Get a grip, Dytran!
But I don’t want to get a grip. My thoughts turn toward the men I have killed, savoring their destruction. My only regret is that they did not suffer adequately. It would have been so much better to gut shoot them and enjoy the hours of their agony until they finally perished. How pleasant it will be tying Omzbak to a tree and skinning him alive.
Except, there are no trees down here. Tie him to a rock then. Spill his guts out!
We enter an area of fantastic distortions. Tormented rock formations twist above and around us, as if some giant hand has torn the earth in a fit of rage. The rocks are a stark white, as if they are composed of salt or powdered bones. Other rocks have been moved along the floor, leaving tracks behind them. The landscape dips into tortured gashes. Piles of stone debris are everywhere. And piles of something else ...
I can make out the blasted hulks of military vehicles, hundreds, maybe thousands, of them. They lie in heaps like the carcasses of massive animals – tanks, trucks, armored cars. I recognize some as our own, the majority are alien models. A foul stench of death issues from them. I can imagine skeletal arms thrusting themselves out of the ground nearby.
We give these ghastly heaps as wide a berth as possible.
Trynka is closing the distance between us again, and I do not shoo her away this time. She is very attractive. I’d noticed this before, of course, but she had been Katella’s girl, so I’d tried to ignore her charms. But now they are all here, just for me.
Thoughts of bloody revenge become tangled in my mind with an all-consuming sexual lust. Death and copulation become one.
Never in my life have I missed anybody as much as I now miss Bel! This evil place is taking over my mind. It’s mixing the worst aspects of my personality in with its own perversions.
I can understand this process well enough, but I can’t do anything about it. Worse, I don’t want to do anything about it. Without Bel, I have lost my moral compass.
Please come back – hurry!
But he’s not coming back. I have sent him away, just as I sent away everything else that’s good during my pursuit of vengeance ... except for Trynka, that is. She is pressed up close to me now. She seems small and vulnerable, but also very strong – stronger than me in some ways. Her body pulses with vitality.
We approach a stone archway. It’s more in the shape of a vast, prehistoric animal hunched over and grasping for victims. Its crevices and outcrops offer plenty of concealment for an ambush, but I know that Omzbak is nowhere near. We can avoid the archway, but choose to cross under it instead, hand in hand. It vibrates power down upon us.
I sense a much greater power lurking somewhere in the distance ahead – the driving force of this whole underground world. It draws me to it like a magnet, yet repels me at the same time. Trynka murmurs something in my ear. I cannot understand the words but know her meaning quite well. Her tone is husky and sensuous. She is filled with carnal lust, as I am.
There is no trail of any kind, we move through a vast open area under pale green light. Ahead of us and to the left is a large outcrop, a mini-mountain, almost. In the center of it gapes a large opening. By mutual consent, we move toward it. We peer inside; we enter.
Within is a scene of preternatural wonder never glimpsed in the world above. The floor is the usual barren rock but the ... sky is filled with celestial glory. It appears to hold every star in the universe. It sucks my breath away!
High above us is a gauzy blur of exploding nebula, in the middle of which is a huge red glow, like the eye of God gazing down at us. On the horizon glows a shimmering ring of green light reflected in what appears to be placid waters. The whole vista is beyond human capacity to appreciate. I have never seen such marvels in my life. Time seems to be suspended.
It’s a lie, Dytran – the pee cave.
I know that.
It is all just a reflection of my own mind, my deepest longings for beauty and meaning, everything corrupted with evil. Yet I stand in awe before it. Trynka moves toward me in the greenish glow. Her lips press against mine, and I respond eagerly. We grope for each other like savages, carried away by mutual lust ...
But it’s wrong! Real love does not belong in this cursed place.
“No – ” I tried to protest, but Trynka’s hunger silences me.
She crushes her mouth against mine, bruising my lips. Unimaginable desire surges through my body. Compared to this, my episodes with Ket have been chaste, Sunday school type events. Ket’s image appears before me; then it is carried off on a hot wave of arousal within which I am rapidly drowning.
