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was unable to accept what had just taken place, what he had done. He felt as if
he were standing outside himself, staring at a man he didn't even know and was
pretty sure he didn't want to meet.
His hands hung at his sides, clenched into tight fists. As he drifted back to
reality, he felt something jabbing into the palm of his right hand and slowly
opened his fingers. The disappearing ball trick lay in his palm. A slight golden
glow surrounded it.
"I think I'd better call my father," he said.
Chapter 21
� ^ �
The wind blew cold across the barren wasteland, a gritty wind pushing grains of
sand and slivers of ice in its path. To be hit by it was to be nearly flayed alive.
The sun what little there was fought its way through layers of dense clouds.
Only the barest trace of warmth made it to the ground. Few things grew, only
tall, yellow thrush grass and stunted bushes whose blighted, brown leaves made
the land seem even worse because they hinted at what might have been.
The land was livened mostly by occasional shades of rust-red iron and splotches
of yellow where sulfur rose to the surface. But at the eastern horizon, a line of
fire hundreds of miles long burned continuously, turning the low-hanging clouds
a bright orange. The fires were disgorged from the land's deepest recesses,
flames that destroyed the world at its core, yet never died, never diminished.
On the western horizon rose the peaks of a huge, primeval mountain range,
cutting off the land like a fortress wall. Several pinnacles towered more than
thirty thousand feet, their tips lost in the grimy clouds. The peaks that could be
seen were covered with murky, dun-colored snow.
Every so often, a reptilian bird soared across the purple-gray sky, emitting a
skittering screech as it looked for its food, which mainly consisted of the tiny
lizards that scurried over the sand and rock. The birds neither knew nor cared
that the lizards were close cousins, only a few million years further down the
evolutionary ladder.
Neither did the birds notice the rock-hewn structure sitting at the edge of the
wasteland. It was the only building as far as any eye could see, yet it blended
almost perfectly with the surroundings. It sat at the entrance to a dead riverbed,
off to one side to avoid the wind which picked up speed as it rushed between the
narrow rock walls.
The building was hardly more than a hovel, rectangular in shape, a doorless
opening near the far end of one of the long walls. There were no windows. A
hole in the center of the thatch roof vomited a thick column of gray smoke.
Anyone coming near the building few ever had would have heard a loud
voice coming from inside, a voice tinged with anger.
"So, Medlocke," the voice said. "You've more powers than I thought. That
makes things interesting."
Anyone looking inside few ever had would have seen a large, golden beast
squatting beside a small fire. With bright silver eyes, the creature looked at its
wounded hands. Large holes gaped from the palms, and jagged gashes ran
upward to the elbow, exposing bone and muscle. A wide pool of blood soaked
the dirt floor.
The beast stared at its wounds for several minutes, then clenched its fists tightly.
The crunch of bones and severed tendons could be heard and a spout of blood
arched through the air, splattering one of the walls. The beast only grunted.
A greenish glow enveloped the arms, obscuring them from view. The emerald
glow rippled and swayed, as if something were fighting inside. Within a minute
the glow faded and the creature held up its arms, palms inward. The wounds
were gone. Only scars, still glowing green, were left.
"Power," the beast sneered. "You don't know the meaning of it, Medlocke."
The creature moved to the doorway of its hovel and stared at the flames in the
distance. They were closer now than they had been a few days earlier, and closer
by far than a few weeks ago. The destruction of its world was increasing in
speed. Only a short time remained before the fires would erupt through the rock
and earth and completely engulf the land, destroying all life, what there was of it.
"Yes, my world is dying and I must move quickly," the beast said to itself, "but
there is another world still wonderfully alive, still available if one had the skill."
The beast had tasted that world and enjoyed its flavor. It wanted to gorge itself
on its offerings.
It could move between the worlds easily enough. Whenever one of the humans
who thought himself an experienced sorcerer or avowed satanist called upon the
so-called lords of the netherworld to send them a creature of destruction or
vengeance or power, the doorway between the worlds opened. The beast could
step through at that time. And there certainly was no dearth of such callings
since there was no dearth of stupid humans attempting things they should best
have left alone.
But the beast didn't breach the other world each time a call came through; others
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