By RD Rivero

October 25, 2000

[Part Ten]

After a certain time the unkept, impoverished trail turned slippery and bumpy. In that wild ride Grune was knocked around violently in the back, waking him from his once peaceful rest. The first thing he looked at was the metal case -- thankfully, the pipe bombs remained unmoved, fixed in placed for it had been secured tightly with belts. He sighed loudly and, relieved, he crawled to the back seat.

Inside, the jeep was pitch black, lighted only by the dim, green lights that shone from the dials on the dashboard. It was so dark and dreadful it would have been easy for him to have gone back to sleep but by then he was fully rested, anxious -- nervous -- he could not shut his eyes, not even to blink. Outside, the rain clouds poured vehemently. The windshield wipers swung feverishly left and right in a steady, soothing rhythm but the waters came down so fast that they could not keep a steady, clear view of the road ahead.

Grune found Winter peering over folded maps -- he could not understand how she could make any sense of them for only the darkest, gray light came from the heavens. He found Zeno driving on, unaffected by the furry of that intense weather. By instinct he knew just where to go, where to turn, how fast to drive here, how slow to go there -- it was as if in his mind he had practiced the maneuver, over and over again until he had gotten into his memory its every nuance.

The skies parted for a moment to reveal an open, expansive clearing before them. Zeno stopped and sighed, looking out at the ravaging river -- that had formed in the storm -- flowing over the land. Where once there had been land green and lush with vegetation, there was then a wide, muddy river invading the scene. It was not possible to cross that with the jeep.

Without a word he shut off the engine and got out of the vehicle. Over on the wet hood -- it was still raining but in a soft mist -- he opened his sack and removed a thin, glass wand. He held the clear object in his palm and turned to face the impasse. He meditated for a moment, he pointed the stick to the heavens -- it was colored red -- and an arc of light passed from it to the clouds. It was not lightning, it made no sound. The ground rumbled -- the muddy currents stopped and began to flow backwards until the ground was cleared.

Back into the sack the steaming wand went -- clear once more -- it smoldered a little but that was it. Inside the jeep he started the engine and drove onward. He said nothing for an hour and when he did speak he did not mention it, or even try to tone down what he had done. Although it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, Winter could not find the right words for the questions that had formed in her mind -- neither could Grune, who had seen the totality of the effect with his own very eyes.

Soon enough the weather had let up. The sky was blue, sunny and devoid of the slightest trace of clouds anywhere in the horizon. The three traversed between hills and a thin, pristine river, on whose banks grew tall, brown reeds. Around them were vast fields, scared with the unmistakable lines of cultivation -- they had entered a village, a settlement that time forgot.

Weeds and vines had overgrown the adobe huts and buildings of the community, obstructing the black scorch marks, the only visible signs of the attack that had destroyed it. The fields of corn and rice were frozen, icy. The farming huts had been burned to the ground.

"This was a Wollo village," Zeno said when he recognized the architecture. "When the denizens refused to pay tribute to their Lunatic 'masters,' Chilla and Alluro had their way with them and all around us is the telltale evidence of their handiwork."

"Is that a hint of compassion I sense?" Grune asked.

"I deal with the matters of facts only -- we will find many more sorry sites such as this in the area around Tomb Castle."

The untamed wilderness of nature had quickly and easily reclaimed those lands that the Wollos had taken from her. Tall trees, vines and thick underbrush followed and again the trail was rough and muddy. Still, Zeno kept on driving without a second look.

From her own window Winter looked out to see the top of a tall, ancient tower. It started up the slow gears of her mind and, looking at the maps once more, it came back to her. "The Robber-Baron," she uttered low, under her breath. She turned around to face Grune -- "I know this place. I've been here before."

Zeno glanced at her quickly then went on with the business of the road.

"Your village was nearby?"

She nodded in answer.

The change into the Warrior Maiden's village was less abrupt since it was built to blend in. It was marked only by the thinning of the trees and the clearing of the underbrush. Winter saw it immediately -- she pleaded with Zeno to turn to the right -- gradually he agreed. He tried to tell her not to step out -- he could sense something brewing in her -- but when he slowed to avoid crashing into a stump she took the change he had inadvertently given her.

"Winter! What are you doing?" He asked.

Even Grune had been taken aback. "Winter, don't!"

Zeno stomped on the brakes and everything in the vehicle rushed forward.

Winter ran across the brown, freshly tilled soil. It had been cleared recently and it still bore the indented marks of the treads of large, mechanized vehicles alien to her and to her old village. The air was tainted with the smell of burning wood but no fires were visible, echoing the cries and shrieks of terror of the settlement's final moments.

She located the center of the village -- surrounding her were shacks and huts, broken and smashed, burnt and collapsed into piles of wood. Within them, poking out of the rubble, were outstretched arms and stiffened legs, heads. Rarely did whole bodies lay open and exposed. Scattered throughout the carnage were broken bows and arrowheads.

Only one structure survived damage -- the central hall where the chieftain and her officers presided. The hut was large than the others and warm for inside burned a single fire. It was dying when she approached the ornate hole in the ground. She took a few twigs from a nearby pile and dropped them into the pit -- the fire flared up in a crackling orange light.

She thought she was alone until she took in the panorama of the scene. Along the back walls were shadows, shapeless, formless. She approached them with a lighted stick that revealed them for what they were: corpses, mangled and deformed by death. The bodies were exactly like the others she had seen outside, ironic that the opulent and the peasant would met the same brutal, unbiased end.

The chieftain -- or what was left of her -- sat alone on her golden throne. Winter chuckled for the Lunatics had stripped the magnificent chair to its base wood. Even the jewels on her tiara -- that had melted into the very bones of her skull -- had been forced free by a blunt, tearing instrument.

She was at once sickened, at once --

"Winter?" the voice called her, bringing her back to reality.

She looked behind. Grune stood under the doorway, unable to step closer to her.

"It's all right," she said at last, "you can come in, if you want." She waved to him with her fingers, her hand open, her arm outstretched.

Hesitantly he approached the central, elevated platform. To him the room was painted with stiff, immovable shadows that he dared not focus upon -- and the stench of death, of burnt meat that was unexpectedly sickening. He was about to speak but she stopped his lips with her fingers, her shaking, quivering fingers. She buried her head into his shoulder in an awkward embrace for the metal spikes along his waist kept her from coming any closer. He ran his hands across her face to her neck, letting it fall down her back.

"It's OK," he whispered, "it's OK."

"I want to get out here, this isn't my home anymore."

He nodded and helped her walk out. She no longer sobbed and tried hard to clear her face dry but her eyes and cheeks were red.

