Deathstalker

  The Blood Runners danced on and on, sweat dripping from their faces as their bare feet slammed harder and harder against the unyielding stone. Hazel lost all track of time with nothing to measure it against. But finally the Blood Runners stopped, crashing to a sudden halt, their feet hammering down in one last simultaneous step, as though the unheard music had been abruptly cut off. They stood breathing heavily for a long moment, not looking at one another, and then they turned as one and bowed to the stone. They broke up into groups then, murmuring quietly together, too softly for Hazel to overhear. They sounded like the far-off murmur of the sea, rising and falling. The largest group had formed around Scour, and eventually all the other groups orientated on his. He stared around him coldly, almost sneering, then reached inside his robes and brought out an object wrapped in crackling parchment. Scour unwrapped it slowly, not allowing himself to be rushed by the intent concentration of the others. Inside was a severed human hand, ancient and mummified. The tips of the fingers ended in candle wicks. Scour spoke a few quiet words, and the wicks caught alight, burning with pale blue flames.

  Hazel grimaced. She'd seen such things before, on Mistworld, where they were called Hands of Glory. Made from the severed hand of a hanged man, the superstitious claimed they could open hidden doors, discover lost treasures, and reveal the secrets in a dead man's head. The arts involved in their manufacture were said to be very unpleasant.

  Scour advanced on the Summerstone, holding the blazing Hand of Glory out before him. Hazel felt a sudden lurch, within and without her, and suddenly the stone wasn't just a stone anymore. Without moving or changing in any way, the Summerstone was more real, more there; realer than anything or anyone on the great stone plane. Hazel could feel a slow, soundless thudding in the air, like the heartbeat of something impossibly huge, impossibly far away, but at the same time so close she felt she could reach out and touch it. It echoed in her bones and in her water, and something in her responded to it, like the tune of a song she had always known. The presence of the standing stone grew stronger, as though it were the only light and they were just the shadows it cast. The Blood Runners were frozen in place, breathing together in perfect synchronization, their eyes fixed unblinkingly on the Summerstone. Hazel moaned softly as something like pain throbbed in her head in time to the silent heartbeat. She could feel her mind changing, unraveling… as though something that had always been within her were finally awakening. A great truth trembled before her, like a name right on the tip of her tongue.

  And then Scour blew out the candles on the Hand of Glory's fingers, reality crashed back to normal, and the stone was just a stone again. The Blood Runners stirred, as though emerging reluctantly from a communal dream. Some of them stared at the stone, and some at Hazel, and it was hard to tell which group looked the most disturbed. Scour glared about him.

  "You see? The stone recognized her. It responded to her presence. If I hadn't shut it down again, who knows how much power she might have been able to draw from it? She must be removed from here, kept separate from the stone, secured in a laboratory where she can be examined in safety. For all our protection."

  "Logical," said a new Blood Runner, stepping forward from his group to confront Scour. "But we must all have access to the subject, and all information derived from the subject. That is not negotiable."

  "All secrets will be shared, Pyre," said Scour. "What's the matter; don't you trust me?"

  There was a shared murmur of hissing laughter from all present, but there was no humor in the bloodred eyes fixed on Scour. He glared right back at them defiantly, showing his teeth in a smile that was as much a snarl.

  "Why should the pleasures of the interrogation be all yours?" said Pyre. "We all wish to know the joys of penetrating her flesh and blood, to savor her little cries and horrors as she gives up her mysteries one by one. You are too jealous of your pleasures, Scour, and we will not stand for it."

  "You know, I'm still willing to cooperate," said Hazel, just a little desperately. "This doesn't have to be a fight. The things you're after are secrets to me too. We could look for them together. Perhaps if you were to tell me more about your past and your true nature, I might be able to suggest directions you could look in; things that might not occur to you. I've been through the Madness Maze, remember, wielded powers you never even dreamed of. You'd be surprised where I've been."

  For a long moment, she thought they weren't going to buy it. The bloodred eyes stared at her coldly, unsympathetically, from all sides. Hazel was bluffing, but hoped they didn't know that. For the moment, she was as concerned with staying close to the Summerstone, as with putting off Scour's bloodthirsty desires. Simply being around the Stone made her feel stronger.

