A Wolf Story (12 page)

Hidden within the obscure shadow of an icy slab, a darkened pit loomed open and unguarded before him. Windgate smiled at the carelessness, laughing silently into the mist that howled across him. Then he scowled, brown eyes gleaming fiercely as he crept stealthily forward, and was submerged by a darkness beyond anything he had ever known.

* * *

seven

Alone in the vast Abyss, Aramus sensed the end of all things. The air was still, but the darkness lived. Thicker, more substantial than darkness, it seemed to ebb and flow, struggling to be unleashed.

Silver eyes adjusting to the thick gloom, Aramus rested on the cold granite floor, every sense alert to detect motion or life in the cavern. A ghastly light, pale and unnatural, hung like frost in the tomblike air, but there was nothing he could see or hear in the shadowy gloom.

Aramus did not know where the wolves had taken Kaleel. He hoped his friend was unharmed, but their separation in the darkness had been so silent and fast that before Aramus realized what had happened, he was standing alone in the cavern. Even Incomel had slid nervously into the shadows.

Aramus felt a soft wind stirring from some unseen corridor, and he sniffed. Strange scents permeated the cavern, making identification difficult, but Aramus found Baalkor's scent, and Incomel's. And other scents were strong, as if the creatures waited, silent and close.

His hopes crushed, Aramus lowered his head, pondering his dark fate, a fate so different from what he had envisioned only days before. After his victorious battle with Baalkor he had dreamed of returning home to a new life, a life of leadership and happiness. Now all his dreams were gone, gone, leaving only memories to ease the loneliness in his soul.

Suddenly an appalling scent emerged from the stygian gloom before him. Instantly, mane bristling, Aramus was on his feet, snarling at the horrifying presence. Prehistoric and primordial, the scent held the taste of something hellishly evil, something that worshiped dead things and feasted on the living.

Even stronger than before, the darkness about Aramus seemed to condense, as if demonic strength were claiming corporeal form, congealing into a burdening mass that weighed down his flesh as closely as horror weighed down his heart. And as the conquering black tide swirled about him, dominating the frosty light, Aramus strained to see the shape that was commanding the Night.

Almost before he realized what he beheld, a faint outline loomed dimly visible before him: a colossal, godlike entity that rested, unmoving, upon a gigantic throne of black granite. Aramus could not comprehend
how the massive creature had moved upon him without sound. But it was suddenly there, and it had not been there before. Aramus blinked, focusing, his keen eyes scanning its gigantic girth.

Monstrous and brooding, the entity dissolved into the darkness, blending into the blackness of the cavern, as if it were one with the Abyss. Yet the massive head was visible, outlined by the faint gray light.

Aramus counted the moments with nervous breaths, waiting, and watching, his mind beyond fear as he had known it. Whether the thing was bear or lion or god he did not know, but it was before him. And standing in its unholy presence he felt an awesome and unreal power, as if he stood before the full scope of created might, the end of all strength.

Mountainously, rumbling with brute, beastly power, the colossus shifted. A cavernous breath sighed into the tomblike air, weary and aged. And Aramus knew that he stood before Corbis, chief of the Dark Council.

"You bleed," a ponderous voice echoed in the Abyss.

Aramus waited, silent.

"So..." it whispered. "You are the son of Gianavel."

Aramus struggled to speak.

"I am the son of Gianavel," he said quietly. "And like my father, I defy you."

Corbis's thunderous laugh blasted past him, hot with hate.

"Defy me?" the voice continued, amused. "A wolf cub defies me?"

Aramus did not know how to reply. Vaguely, he expected to be struck down by the Beast. But Corbis only laughed.

"And what do you defy?" the Beast asked softly,

Aramus stared, confused.