Back at the jeep the two found that in the short time they were away Zeno had covered the vehicle in a thick, brown trap. He had pushed the car into the space formed from the gash along a large tree that had been blasted out either by lightning or by a stray laser weapon. He covered it with stones and scraps of wood, gradually building a mound that appeared so natural that even though they knew full well that the vehicle was under it they had to admit the eerie effect had them fooled.

"Secrets and hiding are my specialty," Zeno said.

"What happened?" Grune asked.

"I thought this was as good a place as any to drip the jeep. We're going on foot the rest of the way. Castle Tomb is less than ten miles away."

Zeno gave Winter several maps and a compass. Everyone then picked up their sacks. Grune wondered for a moment about the metal case then noticed how Zeno's bag was larger than the others.

"You're taking the bombs?"

"We'll be safe -- but we have to hurry, daylight is wasting."

The hike in the wilderness was long and hard. It began innocently enough, though, the ground was level, the trees were sparse. Only a few rocks littered the ground and no roots at all stuck out of the soil. Once they had made it past the outer, extreme limits of the Amazonian village the situation changed dramatically -- the transformation was abrupt and drastic.

The air was crisp and clear -- the burning smell had ceased and Winter was happy again.

The trees thickened and the tight, intertwined canopy darkened the jungle in a permanent shadow. Birds fluttered in the sky, calling and hooting sporadically. Small animals jumped from branch to branch, gosling the green leaves together. The underbrush rustled while large mammals scurried through fallen, hollowed tree trunks. The ground began to slope upward, gradually, very gradually.

Zeno had them turn to the left, to scale a miniature bluff -- a break in the earth, littered with gigantic boulders. It opened out to a large section of forest, devoid of trees but adequately green never the less. They walked down slope, at steeper angles, making the trek even more arduous.

Grune looked at her, walking by his side. A cool breeze echoed through the wilderness, waving her hair about. He reached out to touch her, her long, flowing strands. He let his hand wander down to her stomach, her soft, smooth skin exposed to him. She gagged and strode closer to his body, wrapping her arms around his chest. She let her hands wander, too.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"I am, now, with you."

He smiled.

"I never told you how beautiful you are."

She blushed and looked down. "You do all the time."

"Then I'll do it again -- you are so beautiful."

She smiled at him.

"I love you, too, Grune."

The living earth ceased to be -- the black, fertile soil lost its color in a barren desert of gray.

Before them loomed the rounded knobs of a chain of hills. Zeno stopped them and had them crawl on their stomachs forward to the edge of the cliff. Below them Castle Doom was at last in view.

The asymmetrical design was both simple and complex. The outer walls were constructed from black slabs of nickel-iron allows, riveted and welded together -- its shape square, except at the corners were large towers overlooked the land and sky, adorned with roving gating guns and blasters. Behind the walls the courtyard was littered and polluted by brown and orange cesspools from which smoke, fog and fire emanated. The livable part of the stronghold was not in the center but off onto a corner near the western gate. The tower was only slightly taller than the defensive walls and the only parts that could be seen from below was the white, crescent moon that topped the flat dome. It was a wide, circular tower that grew thicker as it made its way down into the ground.

Above it large vultures swooped in the air.

"It's all that's left of their ship. It had to be modified because it's upright and not horizontal, as it should."

"Are those gun always on?"

"Yes, but they can't fire too close to the castle -- that's why we'll be safe -- moderately safe -- in that Berbil village."

The village that sprawled around the castle walls was nothing more than a loose collection of small huts. One of them had apparently collages and they saw, for Zeno pointed out, that the Berbils never ventured close to it. It was the control center -- it had to be outside of the stronghold because the radio signal was weak and could not be transmitted easily though the thick, metal walls. The Lunatics were very careful and thought ahead about the situation so the robots were not allowed near it, out of fear that they might damage the sensitive equipment.

To get down to an even level the three used an old passage that had been carved into the rocks ages ago by magma vents back when the area was a highly volcanic region. The tunnel was dark but the fire rocks they carried allowed them to see in the shadows. The ground was loose, grainy and hot. The walls and ceilings were harder and ranged in color from deep brown to yellow. It was clear that generation had taken what nature had left raw and incomplete and formed it into a crude and useful walkway.

It was still inhospitable. The air was dirty and had the most unpleasant odor of sulfur. The trail curled around itself like a screw, winding down in a dizzying pace until they had reached that point where they were only twenty feet above the floor of valley. Before them was a drop formed from a violent cave-in.

Zeno tied a rope around a sturdy outcrop of granite -- the others needed no direction in going down. He was the last to take the plunge. They ended up in a small cavern, large enough to accommodate them comfortably. Its opening was an unobstructed, triangular orifice.

They waited until the early evening hours, finalizing their plans. They knew that the Lunatics were in the stronghold. They knew that the Berbils were the only things standing in their way. They knew they had come too far to quit.

"Do you want to live forever?" Winter asked Grune softly -- but the cat did not respond.

Long, dark shadows snaked over the land and with that cue they crawled out of the hole and walked along the face of the cliff in an arc toward the fallen shed. They tried the best they could to blend in but soon one of the Berbils spotted them. It spoke in a strange, artificial voice, a siren that was unintelligible. It seemed to call others of its ilk to its side and soon they were faced with ten, screaming, charging robots -- their faces horribly distorted, theirs blinking wildly, their mouth slits drooling blood and streams of torn flesh from the bodies of the Amazonians upon which they feasted.

"The stun guns!" Zeno shouted, digging into his pocket. "Use the stun guns!"

He fired the first shot, having found his before the others had. He shot at several of the closest bears with. Bright, blue plasma screeched through the air, hitting the metal robots, shattering their bodies.

When that first wave of Berbils had been beaten back the three rushed onto the fallen shack. Around them the air was alive with a wail of sirens and Berbil calls. They had little time to act and their work had to be done fast. The rubble had no perceptible door or entrance. Wooden planks and chunks of mortar were kicked out of place to reveal a hole in the ground, lit with a panorama of soft, blinking lights.

Zeno dropped in while Grune and Winter stood above on guard. He had urged the others to join him but his coaxing was in vain and he quickly pursued the completion of his task. He located the main control and began to type his new instructions.

He heard Grune voice ask: "How are you doing down there?"

"Slow!" he shouted, "the processors are slow."

The computers were heavily taxed having to control the Berbils.

"You might want to hurry it up down there."

He heard the running around the perimeter of the shack.

"Winter!" The cat yelled after a woman's scream pierced the air. Those sounds were quickly followed by blasts from the stun guns.

Zeno banged on the metal bench.

