Part 9: Confrontation

What am I doing here?  And this dress--I wouldn't be caught dead in--

Diana suddenly knew where she was: the university where her father worked; the student center; the main ballroom. From the clothes, the music, the few faces she could see in the darkened room, she knew it was ten years ago--it was the prom she never attended.

Shortly after she got back from the Realm, her brother, in 7th grade, gave her a birthday present he'd made in woodshop: a plaque that read, "Of course I'm gentle and demure and feminine--and if you say I'm not I'll kick your ass!" Her parents laughed--a little nervously--but Diana couldn't keep the thought out of her mind: Is that it? Is that how everybody sees me?

The Senior Prom was a chance to change all that. Brian Coble--popular, intelligent, the basketball team's forward and captain of the Debating Team--had approached her about going to the prom. She asked for some time to think about it. She didn't know Brian too well, but didn't have anything against him. She was prepared to say she'd go when the matter was taken out of her hands. The prom happened to fall on the same night as Olympic trials. She'd be out of state. Did she want to be?

Her parents didn't push her into track and field; her father wanted her to follow him into scientific research, and was always a little nervous about Diana. God knows he tried, she thought; he has to be the most patient man alive. But there's always a gulf between daughters and their well-intentioned fathers; even moreso between the bookish astronomer and his Amazon daughter.

What am I doing here?  I went to the track and field trials in Omaha. I wasn't at the prom. Look; that proves it. There's Brian Coble and he's dancing with--with his date, Melanie Braddock. They got married a year or two later. That could have been me--I was supposed to-- Diana couldn't help it. Tears almost blinded her as she turned away from the dance floor and ran toward the exit.

She had her hand on the door when a hand on her arm stopped her. "I don't suppose you'd honor an old knight with a dance?" It was Eric, looking as he looked ten years ago, yet wearing a tuxedo that was clearly several sizes too big. He looked absurd, and she was surprised that the rest of the room wasn't laughing at him. Yet Diana said and did the only things she could at that moment: she bowed her head to Eric and said, "The honor would be mine."

A slow dance started up. Diana recognized it as something by her dad's favorite, Duke Ellington. The sound of the music was reassuring; she closed her eyes and rested her head on Eric's shoulder. Without looking, she somehow knew that Eric now filled out the tuxedo quite nicely--that they had both become their grownup selves while she was in his arms. This wasn't their past anymore; it never was. What was it? The music, and the sound of others in the ballroom, began to fade and distort. Diana resisted opening her eyes until the last second, and when she did--she was alone on the dancefloor.

And the bandstand was deserted except for a single figure.

"Good evening, Acrobat."

"DungeonMaster?  Where am I?"

"Still in the dungeon of Rahmoud's palace, my child--and time grows short."

"No, I mean here, this--" She turned to look around; the ballroom had disappeared. Her gown had not, though; she still wore a floor-length prom dress. "What's this all about?"

"It is about your past, and about your future. Mostly, it is about your world, where I can give you no help."

"What kind of help am I supposed to need?"

"How should I know?  You never asked me."

The voice from behind her made Diana spin. It was Sheila--looking exactly as she looked four years earler, when she'd gone out to California for Diana's wedding to Sam. They seemed to be standing in the dungeon cell, but Diana was now in her old wedding-gown--and Sheila looked the way she did then--certainly not pregnant.

"This is still a dream, right?" Diana asked.

"So what?" Sheila answered back. She was as Diana remembered her; grown into a very pretty young woman, but one who couldn't keep down her occasional taste for argument, or simply for mischief. Her family simply called it her "Irish", and it showed in her face. "You think I can't give you a right answer in a dream?"

"But--that was years ago--"

"Right, and, like DungeonMaster said, time's getting short. Ask the question."

"But I know the answer."

"That's not the point, Diana. You needed to ask."

"I wouldn't have listened to you."

"Who knows? Nobody knows if you don't ask the question."

If this is a dream, why am I looking for logic? Diana thought. Another thought followed immediately; Because I'm not looking for logic; I'm stalling for time. I just don't want to ask. Diana took a breath and asked, "Am I doing the right thing marrying Sam?"

"How does it feel?"

"Sometimes great, and sometimes--I don't know."

"Then it'll only be right sometimes."

"I know that now. But what about--"

"Somebody else in mind?"