"Do you think darkness dwells only within the Abyss?" the voice whispered. "No, young cub, the darkness that embraces you even now is only the darkness of your heart. Yes, listen closely, and you'll know my words are true. You alone know your own lusts, your failures, your secret desires. But you know that they rule your heart. For how often have you enjoyed those hidden pleasures, young cub? How often have you turned your back on what you knew was right? Yes, many, many times. I know you. I know you, even as I know myself. How often have you embraced evil when you could have chosen good? Is that not the darkness of your heart?"

A rumbling laugh shook the cavern.

"Behold ... the darkness of your heart."

Aramus opened his mouth to speak, but his thoughts were instantly submerged beneath a swirling darkness that burst forth from the cavern and into his mind, drowning his thoughts beneath a cascade of accusing voices, condemning him for every failure, every evil desire, conceived or imagined, and every careless word. For a moment Aramus resisted, but the attack was overwhelming, its strength beyond the strength of flesh to endure.

Corbis continued, commanding and unrelenting.

"Yes, behold, young cub. Darkness shall always win in the end. There is no power that can defy the Dark Lord. But still you refuse, don't you? Yes, I sense your spirit resisting the Dark Lord's might. Then listen to your heart, and it shall teach you. For darkness is the first power, and the last. It has always ruled your heart, and always shall. Nothing can resist."

Silver eyes focused fiercely upon the Beast.

"Saul
... resisted," Aramus whispered. "He never ... surrendered."

Corbis seemed moved by the quiet words. And Aramus felt, even through the darkness, an immense power suddenly stir within the colossus; something cosmic, infinite and irresistible.

"Yes ... the great Saul," Corbis muttered, a hated remembrance echoing in the words. "And tell me, where is the great Saul now? He is dead, destroyed by his own stupidity and cut to pieces while he lived! Don't be a fool, young cub, as he was. Serve me! Cease this foolish resistance!"

Aramus stared fully into the hated glare.

"I will serve ... the Lightmaker," he whispered, but felt his strength crumbling under the long physical strain of his ordeal. "My life is with him. You have ... no real power."

"Power?" Corbis laughed, hateful and cold. "Behold
...
power
!"

Suddenly memories long dead and long buried were resurrected together, reminding Aramus of all he had ever loved, and lost. Aramus closed his eyes against the
pain, lowering his head, groaning with wounds that cut deeper than fang ever could. He shook his head, trying to throw off the true horrors of his life. But when he concentrated, his thoughts were like nothing at all. Corbis laughed again, invading his mind with the sadistic mirth. Aramus felt as if he stood alone, in space, with only the Beast before him.

"I
... still ... resist you," Aramus said softly, though his voice sounded muffled and indistinct.

"Then you must understand
... what you resist," whispered the Beast. And the wolf's silver mane shivered, as if from a dark wind.

Submerged within the hideousness of its hate, Aramus sensed a vision rising before him, a vision of a wide, expansive darkness that unfolded, crushing the cold earth beneath a merciless wrath. And all flesh was cast down together beneath the darkness. And the night was filled with hopeless cries and hopeless prayers, each voice a merciful plea, but only darkness answered. Aramus saw the darkness sweep across the earth, echoing with shrieks of pain, and suffering, and pain again. And all the living beheld one another in their fear, saw the hopelessness of their lives, and there was horror and madness and death. Yet there was no war, for life and death and treasures together had become meaningless beneath the domination of night. And those who were still living looked upon each other with faces of flame, amazed at the terror that had befallen them, while suffering winds swept barren beneath the moonless sky, bearing nothing with the pale air but the
doom of lost and lonely souls, alone in the endless void. And on and on the darkness swept, as day and light were forgotten, defeated by the power of Night that slowed the earth, slowed it, until all that was, was no more.

"So
... now you know," Corbis's voice echoed in the stillness. "And do you still resist that force which shall be the end of all things? Or will you rule beside me in the world to come? What shall it be, young cub? Shall it be life? Or shall it be death?"