"Damn it! Damn it all to hell!" he shouted -- the computers were still processing his password. At the same time he was well aware of the struggled ensuing above. In the heat of the moment he acted irrationally. He stood before the machines, formed from the relics of ancient, First Earth technology. He pointed his blaster at central processors and fired away until the room was full of smoke and fire.

In the smoky haze he was terrified for he had lost himself in the small, single chamber. Above the wooden roof was obscured by a thick, black haze. Around the world was in flames -- he was in hell, literally in hell but he was not about to give up. He got down on the floor and crawled to edge of the pit and looked up -- at that same time a hand broke down from the foggy mist. Zeno grabbed it and was pulled up instantly.

Grune was shaken beyond the capacity for words -- realized why. Winter was no where in sight.

He looked around -- "There, there!" he shouted, pointing to the far wall of the castle.

The cat ran to the scene without a second thought.

Zeno followed him closely. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?" he asked.

Around them the Berbils that had once threatening, menacing robots, had been converted into chaotic, terrified automatons, roaming around without direction. Weak, dimwits without purpose. Before them a small group of bears, that had retained some of their original sense, had brought a struggling Winter to an open entrance of the stronghold.

A tall, bald figure took her in along with the robots, smiling wickedly, wringing his hands together in sadistic glee.

"She's in the castle, they took her into the castle, I don't believe it!"

"Stop!" Zeno shouted in a strange, raspy voice. The cat obeyed -- he stepped no further, not that it would have matter for by then the entrance had been shut and Winter and the Lunatic had vanished.

"They took her, they took her, they took her!" Grune fell to his knees, his hands over his face, crying. "I could -- saved -- I couldn't -- fire -- too closer to her -- I -- I," his babbled incoherently, reliving the moment endlessly in his mind. He collected himself: "I was afraid a blast might strike her by accident."

Zeno dragged him up from the ground and together they ran for cover into the nearest Berbil hut.

Outside the ground rumbled and a gigantic plume of smoke rose high into the sky. It was followed by another and another in frantic succession. Zeno peered out the small window -- the fireballs were coming from a smokestack within the stronghold. The night was silent except for the great explosions for the chirping, beeping of the Berbils while they wandered about like zombies.

The fire in the fallen control hut had died before it had become too bright and noticable -- the smoke it poured out blended into the darkness -- there was no proof or evidence of their presence.

"Thank you," Zeno said, looking back to Grune who sat alone over a cramped table.

He was mumbling under his breath about not firing as fast as he could -- he was still stuck in the past of that horrible moment when he saw her disappear into the castle. He was silent then looked up with wild, watery eyes whose menacing stare could have shattered steel.

"I thought you were in trouble -- I heard your screaming and then I saw the smoke --"

Zeno was disturbed -- he did not realize he was screaming.

"Are you all right?"

The cat nodded.

"The Berbils are out for the count -- I told you the computers were slow so I had to destroy them."

"Do the Lunatics know we're here?"

"I don't think so -- in fact, let's just say they don't."

"But they captured Winter!"

"She won't talk -- and think about. She's an Amazon --"

Grune looked up at him. "They'll just assume she's a survivor from that village they destroyed and think nothing else of her but someone who wanted revenge."

"You have it -- the mission is not a failure --"

He shook his head. "This is a whole other mission now -- you go destroy the power source, but I'm going to save her."

Zeno was silent, letting the words sink in. He was not about to say no -- he could say nothing but nod and agree silently. He knew Mumm-Ra's plans were unchangeable and he wondered -- and feared -- how the misadventure would turn out.

"We must hurry," he said at length.

It was a moonless night and they had to work frantically in the pitch black cover.

[Part Eleven]

For a few, fleeting moments the world was still and silent.

Zeno paced around a table, working out, in his mind, the outline of the new, revised plan. Grune was stood and on his feet was about to utter a word when a loud crash resounded through the small, cramped hut. They were alarmed and rushed to the door. They saw that a window had been smashed by a Berbil that had tried to break in and got stuck in the tight hole.

Zeno aimed his stun gun at it and blew it to smithereens -- a thin mist of gray clung to the ceiling.

The door, that had been jammed shut by chairs, broke down and two robotic bears sprinted in -- their mouths and lips dripping with fresh, red blood, fleshy gore. Grune let go of his spiked club and, with his free hands, grabbed them and smashed their heads together until they cracked like eggs.

The two, fur-covered bodies dropped lifeless to the ground in low thuds.

Zeno looked out of the door for a moment to gauge the situation: "I see more of them -- they're headed this way."

"Let's go get out of here," Grune said, gripping his spiked club in his eager hands once more.

Outside, the vultures that had earlier circled above were now roaming on the ground, pecking at the dead bodies of the Berbils and other, assorted carnage. The flesh and electronic creatures roamed about aimlessly -- they were rowdy but they were not noisy -- until by chance they spotted the two while they ran toward the castle.

The village around the stronghold came alive in a wild, symphonic chorus of their characteristic beeping, their shrill voices.

"Don't the Lunatics know there's something wrong with the Berbils yet?" Grune asked.

"No -- they have no rigid, internal power structure. They won't notice the problem until it's too late."

The smallish bears congregated around them, waving lit torches in the air. The smell of death was fresh and potent -- the Lunatics had thrown out fresh kill for them to feast on. Grune's stomach turned, fearing that one of the many bodies might have been Winter's. He hated them instantly for in so many ways they reminded him of the snarfs from Thundera.

The two were almost completely surrounded, far, too far from the exhaust vent and the safety it provided.

Without warning another furnace blast sounded from inside Castle Tomb -- a bright, fiery lit illuminated the night sky and even the ground rumbled slightly. The shock of it drove the mindless mob back and reminded them of their awaiting carcasses and of the scavengers greedily feeding off of decaying bones.

Zeno and Grune took advantage of the distraction and made a mad dash to the rear of the stronghold where the massive orifices of the ventilation system jetted out of the castle walls and loomed several feet above the ground.

"What a stench!" Grune said, covering his flat nose with his hand. He gagged, ready to vomit. "We have to go in there?"

"Breathe through your mouth and hold on," Zeno said -- he was the first to ascend the clear, unblocked opening and helped the cat up.

Grune had taken a breath, a deep breath and held it for as long as he could. The man pointed out the path to follow and for a short time they ran through the cramped, thin pipe. Zeno stopped for a moment and brought the other's attention to notice a side passage. A soft, glowing light came from its distant end along with a hot, strong breeze that spewed a heavy, sulfuric odor.

"That'll take us to the engine room," Zeno said.

Grune gasped for breath, finally taking another whiff of that bed smell, deep in the castle.

Without prompt they continued on their trek, advancing at a slower, more methodical pace that was as soundless as was physically possible so that not even their footsteps would announce their presence. It seemed to take forever to reach the glowing light of the end -- even longer for the cat whose heightened sense of smell was beginning to feel more like a curse than an advance in that particular situation.