  "Tell her," said Lament. "Let her know who and what she is dealing with."

  "A new viewpoint may be of value," said Pyre. "Very well. Listen, Hazel d'Ark, and learn our secret history."

  "You always did like an audience," said Scour.

  "Once, we were human," said Pyre. "Only human, though separated from the mainstream of Humanity even then, by our own choice, following a darker, more subtle path. Some of us came to what would be known as the Wolfling World, as archaeologists. And quite by accident we found the Madness Maze, while looking for something else. Or perhaps it found us. In the greater realm, there are no accidents. Everything has a meaning. Everything has a purpose.

  "We wondered at the great Henge, sensing its power, but chose not to enter it. We knew even then that whoever passed through the Madness Maze would emerge changed irrevocably. We had put much time and effort into making ourselves what we were, and did not wish to risk unknown changes. We studied the Henge for years, using the most powerful and subtle sciences of the day, and discovered just enough to whet our appetites. Of course, simply by spending so much time in close proximity to the Henge, we were already changing, becoming more than we were. We did not always look like this.

  "And as our bodies slowly changed, our minds did as well. New vistas opened up before us. By this time, word of what we'd found had reached the then Emperor. To buy us time to continue our studies, we created for him the new shock troops he desired; the Wolflings. But they were affected by the Henge too, and became more than we meant, more than they should have been. The Emperor grew afraid, and had them wiped out. I understand you met the last Wolfling, Hazel d' Ark. A strange creature, possibly immortal. Almost certainly kept alive by the Maze, to serve its own purposes.

  "After the Wolflings rebelled, and the Empire forces moved in to exterminate them, we had no choice but to leave their world. The Emperor had not appreciated our gift, and there were warrants on all our heads. There was no time to plan or prepare. We took one stone and fled, bare hours ahead of the arriving Fleet. The Summerstone brought us here, and we have lived in this place ever since. We rarely leave. Away from the stone, our power wanes, and Time crashes in upon us. We look to you to free us from these chains.

  "Centuries passed, while we learned to draw what we needed from the Summerstone. And down the long years, we discovered and gave our lives to our great Quest, our search for the greatest knowledge of all; to know the true nature of underlying reality. What is, as opposed to what appears to be. Not the things of mist and shadow that our still limited senses perceive, but the bedrock on which all existence is based. The recent creation of espers has revealed new ways of perceiving reality, but you Maze people have the potential to see, to sense, to know so much more. And you will help us know these things too."

  "You've lost me," said Hazel. "What is there beyond the universe we know? Heaven and Hell and all that?"

  "Such small concepts," said Scour. "We wish to find and experience the basic, primal reality. To rip aside all the veils, and know the answer to all questions. We will become gods. It is our destiny."

  "You're all potty," said Hazel. "I'm sorry, but you're all completely barking. How the hell am I supposed to help you?"

  "When you and the others passed through the Madness
Maze," said Scour, "we felt the change. Your transformation affected everything else, like ripples spreading out from a stone thrown into the center of reality. It was decided that we would take one of you for examination. You had the most weaknesses, and your particular talent fascinated us. If we could control your ability to summon alternate versions of yourself, we would have an endless supply of Maze people to experiment on. We have tried cloning our subjects in the past, but the nature of this place interferes with the process. You are the answer to all our problems."

  "Someone is coming," said one of the severed human heads, and all the Blood Runners turned to look.

  "What do you mean, someone's coming?" said Scour. "No one can come here without our permission. No one can find us, unless we allow it. Who could possibly be coming here?"

  "The Deathstalker," said the severed head, and the other computer heads took up the name, chanting it over and over again, until Scour shut them all with an angry wave of his hand. "He will be here soon," said the first head. "Soon," whispered the other heads in unison, and then they fell silent.

  "Another Maze subject for our experiments," said Lament. "Fortune smiles on us."