"I--It's too weird. I can't say it out loud, even in a dream."

"Then just think about this. Like you just said, at times it'll be great and at times you aren't sure. Think about the aren't-sure times. Are they really that bad?"

"They were with Sam. There was something there, a meanness, I just couldn't see. Maybe I just didn't want to--"

"Well, just think about it. okay?" Sheila was standing beside Diana. Suddenly she grabbed Diana's shoulders and pushed her toward a corner. "Now for a game of hide-and-seek. Try and find me!"

By the time she spun around, Sheila was gone--

--and Diana was awake, in the cell in Rahmoud's dungeon. She looked out the window; the sky was still black with night, broken by light from the Realm's three moons. She could see through the cell-door across the corridor, into the opposite cell where Eric was sleeping. She couldn't help it; the thought seemed to come to her by itself: Is he dreaming anything? She shook any train of thought out of her head and tried to go back to sleep. Sleep was a while in coming.

The Ranger stood in the middle of the Mall, halfway between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial.. It was a clear, warm day in late spring; the grass was as green as his tunic.

Or as green as the hundred Orcs that charged over the Mall toward him

There had been no warning; there was no logic; there never is in dreams. All Hank knew was that it was a weekend day in Washington, DC. The streets were full of tourists, the park sidewalks were full of vendors, and he had the time to enjoy the fine weather. He was at the Vietnam Memorial when he heard the scream, then the gut-churning roar that sounded like a bear--an angry, sentient bear that already knew who it wanted to kill just for the sport of killing.

The biggest Orc army he'd ever seen, hundreds at a time, were rushing across the Potomac River Bridge, taking out cars, people, anything in their path. That path led them straight to Hank. They were headed right for him.

It was when he looked around for something--anything--to use as a weapon that he realized that he was wearing his old Ranger tunic. But this wasn't the Realm. More importantly, he didn't have his bow. He didn't have the first idea where it was.

He didn't like the idea of running away, but then he didn't have many choices. There was nothing that he could use to defend himself against one Orc, much less beat back a thousand. Then he caught a glimpse; a telltale flash of a particular shade of gold. It was hundreds of yards up the Mall, at the base of the Washington Monument. What was his bow doing all the way up there?!

There was nothing left to do but run--to try to get to the bow before the Orcs got to him. Hank started down the Mall, but no matter how fast or how far he ran, it seemed that the bow never got closer. But the Orcs did, until they were ten feet behind him. Six feet behind him--

Hank came suddenly awake and looked around the dungeon corridor. He shook his head to get the stiffness out of his neck, chuckled and said, half-aloud, "Some vacation."

"Say what?" Presto asked. He was sitting on the stone floor, at the opening of the tunnel.

"This wasn't supposed to be how I spent my time off, is all."

"Hank, do you ever think about how things might have been? With the Realm and all?"

"Which is it--the Realm or "and all"?"

"Here. Do you ever wish you'd stayed?"

"Some days I'd rather be fighting Orcs than people. But not always. I think--well, I thought--we did everything here we had to do last time."

Presto stood, paced the corridor. "Suns will be up soon. If we don't find Sheila today--I don't know. It's got to be today. But I'm also a little afraid of finding her. I mean, I can't even imagine her pregnant. I still think of her when we were in high school; I haven't seen her since." Presto paused a minute. "Did you two keep in touch?"

"For a while. What's your point?"

"No point, really. It's just that you two were kind of--" Presto let the sentence trail off.

"Yeah," Hank sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It gets like that sometimes, y'know? Like at summer camp or something. You spend a lot of time with someone, and you think that something's there that really isn't." He glanced into the cells closest to the tunnel. Eric was asleep in one, Diana in the other. "Like maybe a couple of others I could mention. Well, Sheila and I didn't know that was what was happening. We went out on a few dates after we got back. The last one was in the spring, right before graduation. We went back to the amusement park, if you can believe that. That was where we finally had it all out. We just didn't think about each other the way we thought we did. The afternoon went by a little smoother after that."

"Geez, you make it sound nice and civilized. Was it?"

"No, Presto, my man, it wasn't. There was screaming and crying and yelling over the telephone and angry letters--" Hank grinned. "And I can't even tell you what Sheila did to me! But seriously, it wasn't an easy breakup. At least we stayed friends."