Another exhaust blast sounded and shook the tube that they were in, knocking them off their feet temporarily.

Grune stopped him for a moment: "Remember, you plant the bombs, I go after Winter."

The man nodded silently.

Fifty yards down the length of the vent was a rectangular hole carved at a steep angle to the floor. It was covered by a metal grate -- Zeno looked out of it, onto the vast chamber of the room where the power source was housed. To the left the ground, forty feet down, broke in an arching gash to reveal the molten earth. A shadow rose above it -- it was the obscured form of the engine. To the right was an elevated platform, a concourse littered with unopened crates of materials that the Lunatics had raided.

At first they thought that no one was around and so, accordingly, the grate was pushed out with a swift punch.

"What was that?" a deep, soothing voice asked.

"Alluro," Zeno whispered. He held the dislodged grate in his shaky fingers. He crawled out of the hole, dropping onto the concourse. He still held the grate while he helped Grune through then jammed it back in place.

From the level below the sounds of footsteps echoed closer and closer.

The two crawled on hands and knees, hugging the rear wall, approaching a large, darkened alcove where the crates were stacked high and thick. Zeno looked out onto the power source -- it was accessible only by a gangway secured onto the ceiling. Near him was a ladder built from rungs bored into the walls -- he judged that it was the only way to get to the catwalk. Grune stopped him and pointed to a dimly lit hall.

"I'm going to find her," he whispered.

"Did you hear something, Alluro?" a woman asked -- where ever she was she was next to the unseen man.

Zeno nodded and watched the cat disappear. He himself crawled deeper into the alcove -- he had decided to distract the Lunatics by quenching their alarmed curiosity. He was going to topple over a stack of crates. The boxes were heavy and he found that the only way to do it was to climb a shorter stack and jump on a taller one, knocking it down and scraping himself in the process. It was difficult, very difficult not to scream or whimper at the biting pain. He got up from the mess and limped under a sturdier stack of crates, crawling into a fetal position.

"That came from up there, Chilla," he said.

"Let's go see what it is."

The passage was not dark entirely -- it was lit by a few, dying lamps that hung down from the ceiling. Along the walls were numerous, locked doors, stairs that led up into the castle and side-winding halls. Yet he continued to barrel through the main length down small steps deeper into the stronghold. He had had a hunch that the dungeons would be found deep in the bowels of the fortress and at that moment he was relying on his instincts more than on anything else.

He heard the sounds of a heated conversation and slowed his pace to a meager crawl.

"What is she still doing alive?" a sharp, female voice screeched -- the tones seared his ear drums. "We take no prisoners."

"No prisoners, no," another, deeper voice quipped -- its speaker clearly had little intelligence.

The cat reached the end of the passage and carefully peered through the shadows. Before him was a larger room -- not as vast as the engine room but not insubstantial either. Wooden doors lines the curved walls -- the cell doors had numbers scratched on them in glimmering black letters and had large, barred windows on them.

He saw three figures he recognized from Zeno's briefing. Luna was atop Amok's back, yielding a leather crop in her little hands. Amok himself wandered about on his knuckles. RedEye hovered over one of the doors and was about to open it -- he had a strange weapon in his hands.

Grune took out his stun gun and aimed it at RedEye's thick, red glasses, knocking them off to the straw-covered floor where they fell shattering to pieces. The Lunatic screamed so loud that the shrieks could have shattered stones. At first he waved his arms in the air and then, when the shock of the bright lights came to him, he covered his face with his hands and ran around aimlessly, chaotically. He bumped into Amok and almost knocked him over -- such as it was only Luna dropped to the ground. Still screaming, he ran into a side passage and disappeared in the darkness of Castle Tomb.

"Someone's broken into the fortress, Amok, another Amazonian perhaps," she said back on her feet.

"Amok smash, Amok smash --"

"Yes, but first we must find this intruder."

Grune stepped back into the hall -- Amok passed just within the gaping entrance of the passage. He noticed that drooping from the roof were a series of thick bulkheads -- the brute was standing right under them. He fired again with his stun gun -- the blast dislodged a pipe that knocked the exaggerated Lunatic to his back.

He took the chance -- rushed into the dungeons.

Luna shouted seeing him for the first time. She tried to beat him back with the whip but Grune fought against her crop with his spiked club. He picked her up by the neck and threw her down a wide opening that turned out to be a staircase that lead yet deeper into the stronghold.

Seeing what had been done to Luna, Amok got back onto his feet and knuckles and ran instantly into the opening but apparently he, too, did not realize it was a staircase. He began to tumult down the steps right behind her.

Alone, he bolted toward the door RedEye had left half-opened, half-locked. He looked into the barred window and shouted: "Winter! Winter! Are you in there?"

A chain rattled softly -- then vigorously: "Grune!" she shouted. "I'm in here!"

"Are you all right? Did they hurt you?"

"I'll live -- just get me out --"

He extended his arm into the cell through the barred portal as far as was physically possible. She crawled to his twiddling fingers but the chains would not allow her to reach any closer. Separated by fractions of an inch, they could not touch but they could feel each other's heat.

"Stand back -- I'm going to blast the door down."

Grune waited for her to get as far from the door as was possible.

"I'm sorry I let them capture you --"

She chuckled: "You don't have to be sorry --"

He aimed the weapon once more and fired but he was so close that the blast came out like an explosion. The wooden material of the door withered in a fine saw dust. The metal bars that formed the window dropped to the floor -- they had been partially evaporated.

Mumm-Ra approached the boiling, purple waters of the circular pool. On the quivering mass of bubbles he saw the images, he saw Grune destroy the door to the cell, he saw him about to enter. The ancient one laughed -- the statues were awakening, eagerly awaiting the results of that night's work.

The mummy unfolded his dead, decayed hands to reveal a crystal ball cushioned by his linen bandages. It floated in the air, glistening in the smoky red light -- it hovered by his command over the waters and, just when Grune was well within the cell, the ball fell into the pool. Inside the cell Winter was on her feet, chained to the far wall, reaching out, aching to touch him once more. He waved the smoke away from his face while he treaded into small chamber.

"Now, now, the spell must work now!" Mumm-Ra shouted.

Suddenly the room aglow in a bright, white light. Grune was blinded by it and turned his eyes down for a moment. The chains that held Winter in place began to tremble and he forced himself to look. She was being sucked into a crystal ball that hovered only inches from the ceiling -- around it he saw hints and suggestions of water, from a pool perhaps.

"Grune! Help me!"