  "Fool!" snapped Pyre. "This is the Deathstalker! He toppled the Empire! And if he can find his way here, to us, he must be even more powerful than we believed. He must be stopped, before he can reach Hazel d'Ark. Together, who knows what they might be capable of, so close to the Summerstone?" He turned and glared at Scour. "Take her. Break her. Rip her secrets out of her before the Deathstalker arrives. Do whatever you have to."

  "I always intended to," said Scour. "I trust I can count on not being interrupted?"

  "We'll protect you," said Pyre. "But don't dare fail us."

  "Come," said Scour to Hazel. "Let us return to my laboratory. And begin our explorations into the limits of suffering."

  Hazel kicked and struggled as the two headless bodies dragged her away, and couldn't loosen their grip one bit.

  Owen Deathstalker came at last to the Obeah Systems in the Sunstrider III, only to find there was nothing there. No colonies, no civilizations, nothing. Just an empty sector of space, marked on the charts as the Obeah Systems through old tradition. Owen cranked open the ship's sensors as far as they would go, but there were no lifesigns anywhere, no energy sources, no traces of artificial habitats; nothing. He sat back in his chair on the bridge, and scowled darkly. He'd made good time in getting here from Lachrymae Christi, pushing the star-drive to its limit, and he refused to believe it had all been for nothing.

  "Are you sure you've brought us to the right place, Oz?"

  "I was navigating ships before you were born, Owen," said the AI testily. "I told you there was nothing indicated at these coordinates, but you wouldn't listen. As far as I can tell, the Obeah Systems are what we navigators refer to as a MAMFA location."

  "And what the hell does MAMFA stand for?"

  "Miles And Miles of Fuck All."

  "I'd have you overhauled if I knew where your hardware was. Suggest something, Oz! This location is the only clue we've got to finding Hazel. Think of something."

  "She could be dead, Owen."

  "No. I'd know."

  Oz was quiet for a while, and when he finally spoke his quiet voice was unusually hesitant. "There are legends about the Obeah Systems. Old legends. They say the Blood Runners' world isn't always there. It comes and it goes. That it's a place only they can reach, and no one can find without their consent. But you're not just anybody, Owen. You know I've never really understood your powers, but… you once reached across space to destroy a Blood Runner, on his secret world. Reach out again… and maybe you'll be able to see where we need to go."

  Owen shut his eyes and concentrated. On Lachrymae Christi he had been reduced to merely human senses, but since coming here, he'd felt the stirrings of something returning, deep in his mind. He forced his thoughts to move in a direction that had once been so easy, concentrating all his need and urgency and desperation into a single implacable push, and a barrier gave way like a torn-aside blindfold. Power surged up in him, from the back brain, the undermind, and his thought leapt out, probing, demanding. There was something there, not too far away. He could feel it, though it wasn't really there. Owen concentrated, sweat dripping from his face, and his mind moved like a key in a lock.

  And from a place where nothing comes from, a door opened before the Sunstrider III. It opened like the petals of a rose, enveloped the ship, and took it somewhere else. The door closed, and both ship and door were gone, with nothing to show they had ever been there.

  Owen sat slumped in his chair on the bridge, trying to get his thoughts in order. Nothing had changed, but everything had changed. He could feel it. He was in a different place now. He noticed that the stardrive had shut down, and sat up sharply. A quick study of the instrument panels confirmed that the ship was no longer in motion. It was stopped dead. Which should have been impossible. Further study of the close-range sensors baffled Owen even more. The Sunstrider III was apparently sitting at rest in a great stone chamber. Standard gravity atmosphere environment. Owen frowned. Some kind of teleport system, presumably. That was how they'd snatched Hazel, after all. But that still didn't explain how the ship had come to a dead halt, or why his engines weren't working when he hadn't shut them down.

  "Oz? Oz?"

  "Give me a minute here, Owen, I'm still a little shaken. According to all our instruments, we're no longer in normal space. In fact, we're no longer anywhere I even know how to describe. Sensors seem to be saying… that we're not on any world, as such. This is just… a place. An artificial construct of endless stone chambers and passages, endlessly branching and coming together without end or beginning. Self-contained, self-perpetuating, unconnected to normal space. I'm getting a serious headache just thinking about this."