Aramus's thoughts were lost beneath the darkness sweeping across his mind. So confused, so defeated was he that he could not remember a time when he had been victorious over his fears. This conflict was beyond him, beyond his strength, beyond his years, beyond all the wisdom and knowledge he possessed. He opened his mouth to speak, and
realized he was only staring vacantly at Corbis. Yet, with a trembling effort, Aramus managed a word, hardly remembering the question but knowing that his answer must be somehow defiant.

"Death," he said weakly.

Corbis glowered upon him, the brooding frown casting a cold presence across the cavern.

"So shall it be," came the godlike whisper. "Yet 1 will not stir my strength to destroy you. When Baalkor returns from the border of your mountain home, he shall spill your blood in the Abyss."

Then Corbis laughed, and guards, menacing wolves of fearsome size, suddenly appeared beside Aramus. He knew they were there, but was too exhausted to care, and failed to fight as they led him from the chamber and into the darkness beyond.

♦    ♦    ♦

Even as the silver wolf disappeared into the depths of the granite corridor, Incomel stood before the throne of Corbis. The lion's eyes glimmered menacingly in the gloom, and though t
he proud voice was angry, it retained a wide edge of respect, and fear.

"Is this wise, great Corbis?" Incomel growled. "You know the child's father will come for him. Even here," the lion raised its head, gesturing to the Abyss, "the father will come for his son."

Corbis's roaring laugh boomed through the shadows that cloaked the demonic domain. And the laugh roared on and on, trembling the tomb, unti
l at last the walls echoed cavernously with some unspeakable delight, some incomprehensible evil.

"Do you think there is anything my vast intellect has not considered, Incomel?" Corbis laughed. "There is no thought hidden from my sight. I know Gianavel will come for his son. That is the reason
the child is here."

Income
l’s words were hard with hate.

"Do not forget, Corbis. The father is not the son. I have fought Gianavel before. His invincible mind cannot be shaken, nor can his faith be broken. I tell you the truth
; the old wolf is dangerous."

Corbis's penetrating, probing gaze studied the lion.

"You fear the wolf."

Income
l’s proud gaze did not waver.

"I fear nothing," he replied.

Corbis was silent, brooding, the sadistic eyes gazing into another world, another dimension, where some ancient, malevolent entity heard and responded to his unearthly thoughts. And as the moments passed, the eyes glared, mesmerized, as if beholding an insidious, corrupting force that spoke hotly to his heart.

"No," whispered Corbis, frowning, his vacant stare focused on that unseen darkness. "You do not fear Gianavel. It is the spirit within him that you fear."

Incomel's face was grim.

"God walks with the old wolf," he said bitterly. "Many have tried to destroy Gianavel and their bones are scattered in the hills. Gianavel is old, but he is strong in his age. Even in war he does not forget wisdom, but always finds an advantage. And his strength goes beyond flesh. The Lightmaker has never allowed anyone to defeat him in battle."

Corbis smiled from his throne of darkness, and once again focused fully on the lion.

"Do not fear the wolf, great Incomel. The Dark Lord is stronger than the Lightmaker. Even now, though we have not yet assembled all the power of the cosmos, our strength is sufficient for the task. Only the old wolf stands in our way."

Magnetic and hypnotic, Corbis's eyes gleamed as he leaned forward.

"Strike down Gianavel and the Lightmaker's servants will be scattered. And for this great service to the Dark
Lord you will be granted a great reward. You will ascend in strength beyond your glorified state to become as I am, with knowledge of all things. There will be no secret pleasure, no delight, hidden from your eyes. Yet your victory shall not end there. No, for when Gianavel is destroyed, the last, great servant of the Lightmaker shall be gone. Then all faith will be shattered, and the power will return to the cosmos, where it will be absorbed by the Dark Lord, who will deliver it unto me. And we shall pass beyond time, beyond life, beyond death. We shall rule all that was, or is, or is to come. We will ascend beyond these mortal tombs of flesh and bone, becoming what we were truly meant to be: Gods on the Earth."