He was brought back to his senses once more to see that she was almost completely within the object. He aimed quickly with his stun gun and with a press of its trigger the crystal shattered to pieces -- none of which fell onto the prison floor and even Winter had vanished.

"No!" Grune shouted, throwing his hands up in the air.

"No!" Mumm-Ra shrieked, "No! No! My plan was working perfectly!" He looked out onto the dimming waters -- small shards of glimmering glass floated on the surface and quickly dissolved in gray gas. "What has that mortal done?" He asked, knowing full well what the answer was. "Now she can never be free."

"Winter!" the cat continued to shout. "I am fate's fool!"

He stepped out of the cell -- just as another figure came into view. A large, massive figure with an odd accent angled in from the shadows. The Lunatic only gradually emerged the nothingness.

"So, what have we here?" TugMug asked. "A stray, little kitty cat?"

[Part Twelve]

Alluro and Chilla ascended the wall ladder, grasping the rungs firmly for they were loose and rusted. Zeno stepped to the side, hiding in the safety of the tall, stacked crates that surrounded him. The two Lunatics reached the upper concourse, passing only in inches from him, their roaming shadows sliding across his face.

"I heard the crash come from here," the fierce woman said coldly.

"Are you sure -- no one's been up here in, well in years," the male figure scratched his bald head.

With their backs to him he crawled away careful to not make a sound to alert his presence.

The power source was in sight. A huge, heart-shaped object, it was made of a blackened metal whose outer surface shimmered in the glow of the seas of magma over which it was suspended. Four, gigantic pipes were connected to its top -- the tubes were rippled and plastic, throbbing and agitating -- forced into motion by the vibrations of the engine itself.

"What is this?" a shrill voice broke through the stillness of the air.

Zeno's heart skipped a beat. He stopped, standing silent in his tracks. He could feel them, almost feel them looming menacingly behind.

"I told TugMug to stop playing with the exhaust -- all those blasts must have done this!"

He stopped short his sigh, realizing he had not been spotted and began to climb the selfsame wall ladder that was somewhat concealed in an alcove of darkness. Over the concrete floorings one of the rungs came off in his hand and for a moment he could have almost screamed. He hung tight and did not let go -- neither the ladder nor the rung. He could not let it fall to the ground -- its sound would have without doubt alarm his cover. Instead he flung it across the vast chamber to the power source -- it arched down and vanished in the magma.

A small flash of light flared in the dim ambiance when the metal hit the molten rocks.

"What was that I just saw?" one of them asked -- by that time he could not tell the man and woman apart.

"The magma does that all the time. Don't worry about it.

The two busied themselves picking up the fallen crates and cleaning out the mess.

As he continued to rise he found that the air was intensely hot and circulated in strong gusts. The walls and metal rungs -- indeed every exposed surface -- was coated in a sticky, oily ash. When he finally reached the top of the ladder he realized that he was only a few feet below the shadowy, light-less ceiling. He panicked for a moment because he did not see where to go -- neither to his left nor to his right was the crawl space, the catwalk to lead him to the upper supports of the power source.

Only when he turned around did he see the impossibility of his task.

Time and disrepair had caused a small section of the gangway to come off of its supports and fall to the depths below. The last, remaining parts were four, long metal poles, loosely attached to the stonework of the roof. To be sure the catwalk was there but to reach the edge he would have to jump across a fifteen-foot span of air at a height of which would be his doom.

Quickly, he turned his body around completely, anchoring his feet into the thin spaces between the rungs and the supporting wall. He held himself in place with his hands firmly grasping the top of the ladder -- his palms sweat profusely. After a few, deep breaths he sprinted across, waving his arms in the air, barely reaching the first of the series of polls. He hugged it hard, wrapping his body around it -- he began to slip, the pipe started to shake. He climbed it a little, almost reaching its top and saw that the bolts that kept the rod in place were on their last threads.

Again he jumped across to the second pipe. The edge of the gangway was almost within reach. If he could manage to do it again, all over again, without a sound, without so much as a sigh. For the last time he let go and in seconds he found himself holding on to the sturdy catwalk for dear life.

Zeno lodged himself up into the safety of the gangway. To his sides the quivering tubes ran in parallel toward the top of the power source. Down below he was at last away from the brown rocks of the floor over to the teeming, bubbling magma.

The power source was attached to the ceiling by four iron supports -- the riveted beams were broken in evenly-spaced pigeon holes, large enough to stick the pipe bombs in.

He took off his bag and opened it on a flat part of a bulkhead. He took out the five bombs and placed one in each beam. The remaining bomb he put in between where the throbbing pipes merged. He felt one with his hands and quickly drew back -- either it was filled with steam or very hot water, flowing rapidly and in an audible hiss produced by driving pumps.

He attached the wires into the small holes broken into the capped ends. He dug the thin metal rods deep into the body of the bombs, snapping the wires as silently as he could. The exposed ends he burned into timers and detonators -- each bomb would have its own detonator in case they were discovered so that disarming one would not disable them all. He had even gone a step further by wiring the timers differently to ass to the confusion.

While he labored patiently a loud explosion ran through the inner halls of Tomb Castle. He knew it was not one of his bombs or else he would have been dead. At first he thought it was another exhaust blast, like the ones he had heard before, outside in the Berbil hut. He did not dwell on it too long for he still had work to do.

Almost immediately after the explosion a loud, piercing shriek came from a darkened orifice, a sound followed by tumulting, crashing. Alluro and Chilla, already alarmed by the sudden, unexpected blasts, had rushed down the ladder to see what was happening. A small figure rolled into view -- it was Luna. On her feet she seemed to shout to them to get back, out of the way. Amok followed her from the same, darkened hole -- he was out of control and hit the other three Lunatics, sending them through the air. Everyone had been knocked out and lay on their backs, struggling to get up.

Zeno set the timers to fifteen minutes and began to backtrack down the catwalk. He left the bag in place, along with the rest of his armory except for the stun gun he had in his pocket. He faced a particular dilemma when he returned to the edge of the gangway but that time he decided to be a little reckless. He stood and jumped across, aiming his body to the middle of the ladder.

He was sure that the Lunatics had seen him -- and perhaps heard him too.

He peered down and saw that indeed they were pointing at him but they were still on the floor, worn out, struggling to their feet -- it would take them time to come go after him.

Into the winding passage he followed Grune's trail. Zeno, too, figured that the dungeons would be down in the depths, but unlike the cat, who had to roam blindly, he had one advantage. He realized that the blasts must have come from where Winter had been held captive -- the smoke and arcid dust was fresh and pointed him in the right direction.

A scream -- Grune screamed -- he ran faster.

In the darkened passage the world was a collected of sounds only: his frantic pacing and that of far-off, distant struggling -- bodies falling on floors, metal clanging on metal.