  "But this is the location of the Blood Runners. This is where they brought Hazel. I can feel it. I can feel her, somewhere not too far away. My old mental link is coming back."

  "A pocket universe, a bubble in the warp and weft of spacetime."

  "Oz, you're babbling."

  "I know! This place disturbs the hell out of me! Space isn't supposed to be shaped like this. It's sustained by some kind of central power source, but nothing I can recognize…"

  "Yeah, I can feel that too," said Owen slowly. "Like thunder in the distance, or a light far off in the dark. I don't know what it is either… but it reminds me of the Madness Maze."

  "Is that good or bad?" said Oz.

  "In this place, who knows? But whatever it is, it can wait. Locating and rescuing Hazel comes first. Check for lifesigns."

  "Way ahead of you, as always. The scan results are… unusual. Either the nature of this place is interfering with my sensors, or life comes in various levels here. As though some things are more alive than others… What kind of a place have we come to, Owen?"

  "Good question. If you find out, let me know. In the meantime, treat it as enemy territory. I'm going after Hazel. She's alive. And I think… she's scared."

  "Hold everything," said Oz. "I'm reading some kind of commotion in the corridors. Lifesigns blinking on and off. The corridors are swarming with… something."

  "Then they'd better not get in my way," said Owen Deathstalker.

  Faced with the imminent arrival of the legendary Owen Deathstalker, open war had broken out among the Blood Runners. Factions spat and quarreled around the Summerstone, while armies of headless bodies fought for dominance in the stone corridors, reflecting their owners' fears and ambitions. No one had ever forced his way into the Blood Runners' place before, and their safe sanctuary had suddenly become a trap from which they could not escape, because they had nowhere else to go. The thought of a fully empowered Maze survivor stalking their inviolate corridors was enough to reduce even the hardest heads to panic. Soon everybody had a plan, desperate in nature and desperately held, and no one would step down for anyone else. The headless bodies fought savagely to control the chambers
and passages, and already the corpses were piling up in the corridors and blocking the intersections. Scour and Pyre were slowly emerging as the most powerful voices, not least due to the size of their private armies, but lesser forces emerged to challenge them. They all saw Hazel as the key to the conflict. Whoever owned or controlled her would have the strongest hand when it came to facing the Deathstalker.

  But Scour wouldn't give her up.

  And as they all screamed and fought and argued, Owen cut his way through the press of grasping, grappling bodies in the corridors, and they never even noticed he was there, focused, as they were, entirely on one another. Owen's skin crawled as the headless bodies slammed against one another, hands reaching out blindly to tear and crush, guided by distant senses and overpowering rage. They filled the corridors, seething like maggots in an open wound, and Owen hacked his way through them like a woodsman opening up a trail in the forest. It was horribly quiet. The bodies could not speak, and the only other sounds came from the stamping of their feet, and the tearing of flesh and the breaking of bones. The floor was awash with blood, and more ran down the corridor walls.

  Owen Deathstalker cut and pushed his way through the horrid crowd, and thought Hell might be something like this. But even Hell itself wouldn't keep him from Hazel now.

  Hazel d'Ark was back in Scour's cell, strapped down to the trolley again. An intravenous drip had been taped to her bare arm, pumping powerful sedatives into her system. She had to fight with everything she had just to keep her thoughts clear. Her body felt strangely far away, but she had no doubt that would change the moment Scour began his work with the tray of steel instruments set out on a table beside her. He was humming quietly to himself as he strapped on a heavy apron, presumably to keep the blood from getting on his robes. Hazel reached inside herself, hoping desperately. Her close proximity to the Summerstone had awakened some of her powers, but they kept slipping from her mental grasp. Scour had surrounded her with four of the severed heads on pedestals, and they were doing things to her mind. She could feel Scour's influence, boosted by the Summerstone and focused through the computer minds, as it moved inside her head, searching out secrets she desperately tried to keep from him. But he was there, digging into her back brain, her undermind, and more and more she couldn't tell which thoughts were hers and which were his.