torg 01 - Storm Knights (15 page)

Once in the operating room, Bryce moved to the side so that the doctor could work unhindered. He noticed his reflection in a stainless steel pitcher that rested on a counter. The reflection showed what the priest felt. He looked awful. Not enough sleep, not enough food, and too much exercise were taking their toll on Father Bryce. His weight had dropped since this began. Not that he was totally svelt yet, oh no. What remained of his hair (which had disappeared long before this ordeal had started) was full and frizzy, a lighter shade of red than his beard as premature gray crept in. And, of course, there was his nose. It could honestly be called bulbous, remaining shiny no matter how much dust and grime covered the rest of his face.

Shouts from the operating table pulled Bryce back to attention.

"Severe head and spinal damage," the doctor said. "Her autonomic system is shutting down."

The words made Bryce's heart skip. Monitors attached to the woman registered her vital signs, but the irregularity of the beeps indicated that she was getting weaker.

The priest, needing to do something — anything — opened the young woman's wallet. Her driver's license identified her as Wendy Miller, age twenty-six. He looked at the smiling face in the picture, then looked at the dying woman on the table. Wendy Miller should be running and laughing and making the most of her life, not fighting to hang on to it in a crowded hospital.

She had glossy chestnut hair that looked long enough to fall past her shoulders if she were standing. But she wasn't standing. She was lying on a table, her hair matted with blood and fallen back around her head.

"We're losing her," the doctor cursed, vehemently trying every trick he knew to stabilize her condition.

Bryce studied the woman closely, noting a dusky creaminess to her skin that hinted at a Mediterranean heritage despite her name. Her eyebrows were straight and dark, over a high-bridged nose. She had a strong, square chin under a wide, full-lipped mouth. She had the figure and muscle tone of someone who worked to keep themself in good physical shape.

But all the exercise in the world couldn't stop a speeding car from crushing the life out of her.

"Father," the doctor called softly, "we need you."

Bryce moved closer. The monitors buzzed, wailing their death cries for all to hear. Wendy Miller was dead.

"We lost her, Father. The damage was just too great."

The priest looked down at the young woman, trying to swallow his remorse. He had to complete the last rites before he could grieve.

He opened his mass kit, paused.

"No," he whispered, then louder, "no."

Bryce snapped the case shut. "No more deaths!" He threw it across the room, then turned back to the woman on the table.

"Live!" he shouted, grabbing her arms and shaking her as if to wake her from sleep. "Don't die! Please, don't die."

45

"Tolwyn. My name is Tolwyn."

She felt such joy, remembering something as simple as her name. She was still floating near the light, and the darkness still waited for her nearby. But nothing else had changed since the pulling sensation had stopped.

Until now.

Now she had a name that identified her, made her more real. And, as she watched the warm, glowing light, something else appeared. There, floating in the light, was a small object. As she watched, enraptured, the object unfolded. It became a flower, its petals blossoming before her eyes. It was one of the rare crys flowers from the place behind her.

From her home.

She reached out and took the fragile bloom. She admired its overlapping petals of turquoise run through with veins of deep crimson. She brought it toward her face and inhaled the aroma of open fields and bright sunshine. It was the smell of a summer day, so full of promise that her heart ached. The scent cleared her head, and she remembered her unfinished work. Not clearly, not completely, but enough to know why she could not enter the dark space yet.

"They need me," she whispered, "they sent me away so that I could return to help them. Help them ..."

The tunnel stretched out then, and she was moving back the way she came, speeding through the darkness. She cupped the flower protectively in her hands. It was a gift that she did not want to lose.

Back, back, back she flew, faster and faster until the tunnel was nothing but a blur. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she could see a light far ahead. Was it
the
light? Was she returning to the brilliance that had reminded her of her mission, that had given her the bloom?

The blur of darkness took shape, and she was running bare-legged with long skirts hiked up above her knees; running through fields of crys flowers and through the greenswards of the courtyards of a castle; running through the halls, corridors, and up and down the foot-worn stone stairways enclosed in the walls of the castle itself; running through ponderously moving, pontificating herds of older people who jammed the corridors and clogged the paths, swirling their brightly colored robes and gowns with the wind of her quick passage, unseating their stately hats and veils and bringing soft smiles to their somberly adult faces. The light was closer now, and her ascent much steeper.

It was like she had never known a time that wasn't filled with movement. From moment to moment she was flying, running, falling, sliding, back and back, faster than ever before. The blur shifted again and she was in the dark tunnel, but now the featureless walls were closer, pushing in at her. She was suffocating, choking on the fear that welled up from her forgotten depths. And the pain returned, fierce and hot. It would not be ignored. The light was directly above her now, and she was hurtling quickly toward it. Below her, the dark space shifted angrily, its buzzing sound swarming up to batter her senses and add to the pain.

The light appeared to shimmer and ripple as though it were beyond a veil of water, as though she were simply a swimmer beneath the surface of a clear pool. Suddenly there was another swimmer beside her, a brown-eyed young woman who reminded her very much of herself. The young woman smiled and gently touched her cheek.

"Help them," the young woman said, and then she was gone, moving in the opposite direction from Tolwyn's own flight.

The light was closer now, beckoning Tolwyn forward, rushing her back from the dark space. Its brightness filled the space with color, blinding her. As she sped toward the rippling veil, as she prepared to explode into the light, she heard a voice call to her. Softly,

beseechingly, lovingly, the strange, unfamiliar words eased the last moments of her journey out of the depths, accompanying her as she hurtled upward.