The hall acame to a large chamber, constructed in gray bricks with mildewed grout.

Grune was pinned under TugMug's right arm -- the Lunatic's Gravity Carbide lay on its side, smashed and broken, it was useless. With a swing of the spiked club the cat knocked the massive body of his opponent back a few feet, far enough to regain a better position. By that time Zeno had his stun gun in hand, ready to fire.

"Now, ancient ones, let us hope that this spell does not fail."

Mumm-Ra stood before the reflective pool. He undid the cork of the flask -- the glowing, red lights of the eyes of the four statues glimmered on the vial's surface. The elixir dripped into the waters and instantly a dense, white fog poured forth from the froth.

He laughed with excitement, he laughed with perverted glee, elated at the demise of this rivals. Before him the Lunatics stood as they were -- frozen in space and time. Their skin glowed while their bodies were spun in a cocoon of rock.

Zeno and Grune looked on in amazement at the sight but the seconds were ticking away and the saber-toothed had her on his mind. He rushed back into the open doorway of the prison cell -- broken, smoldering shards of blasted wood littered the floor -- searching in vain for Winter. She was not in there, he knew it -- and yet a part of him wanted there to be a happy ending.

The man followed, sternly, dispassionately.

"We don't have much time Grune. Get Winter, get her out --"

The animal growled, kicking at piles of straw, wincing and whimpering in a sort of pain that leaves no mark, no physical scar.

"He took her," he shouted at last -- Zeno was at his side -- "Mumm-Ra took her from me."

"What are you talking about?" but Zeno was not shocked, not really shocked. He knew it was going to happen, he had sensed it even before the mummy had told him plainly his intentions -- it was just the details he was unsure of.

"She was just here, here -- not more than inches from me. I blasted away the door with the stun gun -- and when I looked inside there was a bright light. A ball came down from no where, sucking her into it. It was fast -- she was almost completely in it before I knew what was happening. I fired at it --"

"You did what?"

"I fired at it -- the ball shattered and she vanished."

Zeno ran his hands across his hair in a fit of anxiety.

"We can't do anything about that now -- come. This place will explode at any moment. Come!" He had Grune by the arm leading him down the passage. "You can't solve that problem here. If you want Winter back you have to face Mumm-Ra and confront him. It is the only way." His voice echoed through the hall.

When they had again entered the main engine room, where the heart-shaped power source lay, there were less than five minutes left on the clock. In panic they almost forgot where the open vent frame was located. Grune looked down across the mail level, to the Lunatics strewn about the floor. They were frozen in a whole host of precarious positions, impossibly oriented. A yellow, orange glow seemed to come off of the rock that surround and comforted to the shape of their bodies -- something about it, something about their prisons brought back particularly painful memories.

"Here," Zeno shouted, bringing the cat back to reality, "I found it here, right where I new it would be." He threw the vent cover away. It slid into the molten rock where it vanished in sharp burst of light.

The exhaust tunnels were as cramped as before but somehow their frantic running through them only accentuated their various obstacles. Not having to be so careful that time they had the liberty of running along the tubular passages as fast and as noisily as they could. After several turns and branching the dim, eerie light of the moonless night was clear in their sights, beginning with a small, pinpoint and growing ever larger until they were well out of Castle Tomb.

The two ran across the open expanses of the Berbil village, dodging those small, dangerous bears, heading to the cavern opening in the cliff walls.

In the open clearing the sounds of the initial explosions were muffled by the deep distance. The iron supports that had held the power source in place had evaporated in the blast, spreading shrapnel and pulverized rocks around the battered scene in a kind of smoky fog. Only the rippled, plastic pipes held the engine in place -- but even those had been seriously damaged and the weight of the device, being so great, ripped and tore at the throbbing tubes until, at length, they severed, spewing forth boiling hot water that, like the engine, fell into the molten rock and steamed, increasing the pressure in the vast chambers of the castle.

The engine, no longer being controlled, exploded in a plethora of great heat and light -- bright, burning light. The steam burst through the rocks and casements, boring a hole through the ground and twisting the main body of the castle to its sides. The great walls of the stronghold shook to their foundations.

The six Lunatics, encased in an ethereal, protective rock, sunk deep into the magma and vanished without a trace.

[Part Thirteen]

The ground shook and twisted violently. Ripples formed from the collapsing castle walls and spread on outwards, hurtling objects through the air, leaving smashed huts along its wake. The very earth cracked and split open, revealing the fiery pits of hell below -- a glowing, molten rock, bubbling to the surface.

Zeno and Grune reached the triangular opening but to their collective horror they found that it had caved in completely. The entrance was obstructed by large, protruding splinters of granite -- the stones were hot and immovable. They looked at each other for a moment, their faces painted in the terror of the inevitable knowledge of their deaths.

A loud crash sounded from behind and they turned to see -- the castle and the crescent-topped tower sunk slowly while plumes of streaming lava fountained up from the foundations.

The Berbils, having retained a sense of their own mortality, halted their meaningless chatter and fled from the valley aghast in terror. Quickly Zeno and Grune followed the lead of those robotic bears and ran across the gently up-sloped crater. All around them rang the echoes of furious blasts that spewed ash and rocks. One explosion followed the other until the night sky was lit anew, brighter even than the day.

The fleeing Berbils turned north, toward the forbidding wastelands of Dark Side, if for no other reason to avoid the river the cut across their path. Being electrically driven the deceptively dangerous bears had a natural aversion to water. Zeno and Grune, however, took a southwestern course that brought them back under the cover of the thick forests.

Behind them Tomb Castle was gone, vanished -- it had fallen into the earth and had left nothing, not a trace of its existence behind. In its place was a wide, tall torrent of lava, rising hundreds of feet in the air. Red-hot rocks spewed forth in steaming arcs, collecting in a pool at the base of the crater, consuming in fire and brimstone the remains of the surrounding villages.

The intense heat drove strong currents of air through the trees along with poisonous, noxious gasses. Sulfuric gasses expanding in misty clouds of red and brown. They ran, breathing hard constantly for there was much too much dust and ash seeping into their lungs.

The animals in the wilderness, alarmed by the commotion, crawled out of the safety of their nests and dens and stared dumbly into the infernal scene at the distance. For a brief moment Grune, too, looked back. Across the vast spaces between the trees he saw the edge of the cliff -- the very same cliff from where he had first seen the Lunatic stronghold -- beyond it to the glowing knobs of rounded hills, beyond to the blackness of space, doted only by the strongest stars. In between it was the great orange flames of the volcanic eruption that pointed up to the heavens like a finger of damnation. The effect was eerie and it took him long to get over it, longer still to get the images out of his mind.

