst," Thratchen said. "But there is still a way to reach Decker. Mara knows the way. It's how she got to Earth."

Kurst whirled on the girl, grabbed her by the shoulders as strength returned to him. "How do we save Decker?" he asked harshly.

Tolwyn watched as Thratchen stepped back, and she heard the sounds of battle somewhere off near the machine. What was going on here? What kinds of games were being played by these beings of power?

Djil came up behind Mara then, muttering, "Remember your friends."

"But I don't have the equipment!" Mara wailed. "I don't have a transference cylinder! There's nothing to focus our energy through."

"We have this," Bryce said, pulling the Heart of Coyote from his pack.

Mara took the stone that Bryce offered, but her thoughts were to the volunteers that made her transference cylinder work. She thought of Djil's knots, and how this group was so much like those knots, coming together to accomplish the impossible. Then she saw the possibility of how she could save Decker.

"Christopher, come here, take my hand," Mara said. "Tolwyn, take my other hand."

Djil and Kurst joined hands as well, and the five formed a circle. Thratchen watched, enraptured. Mara ignored him completely.

Tolwyn stopped for one moment, ready to issue counter commands. Then a strange thing happened, and she bit back her words. All her life she had been a commander. She relied on her judgment, her training, her authority. But now things seemed different. She did not hold command over these people. She was still Tolwyn, still capable and trustworthy, but these people were her equals. They formed a group, and that provided them with the means to do almost anything.

Mara was in their minds then, joining with them on a deeper level than just holding hands. They all heard the Heart of Coyote singing its song of endless possibilities, and they all found the voice to join in.

Using this power, freely shifted among the group, Mara opened a gate to Decker. A dark hole formed in the middle of their ring. It was the blackness of night, and a warm breeze swept into the chamber as from another place. Tolwyn heard a woman's scream echo out of the darkness. Kurst heard it too and he started forward, into the gate.

Tolwyn moved quickly to interpose herself between him and the strange gate that had opened at Mara's command, but he was fast. His arm shot out, grasping her wrist, and he held her still. They stared into each other's eyes.

"You are wounded," Tolwyn said.

"It doesn't matter," Kurst replied. "You've got your memories back, now I need the chance to get mine. Besides, Decker is my friend."

His eyes bored into hers. He looked strong enough to fight, and something more flashed between them; an understanding. Tolwyn backed away. "Go," she said, and he entered the gate and disappeared.

"How amazing," Thratchen marveled. "You actually did it! And I've recorded it all!"

121

Kurst stepped into the open gate —

It was not like the one time he had been sent through the mirror by the Gaunt Man. That time was cold, like leaping into ice water. And there had been intense pain. This time there was none of that.

This time there was the warmth of companionship, and the joy of many minds acting as one. It was ...exhilirating!

— and stepped out into a dark corridor. He was back at Twentynine Palms. What an amazing ability! But he had no time to contemplate what had happened. He had to reach Decker before Scythak did. The human could not survive against the man-tiger.

He raced down the corridor, through smashed doors and shattered walls, over torn bodies. None of those he ran past were Decker. They were soldiers, and Kurst was saddened by their deaths, but he did not stop to mourn them. He raced to save his friend. Finally, he leaped into a large room.

The room was crowded with rows of metal shelves and racks. Cabinets lined one wall. Kurst recognized the smell of oil, and large crates and barrels were piled everywhere. The weretiger had chased Decker into a supply room — or Decker had led the monster here. Scythak spun at Kurst's intrusion, growling with madness. Kurst saw that Decker was backed into a corner, the nurse Julie Boot huddled beside him. Decker had a pistol in his hands, its smoking barrel aimed at the weretiger.

"Put your weapon down, Decker," Kurst called. "It cannot kill Scythak."

The man-tiger cocked his head at the sound of his name, and his eyes cleared. "Leave this place, Kurst," Scythak ordered. "This is my kill."

Kurst shook his head. "The killing has ended."

"Perhaps, little hunter," Scythak sneered, "but not until I have eaten your heart and washed down the taste with your blood!"

Kurst let the shift take hold of him, feeling it reshape his body. He grew larger, but not as large as Scythak, and the wolf was there to meet the challenge of the tiger. He bounded on clawed feet, closing the distance between them with a mighty leap. Kurst locked his powerful jaws on Scythak's shoulder and bit deeply into the muscles. Unlike Decker's weapon, Kurst's claws and teeth could kill Scythak. To accentuate the point, Scythak screamed.

But the weretiger was the stronger of the two, bigger and more massive. Kurst's advantages were in speed and cunning. This room allowed for none of that. Scythak's claws ripped into Kurst's back, pulling him off of the torn shoulder.

The werewolf rolled out of the tiger's grip, coming to his feet some distance away. The tiger's jaws gaped open, saliva dripping freely from the tooth-filled maw. The two opponents locked eyes, and a recognition of impending violence joined them in a hunting dance. But which was hunter, which prey?

Human instincts screamed for Kurst to bolt in the face of this larger adversary. But the wolf stood his ground, his senses filled with the excitement to come. The tiger feinted to the right, and immediately Kurst saw that it was a trick. Scythak leaped then, sending his massive form at Kurst.