Besides the voice and the pain and the speed and the light, the last thing she remembered was her hands, still cupped protectively around the crys flower.

46

Alder and the doctor tried to pull Father Bryce away from the table. The young woman was dead, and it appeared that recent events had finally gotten to the priest.

"Father Bryce, that's enough," Alder said, hoping to get through to the priest. "This isn't going to help you or her."

The priest ignored them, continuing to gently shake the young woman. "Please," he intoned, "don't die."

"Father," the doctor pleaded, "let her go."

But then the monitors resumed their regular beat pattern, and Wendy Miller moved.

"Dear sweet Jesus!" Bryce exclaimed as the woman on the table snapped open her green eyes and sat up quickly, as though waking from a bad dream. Something dropped onto the table as she grabbed the priest with her strengthening hands.

The nurse backed away, a shrill breath escaping her pursed lips. She was staring at the young woman, trying to understand how she could be sitting up — how she could be alive.

But Bryce was not looking at the woman who grasped him tightly. He was not looking at the monitors, or at Alder, or at the doctor. No, he was looking at the table. For there, where it could not possibly be, showing clearly against the white surface, was a beautiful turquoise and crimson flower.

47

Ondarev handed the soldier beside him the map he had been examing, then turned to meet the car that was coming up the road. It was a long, black vehicle that screamed politician or high-ranking Party official. Whichever, it meant they had come to check up on him.

The car parked, and the Premier himself emerged, along with a Japanese man. Ondarev tried not to show any surprise as he stepped forward to greet them.

"Captain Ondarev, I presume the operation is proceeding successfully," the Premier said, continuing to speak before the captain could respond. "This is Ambassador Nagoya from Japan. He has come to help us deal with the problem you are working on. I will leave him here to discuss matters with you."

The Premier got back into the car, and the vehicle pulled away. Nagoya, who was shorter than Ondarev, wore dark sunglasses and was of an indeterminate age. He carried a leather briefcase.

"You have a lot of soldiers in this field, captain," Nagoya said in passable Russian.

"Why are you here, Mr. Ambassador?" Ondarev asked, deciding to dispense with social pleasantries.

"As your Premier explained, I am here to help you. Like yourselves, our government discovered that our country was in immediate danger from forces unknown. Through the use of technology, we were able to develop a method for dealing with the danger before it came to a head — as it did in the United States."

"Go on."

Nagoya bent down and placed his case on the ground. He flipped the lid open, revealing a compact computer, monitor, and pop up sensor array. A simple logo was stamped on the computer; a chrome "K" on a red circle. It was so like the Japanese to use English letters on their high-tech machinery. Still, it was an impressive looking piece of equipment.

"We have determined that the threat comes from outside our reality, captain, from what we might refer to as alternate dimensions. It takes the form of invaders that have decided to attack our planet for some as yet unknown purpose. We were able to identify the energy patterns of their advance forces, use those patterns to find their locations, and then remove the devices that provide them with access to our world. We found three such devices in Japan."

"These devices, Mr. Ambassador, can you tell me something about them?"

"We have termed them "stelae," and they are physical manifestations of the invading dimensions. By studying the ones that we uncovered, we determined that when placed in a triangular pattern the stelae formed an area that could then be filled with an alternate reality. We believe that this is what happened in the United States."

"Why are you here, Mr. Ambassador?" Ondarev asked, "and how can you know so much about these things?"

The Japanese adjusted his sunglasses before answering. "I am here to help you, captain, because it is too late to help the United States. Others like me are on their way to other countries that may also be in danger. We are trying to save the world. And I know these things because our science has told us of them."

Something about this man bothered Ondarev, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Before he could ask any more questions, however, a shout of triumph erupted from the field. He raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes and searched for the origin of the jubilation. There, beside a crane and bulldozer, a dozen soldiers were shouting happily as they helped pull something from the ground. With them, directing their activity, was Katrina Tovarish. She was an amazing young woman, he decided, blind yet so full of vision.

The captain lowered the binoculars and turned to Nagoya. "Mr. Ambassador, I thank you for your concern and offer of assistance. But, as you can hear, we do not require it. Besides, we cannot afford to pay the price

that I am sure comes with your machine."

Nagoya turned darker at these words, and Ondarev could see his brow furrow behind the dark glasses. But the Japanese did not say a word.

"If you'll excuse me, I am sure that one of my soldiers will be happy to return you to the Premier."

Ondarev walked away from the ambassador, anxious to see what a stelae looked like up close. He had already put the Japanese behind him, but the Japanese had one more thing to say.

"You seem quite capable of handling this yourself, captain," Nagoya called. "But heed my words. Destroy the stelae quickly. Do that, and I will consider the bill for this discussion paid in full."

48

Dr. Michael Forkner of the Kitt Peak Observatory finished his third check of the computers and instrumentation. He rubbed his weary eyes and sat back for a moment to gather his thoughts. He would have to confirm his readings with Dr. Eisner, then see if the other observatories had experienced the same observations. But even before he did all of that, he knew that his own tests were enough.

All of the instrumentation was computer controlled to observe specific portions of the sky at different times of the day and night. But for the last twenty-four hours, the telescope had been pointed at the wrong areas. By running various check programs, Dr. Forkner had come to his conclusion. The Earth's spin was slowing down. And over that period of time, it was getting increasingly slower.

Dr. Forkner did his calculations another time. If the current pace of deceleration continued unabated, the planet would come to a complete stop in eighty-three days. But over those eighty-three days, weather patterns would be radically altered, and temperatures would disperse toward their two extremes.