We claw at each other with frantic urgency. I pull back.
“We can’t ... not like this!”
But I’m unable control myself, even though I know this is evil. I want it because it’s evil!
60. Confrontation
Omzbak staggered forward, each step taking him farther into an area he had not seen since his first intrusion nearly two years ago. Some potent force was getting hold of his mind, lending strength to his faltering efforts.
He moved along a narrow trail skirting a canyon. The ‘canyon’ was actually just a long gouge, perhaps 75 meters in depth and about as wide at the top, with steeply sloped banks plunging to the bottom.
At the far end of this wound in the ground, towering like a wrathful god, swirled the “War Tornado,” as Omzbak had dubbed it – a black, churning funnel with lightning flashing along its crown where it merged into tortured clouds.
The cone boiled with terrible power, like an eruption from hell itself. It was the blackened soul of something beyond the ability of human beings to comprehend. Omzbak recoiled from it, and was attracted at the same time.
“I’m here,” he said.
Such a phenomenon would seem to generate a great deal of sound, but Omzbak could hear little through his one good ear other than a low hissing noise.
He did not know where the dreadful twister originated, but he knew where it ended – at the center of the Barren. The whole devastated area revolved around it. Nobody dared remain in the Barren long enough to detect this motion, but Omzbak had felt the tornado’s pull underfoot the very first time he’d entered.
For all its awesome force, the War Tornado seemed weaker than it was – narrower and more erratic, as if the energy sustaining it was beginning to wane. Could it be that the ending of hostilities in the world above was robbing it of motive force?
Omzbak didn’t know; he could scarcely articulate the question. His whole world was winding down, so why not the tornado? He examined his injured body, the burns on his arms and hands, his tattered clothes. He spit out another bloody glob.
He was much reduced from what he’d been, but his curiosity was still intact. The previous time he’d visited here, he’d been too frightened to approach the War Tornado. He’d merely gaped at it from a distance before fleeing back to the world of the living. But that was when he still had a life and a family worth returning to.
It was time now to investigate further.
Step by painful step, Omzbak drew closer to the tornado until he was almost right beside it. The whirling force stroked him; his hair stood on end. He could see through the outer mantle now and behold the fearsome core. It flashed and hissed a violent red, like the blood of a million slaughtered men.
He stretched out his hand to touch it. Would the dreadful power tear him into atoms? He paused his hand, then reluctantly withdrew it. He craned his neck to view the apex, but it was obscured far above him among the clouds and lightning.
Maybe this apparition had some answers for him. If he dared to behold its source, he might experience a revelation, learn the reason behind all his suffering.
He advanced a few more paces and looked straight down. Beneath the swirl was a bottomless abyss, a void of total nothingness – no answers, not even any questions. Omzbak shook his head with rueful acceptance.
***
A huge roaring in my ears blanks out all th
ought. I am no longer a rational person but a wild beast. We tear at each other’s clothes; we sink to the floor, biting and scratching. Trynka’s flesh throbs and writhes under me as the moment of obscene consummation approaches.
Trynka is shrieking like a banshee. I howl along. We’re never coming back from this unholy coupling –
Above us, a harsh male voice intrudes: “What is this?”
My heart nearly stops from the shock. Terror shoves aside my raging lust. The whole universe implodes; my spirit, far gone in its flight toward damnation, hurtles back to me.
I grope for my rifle, but a boot is pinning it down. A gun barrel points in my face and a dark figure glowers down at me. Only then do I recognize who the intruder is. I struggle to my feet and confront him.
“Damn it Bel!” I cry.
Trynka stares up at us. Her face is flushed and disoriented – as if she’s just awakened from a nightmare. She beholds her nakedness with astonishment, as if she’s viewing the body of a stranger. She grabs her discarded clothing to cover herself and sidles away. My own clothing is mostly removed, leaving nothing to the imagination.