"Yeah, well, at least you stayed in touch. I had to leave my someone back here."

"Varla?  It was that serious?"

"We stayed on her farm for a week after we got her away from Venger. Well, there was one afternoon when we went off by ourselves. I don't know what you guys assumed..."

"The worst, of course," Hank grinned.

"Yeah, well. Varla used her illusions on me. It was like the ultimate makeover. I could be anything; tall, blonde, muscular. I could even lose these stupid glasses. After about an hour of that, I had to call a time-out. It was getting too depressing."

"How come?"

"It was all magic. Varla was all about magic. She couldn't survive outside the Realm, but I couldn't stay here. It's like what we were always saying about Bobby and Uni."

Someone mentioned our names?

"Hey, you're back!" Presto's shout woke up Diana and Eric. They rushed out to the corridor to see Bobby walking down the tunnel, with Uni behind him, carrying a prostrate Rahmoud on her back. Bobby picked him up and carried him into one of the cells, laying him on the floor.

"Is Rahmoud okay?" Hank asked.

I don't know. I sang to him as deeply as I could--

"Sang to him?" Eric interrupted. "What did you guys do, spend the night in a karaoke bar?"

"I'll explain later," Bobby said, adding under his breath, "Jerk."

His shoulder wound needs attention. But there is still despair in his heart. He must find the answer to that himself.

"How much time before Majnoun gets back?"

Minutes, I'm afraid. And I have to leave you now.

"Whaddya mean, leave?" Bobby demanded. "After all we went through?"

This dungeon is still warded against my magic; I can't help you here. This time the battle is yours, not mine.

Bobby stroked Uni's mane, but reluctantly. "I hate the way we're always saying goodbye."

Uni's laughter rang through their heads. Yes. how many times before has this happened? It was almost the same speech every time: "Uni is not of our world. She'll never survive in our world." Shall I tell you what I've realized? You are not of this world, and yet you have come here--twice now. When there was a reason, a way was found. Well, it just may be that there will be a reason for me to go to your world. If there is a reason, a way will be found. I promise you that, if there is ever a chance, I will come to see you. For I love you all, and space and years and magic cannot change that.

The others reached out to touch Uni one more time--except for Diana. She waited until the others had moved away from the unicorn; then she put her hands on either side of Uni's face, and they seemed to stare into each other's eyes for about a minute. Without warning, Uni tossed her head, breaking contact with Diana, turned and galloped up the tunnel, without sending a further thought to any of the others.

"So," Bobby said after an awkward silence, "that door's locked, right?"

"Yeah, and I don't think Majnoun would let Einstein there--" Hank waved in the direction of the cell with the Orc guard--"have the only key. Is there any furniture down here, something we can use to jam the door?"

"Not unless we can rip the benches out of the walls," Presto said.

"Or fill the staircase with a few hundred pounds of wet cement." added Eric.

"Why not? Presto, want to try it?"

"Look, Diana, my hat hasn't been working too well this trip--"

"What'll it hurt to try?"

Eric rolled his eyes. "Us, maybe."

"Go for it, Presto," Hank urged.

"With magic spells and mystic art,
Let something keep us and the Orcs apart."

Presto's hat flashed. There was a rumbling from the stairway. Hank went over to the door and looked through the small barred window. "It looks like some kind of fog in there." He raised his hand.

"Be caueful, Hank! I don't know what I just did."

Hank withdrew one finger from the window, which came away pure white. He sniffed it, then put it in his mouth. "What you just did is fill that stairway with marshmallow fluff."

"What?!" Eric yelled. "That has got to be the most stupid--"

"I don't know about stupid," Hank answered back, "but it's effective. It'll take hours to get through that. All we have to watch out for now is the tunnel."

Up the tunnel, although they could not see anything yet, they could hear the clank of metal weapons and the grunting of Orc soldiers.

Eric glanced nervously at the tunnel. "Has anybody got anything like a plan?"

"I've been thinking about all this," Hank said. "If Majnoun had any sense, he'd seal us off in here and play for time. If he wanted to break into our world, all he'd have to do is wait until Sheila had the baby."

"It's that last if that bothers me," Presto interrupted. "What if he wants something else?"

"It all depends. He'll either sent the entire Orc army down that tunnel to take us on, or he'll come down alone."