After an hour without rest the two had at last made it back to the remains of the Amazonian village. The blasts and the fires were darkened and deafened by the distance. Only the stars above illuminated the dead scene -- the dead world that was as still as it was empty. Where there should have been people engaged in the business of their lives there was silence only.

Zeno located the jeep and with Grune's help he cleared it free from its unmolested hiding spot. He put more gasoline into the tank from one of the spare, red gallons from the back seat. It started up just fine and, with everyone who remained inside, he drove away.

For the longest time not a word was spoken between them.

They were headed back to Mumm-Ra's pyramid -- the cat could sense it, he let his mind wander, trying to keep from thinking about her. Winter -- but he could see her everywhere, in everything, in the familiar shapes and forms that ran past them. An orchard, a flat, rolling plane, the mouth of a cave from which train tracks emanated.

The night was waning and the sun was breaking free from under the eastern horizon. The sky above were streaked with an arching light. The ground below was cast in long, distorted shadows.

"Open that box," Zeno said. He pointed to a green, tin case between Grune's feet.

The cat picked it up, setting it down on his lap next to his spiked club. The box made no sounds but it seemed to be heavy -- its rounded corners had rusted brown and specks of oxidized metal sprinkled on his fur in a kind of ash.

"What is it?" he asked, prying open the shinny, metal locks.

"Inside you'll find maps. In red ink I've highlighted the most important trails that there are on Third Earth and I've circled the larger cities that will be useful to you."

Zeno spoke without looking at Grune -- not even by reflection.

Grune swung open the lid, the unoiled hinged creaked loudly. He took the various, folded papers, eying them eagerly. Some he put into his bag quickly, some he began to study attentively.

"Memorize them, the trails, the paths. It will be vastly important to you later."

The cat nodded.

"Will you be coming with me?"

For the first time Zeno paused and turned his head to face him.

"No. I must go, rejoin the world for a time -- but we will meet again."

"Winter? Winter," Grune whispered but Zeno was silent once more.

He put what remained of the maps into the sack having soaked up as much as he could in that short time.

"I will be alone --"

"You will never be alone, Grune," a voice spoke to his ear in a whisper.

He turned to see but it was not Zeno who had spoken and there was no one else in the vehicle, no one else at all.

Hours passed, the sun had ascended above the peaks of the faraway canopy. Zeno had reached the mighty river and was driving on its banks. The rail bridge that would have taken him across was smashed and butchered and uncrossable -- he was forced to tread upon the shores that Grune was nor familiar with.

"Hey?" Grune asked but there was no answer. "Hey?" he asked again a few minutes later but again there was no answer. Zeno sat behind the wheel stone faced and unblinking. "Hey? What's the big deal?" He threw the green, tin case into the back seat -- it made loud, high pitched noises before it came to rest on its side.

Zeno turned to look at him for a moment then transfixed his eyes to the road once more.

"I need a pit stop -- can you stop the car?"

Zeno was taken aback by the odd request but heeded. He pressed on the brakes slowly and after a while the jeep gently came to a complete stop. Grune collected his sack on his back and his spiked club under his arm -- he reached out quickly and with his supernaturally strong grip he held on to the cat's overly muscular arm.

"Do not under estimate the powers of Mumm-Ra, or forever will he dominate your destiny. I will visit your grave the day it receives you."

Thunder and lightning crashed in the heavy clouds above the natural world of the earth.

Grune looked into his eyes without a word. He nodded softly and with that the man let go of him. Out of the car he walked across the beaten trail toward the banks of the swift river, near fallen trees and stumps. He walked around the rocks aimlessly, inching closer, ever so closer up the stream, past the sitting, idling jeep.

After about ten minutes of that odd behavior Zeno smiled and laughed heartily -- he started up the engine again and headed right, dissolving in to the steamy, untamed jungles of Third Earth, heading over grounds that had no trails, no paths carved into the bush what so ever.

Grune turned around to watch the lights disappear into the thick, green overgrowth and waved. He waited until at last even the sounds of the vehicle had passed before he moved onward. He was alone again and only Mumm-Ra and his Black Pyramid stood in the way of his freedom. He looked to the far, distant left, to the other side of the river. Jetting barely up above the hills were the pointed tips of its four, surrounding obelisks.

He hugged the coast of the river, letting it lead him deeper and deeper into the body of the continent. The waters at length ended were they began, in the bubbling torrent of its springs, were boiling hot ground water broke free up on the surface. The trees had thinned until all greenery and all life vanished from the scene.

The skies were rolled over black with dense clouds, an arcid, burnt smell fumed from smoldering ground.

Grune stood before the pyramid, pausing to take in the totality of that decrepit construction. The tall towers, lined with messages engraved in odd, picturesque letterings, marred with the streaks that marked the paths of innumerable lightning blasts. The body of the pyramid was equally scarred.

A cool breeze swirled around him, fretting his long, black mane, shooting loose sand and dirt up into the air -- and when the current died, the small, grainy particles remained suspended in eerie, ghastly forms that only slowly fell back to the ground.

He found the hole around the base from where he had exited almost an eternity ago. Its wooden doors lay open to the side, still, unmoving. Within was shadow and darkness -- he gulped once, realizing for a moment what powers he was up against -- but he approached, he descended the stone stairs. The air was cold, the dust tickling his nose, making cough -- he hoped the sound of it did not reach the mummy's ears, he wanted to take him by surprise if he was not looking at him already through that unnatural, circular pool.

His own Thundrainium, spiked club glowed softly in an orange, yellow light. It was not strong enough to illuminate his path and it only served to frighten him for it showed him what was painted on the walls along the low passages. Figures, men, women, served to the gods of hell upon silver plates, their limbs hacked to pieces, their entrails dripping upon the floor. The images were real -- too real -- and were engraved on the stone edifices in a different style from the hieroglyphics that followed. Only at the end did he realize why those pictures were so different -- because they were not drawings in the traditional sense, they were photographs of things that had been done once, of things that had actually happened in that pyramid, captured and preserved in the rock forever. The eyes of the sacrificial priests pressed on his flesh and he fancied for a moment that they blinked -- that they followed him while he treaded through the darkness.

His heart pounded -- he ran to the end of the passage where the hall opened into Mumm-Ra's vast, sarcophagal chamber.

Grune found himself in the dark, cavernous room. Above his head the roof ended in a square-shaped alcove from which darkened daylight slanted in through openings along the outer walls of the pyramid. Droplets of water trickled from its edges, chains attached to unseen hooks dangled from the shadows up there. The pool bubbled ferociously but no magic came off of its shiny, glimmering surface -- around it the tall statues rested, undisturbed.