“Better pack it away, Dye,” Bel says.
I hurriedly yank my clothes back on.
“What are you doing here, Bel?” I try to cover my humiliation with anger. “I told you to get out.”
He barks a sarcastic laugh.
“Good thing it’s me instead of Omzbak. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, it’s ... this place.”
My ire melts into desperate gratitude. Bel’s loyalty is far more than I deserve. I feel unworthy to be standing in his presence; I should have stayed groveling on the floor.
“Why didn’t you keep going?” I say. “Where’s Sipren?”
A light seems to go out in Bel’s fierce eyes.
“He’s gone.”
The words hit with a terrible finality.
“W-what happened?”
“He stumbled ... where the ledge narrows ... he went over,” Bel says. “He was too far ahead, I couldn’t stop him.”
He seems on the verge of tears. I wrap my arms around him.
“Hang on, Bel. It’s just you and me now.”
For the first time ever, I feel stronger than Bel; he fairly sags in my arms.
“Why’d he have to run like that?” he says. “I-I couldn’t get to him, Dye. He was ... I couldn’t get to him!”
Moments pass; I try to pour some strength into him, as much as my poor capacity allows. Finally he rallies and pulls away from my embrace. The old Bel starts to reassert himself.
He glances about the surroundings.
“What is this hellhole, anyway?” he says.
“What do you mean ‘hellhole?’” I gesture to the magnificent surroundings. “Can’t you see?”
“All I can see is that you need a reality check,” Bel says. “This is the worst place I’ve ever been in my life.”
I look upwards. Everything is as I first saw it, gorgeous and seductive. I know it’s an illusion, but I still cannot see past it.
“Let’s just get out of here,” Bel says. “Do you know where Omzbak went?”
“You mean ... you’re coming with us?” I say.
“Zip your fly already,” Bel snaps. “Represent the Fatherland with some dignity!”
I adjust my clothing as ordered.
“How did you find us, Bel?”
“You were making enough noise to wake the dead,” he says. “How could I not find you?”
I nod, too late to be embarrassed about that. Then I ask the question I really want answered.
“Why’d you come back, Bel?”
“Somebody has to be here who’s got his head on straight,” he replies.
Trynka rejoins us. She’s fully clothed again and, if she is humiliated by our tumble, she isn’t showing it.
“Let’s go,” she says.
She moves toward the exit, but I hesitate.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Bel says.
We leave the glow cave, as I’ve named it, and reenter the wider enclosure. I take a backward glance, and my blood freezes.
The glorious vista has departed, replaced by a scene of utter desolation. The brilliant stars are gone, and a swirling mist has taken their place. The glowing eye is still there; only now it is deep scarlet and it throbs with malice.
I turn away from the evil thing. “That eye!”
“Yes, I saw it,” Bel says.
My awe for Bel’s capabilities nearly overwhelms me. How did he have the courage to enter that place alone and confront two people screeching like devils? And he navigated to the glow cave by himself through the erased landscape, with no one at his side to buck him up – and right after Sipren had been killed, too.
“Look at all those rocks!” Bel says. “Omzbak could be hiding anywhere.”
“He’s not here,” I say. “I’d know it if he was.”
“One of those ‘Ghostie’ things, huh?” Bel says.
“Something like that,” I say.
Bel looks around the landscape, unconvinced.
“Where is he, then?”
There’s only one place he can be. I point to a large crack in the rock face some distance away.
“He’s in there.”
61. Enemy in the Valley
We encounter more piles of wrecked vehicles and other war debris – cannons, rocket launchers, small arms – all twisted and corroded into grotesque shapes. Also more of the tortured white rock formations. We cannot avoid passing one at close quarters, and I can see that it is composed of bone fragments, pressed together into a death marble. Here and there, a larger bone protrudes. Trynka wretches at the sight. I’m grateful for my empty stomach.