A shadow fell across the tunnel opening. The five readied their wapons, watching as a single set of footsteps sounded in the tunnel. Slowly, almost regally, Majnoun walked alone down to the dungeon level. His face still had the strange nervous twitch they had noticed the day before.

"Five. You are five here." He glanced into the cell where Rahmoud was stretched out on the floor. "And six. Yes. And do we want seven? Seven are here; and eight and nine--"

"And ten," said Hank, in a cold and level voice, drawing the bow until an arrow appeared, its point now only inches from Majnoun's head. "You don't have to keep up this act. We've figured out what's going on--"

We have? the others wondered simultaneously.

"and anyway you've got a lot on your chest. Say what you've come to say."

"Majnoun!" Rahmoud interrupted Hank, with some of his old authority, even though he could not yet do more than raise himself on one elbow. "You will produce Sheila and Ayisha--NOW!"

The twitch instantly stopped, but was replaced by an expression of pure contempt and loathing."As you wish, your majesty." Majnoun, slowly but deliberately, like a stage magician, drew the ring with the round green stone from his hand and tossed the stone into Rahmoud's cell. It rolled to the wall opposite Rahmoud--and started to grow.

It seemed to reach above and below the stone floor of the dungeon, until what was visible was a dome the size of a small tent. Then it slowly faded, as if it were smoke. It left behind two figures.

One of them, a strikingly beautiful young woman with dark skin and raven hair, looked across the room at Rahmoud, screamed "FATHER!" and ran toward him. She didn't go three steps when Majnoun's fingers wove a magical pattern in the air. Suddenly, iron shackles appeared, one end embedded in the wall, the other ending in cuffs that circles Ayisha's wrists, keeping her three feet away from her father, "NO!" she screamed.

The others noticed all this while rushing into the cell toward the other figure: a redhead whose short violet dress and thigh-high boots only seemed to accentuate the fact of her advanced pregnancy.

Bobby was the first one to her. "Are you okay, sis? Did he do anything to you?"

Sheila smiled, reached up and ruffled the blond hair under his helmet. "Quit the gushy stuff. I'm okay."

Bobby smiled, too, but also, carefully, hoping not to be seen by Majnoun, slipped the cloak from his belt and handed it to her.

Rahmoud had worked the scimitar out of his belt with his left hand and now pointed it an Majnoun. "Let Ayisha go," Rahmoud roared, "or by Char and by Yar I swear--"

Majnoun calmly walked over to Rahmoud, studied him for a moment, then lashed out with his foot, kicking Rahmoud savagely in his wounded shoulder. Rahmoud cried out in pain, dropping the scimitar onto the floor. Fresh blood began to stain the bandages. Ayisha screamed; with a wave of Majnoun's hand a gag appeared in her mouth.

"You son of a--" Bobby muttered, brandishing his club and moving toward Majnoun. Majnoun responded by pointing a finger at Bobby; at once a bolt of energy leapt toward him. Only Eric's shield kept it from hitting its mark.

Sheila reacted at once by throwing the cloak around herself, in a move to get behind Majnoun unseen. He did, however, see the flourish of the cape as she vanished. With a pass of his hand, he created a dense fog within the cell. Waster drops started precipitating on everything, including the footprints Sheila left on the stone floor.

"That's enough!" Hank shouted, letting loose an arrow of energy toward the ceiling. It started going around in a circle, faster and faster, whipping away the fog until the air in the cell was dry again. "He's just playing for time. He couldn't really beat us; not all together. He doesn't have that kind of power."

"You don't know the extent of my power," Majnoun snarled at Hank. "None of you ever did."

"What do you mean, ever?" Sheila asked as she decloaked. "We didn't see you here last time."

"I think we did, Sheila," Bobby said. "You called it, Hank."

"There's no point in keeping up the disguise," Hank said to Majnoun. "Show yourself."

Suddenly the wizard seemed anything but insane. His eyes narrowed and his mouth assumed a tight smile as he said, "As you wish." With that, Majnoun's eyes immediately rolled back in his head, showing the whites, as he collapsed onto the dungeon floor. Yet some sort of ghostly after-image remained standing after Majnoun had fainted--an image that slowly solidified into a different figure. A taller figure, the tips of whose batwings brushed against the ceiling of the dungeon cell.

Venger.

Coming December 15 :

Part 10: Going Home