We approach a towering crevasse in the rock wall. From a distance, it appears to be quite narrow, but closer up we can see that it is wide enough to admit all of us side by side with room to spare.
“That looks like a trap,” Bel says. “Omzbak could be just inside waiting to ambush us.”
“He isn’t, though,” I say.
Bel gives me an unbelieving look.
“He’s nowhere close,” I say. “Trust me on that.”
“Trust you,” he says, “like back there? I’m away ten minutes and you’ve already got your dong out ready for action.”
“It was a lot longer than ten centimeters ... I-I mean minutes.”
“See what I’m driving at?” Bel says.
“Oh, forget it!” I say. “Just wait out here.”
Trynka moves to accompany me, but I wave her off. Bel is going to see that I’m right about this. He’s not the only one who can barge into strange places alone. To further display my confidence, I sling the rifle over my shoulder.
“Tough guy, huh?” Bel says. “Better take this with you.”
He shoves the extra machine pistol at me. I think to refuse, but am actually quite pleased to get it.
“All right, have it your way.” I take the gun with seeming reluctance.
I begin walking through the crevasse, which must be a good ten or twelve meters deep. It looms high above me like the entryway of a cathedral. There is a religious awe about it – the sort of dark faith that speaks of blood sacrifice and the soul’s most evil secrets. Bats should be fluttering around its highest regions, but nothing can live there.
I grip the submachine gun more tightly. I feel a strong urge to turn around and flee, but force myself to go forward. I keep my eyes fixed rigidly ahead.
Then I step into another phase of reality, if reality has anything to do with this bizarre world. The first thing to catch my eye is a deep cut sprawling before me in the rock floor. It is not unlike the sharply banked valley of the river near the bridge.
Towering at the end of this valley is something beyond imagination.
“Good God!” a voice behind me exclaims. “What is that?”
It’s Bel, of course, who has kept right behind me in the passageway.
But his voice is a bit different. A low hissing in the air distorts all sound. His face is drained of color, as mine must also be.
“I-I don’t know, Bel ... ”
But I do know what it is. I’ve seen it before – when Papa stood glaring at us in the middle of our house, his chin bleeding where Stilikan had cut it. I saw it enveloping Bel’s burning aircraft, on the flank of the commando’s APC; I saw it swirling around Eagle-eye when he killed the slobe lad.
“It’s the Death Storm,” I say.
Trynka has joined us now. She, too, is overwhelmed by the sight, her mouth hanging open and eyes wide. I point to the raging, sparking apparition at the end of the valley, perhaps 250 meters distant. I’m surprised to see that my arm is not shaking.
“That’s where Omzbak is,” I say.
We stand unmoving, as if cemented to the rock. The manifestation swirling before us seems to be the source of all terror and violence – an entity that mere mortals cannot approach. But Omzbak has approached it; I know that much. He’s brought me here as the final act of this tragedy, to see if I can endure its ultimate truths.
I don’t know. It’s really up to Bel whether I can endure it or not.
Bel wipes a hand across his mouth; his lips must be paper dry, as mine are. I half expect him to turn around and go back the way we came. Instead he says:
“All right ... let’s go get him.”
He starts walking, but I remain rooted to the spot. He’s several paces ahead when Trynka finally draws me out of my inertia. I begin moving.
The path is scarcely more than a meter across, to our left plunges the Valley of Death’s steep bank, to the right is sheer rock face, and ahead of us swirls the great hissing funnel of smoke and evil with lightning flashing along its top. It’s a hungry monster; it is both cause and result of the horrors raging in the world above.
Yet I also sense that, fearsome as it may be, the cyclone is losing power – like a plate twirling atop a long stick in a stage performance. When will it topple off?
Bel’s strong back goes before me, a rock-solid support in my ordeal. He’s got a slight limp now; the rigors of this day have taken a toll on his injured leg. His determination humbles me. Ahead of him swirls the Death Strom with its crown of lightning, enough to cower any lesser mortal. But he advances.