He snarled, ramming his body against the upright coffin of that ancient mummy -- his withered corpse rattled inside.

"MUMM-RA!" the saber-toothed shouted.

The lid that he struggled to pry open slid in his hands across his fingers. A bright, red aura shot out of the tomb. Thunder and lightning rumbled in the heavens.

"NO ONE DARES DISTURB MUMM-RA AND LIVES!"

Grune stepped aback in a passing moment of terror.

The mummy lifted his hands over the his head -- red, electrical sparks arced between his palms until a small orb formed that he the threw at the ex-Thundercat.

Grune swung at it with his spiked club and it hit the far wall, dispersing in flashes of red lighting.

"I did you wanted, mummy --"

Mumm-Ra growled, forming a new orb over his head.

The cat rushed at him -- "Where is Winter? Where is she? What have you done with her?"

The mummy stopped -- "I've done nothing to her --"

"Liar!"

He chuckled. "Young fool -- do you think you can destroy me when you are only a man and I am forever."

"I don't give a damn about you, your putrid ancient spirits, your pretended powers -- I don't care about this world or your plans for it -- all I want is my Winter back."

"I gave you life, I let you live again, mortal and with a thought I could take it all away."

"Then do it! Go on, do it! Blast me to atoms, crush me to dust, send me back to the hell from where you snatched me. Go on, do it -- I dare you."

The mummy grumbled, his face pained by a quivering smile, his eyes unblinking, shining red.

"You owe me everything --"

"No," Grune said, calmly, "I earned my life back, I owe you nothing. I did your dirty work, what you, you all-powerful, Ever-Living whatever nonsense were not man enough to do -- you are a coward, Mumm-Ra -- and I don't fear you. Give me back Winter! I know you took her --"

"She cannot be saved," Mumm-Ra said, pointing at the cat. "She is not a part of this world anymore or she is not dead either. She lives in a kind of limbo and every now and then makes her presence known --"

"Why did you do that? Why?"

"It wasn't I who did it -- if you hadn't fired into the ball --"

Grune shouted in growl at the mummy's stinted admission. "I knew it, I knew it was you -- you're just like them --"

"Oh," the ancient one smiled, "oh, like them. Am I?"

"Cowards and bullies -- weak men --"

"A weak man, you mean like Jagga?" Mumm-Ra laughed. "Do you think you'll ever have vengeance? Do you think I would ever allow such a thing, animal? Hmmm, do you? I know what Zeno told you --"

"You have no part in this world, you have no power in it --"

"And you're an animal, a throwback --"

Grune shouted again and rushed forward yielding the spiked club in the air. Mumm-Ra lifted his hands, sending a ball of red lightning to smash against the advancing cat.

"NO!" a chorus of voices shouted -- the ball vanished. "YOU WILL NOT HARM HIM, MUMM-RA!"

The mummy turned to face the grumbling statues.

"Ancient spirits, your champion is a failure --"

"NO, MUMM-RA, YOU WILL NOT HARM HIM!"

While the loud voices trembled the room, Grune stepped back into the shadows and approached Mumm-Ra's sarcophagus from behind. He threw his spiked club at the back of the mummy's, shoal covered head, knocking him down to the floor. Without wasting a moment, the cat grabbed the main body of the sarcophagus and lifted it in the air.

"NO! NO! NO!" the mummy shouted, writhing on the floor in horror.

Grune approached the bubbling, steaming pool -- the rock of the tomb he held above his head began to crumble into dust. He feared that it would collapse over him and he rushed to the edge of the waters. Mumm-Ra was then on his feet but it was too late, much too late -- the Thunderian dropped the coffin into the purple liquids --

"Winter!" he shouted, "WINTER!"

"NO!" Mumm-Ra came up to him from behind, reaching out with his hands but when Grune turned back to see the ancient one, like his tomb, crumbled into a pile of dust on the floor. The bandages withered and the red cloak floated through the air in the wake of an unfelt breeze that blew away the carnal dust into the air -- whisked it away.

"Run, Grune, run!" a voice shouted -- it did not come from the statues, whose eyes glowed an eerie, electric red. "Run!"

He came back to his senses, realizing that the pyramid was shaking violently. He darted across the platform and picked up his spiked club. Loosened columns fell to their sides, clouds of dust rose in the air. The chamber was in danger of caving in.

Laughter echoed through the death chamber -- Mumm-Ra's laughter.

"You'll fail," the disembodied voice shouted, "throwback! You'll fail!"

Grune ignored the voice, yet it continued to blast and spew its stinging venom -- he found the entrance to the passage and sprinted across the ruins to the quaking, buckling doorway.

"You'll never get Winter back! You'll never get your vengeance with Jagga! I'll make sure of it. Never! Never! Never! Mwahahahahahaha! Hahahahaha!"

He had already disappeared into the darkness to the tunnel.

"GRUNE!"

[Part Fourteen]

"GRUNE! GRUNE!" the mummy shouted. "YOU WILL NOT LEAVE ALIVE!"

He stormed down the cramped hallway, climbing up from the hellish depths to the distant point of light of the exit.

The angered, irate voice continued to shout and curse wildly in multiple tongues. Though the sound was muffled and deadened by the distance snatches and hints of echoes reverberated in the stone and mortar of the ancient construction. They pyramid rumbled with the empty threats of a weakened mummy.

All around him thick dust clouds were blown into his face and chunks of rocks fell from the shaking, quivering ceiling of the engraved passage. A series of loud crashes rang from behind him where beams had splintered and split in half, choking off the recesses of the tunnel forever. He did not stop, not even to look back, for the brighter lights of the open sky was close, so close.

Mumm-Ra's laughter intermingled with the crashing of thunder and the lightning that followed blinded Grune temporarily.

He reached the foot of the stone steps but when he tried to ascend the stairs it unraveled under him. He fell to his side for a moment of searing pain that coursed through his body. He willed himself to go on and before he knew it he was on his feet again.

"I will not die here -- like this," he shouted to the air. "I will not be so easily defeated!"

Grune stood under the gapping hole -- its horizontal doors flapped in the wake of a demonic gale. He jumped up and grabbed the edge, his claws digging deeply into the granular, eroding cement. With his spiked club he beat back the wooden covers before they had a chance to strike his head -- the torn and tattered boards fell back lifeless into the absolute, formless darkness of the room below.

He crawled out of the hole, turned to his side and easily stood on his two feet none the worse for wear.

"GRUNE!"

The sky resounded with loud pangs of thunder. Lightning struck the tips of the four obelisks, scorching the smooth granite of the pyramid, burning holes into the rocks. The air churned in strong, cold wind.

He ran west, on the loose, dead soil, toward the distant cover of young forests. The clouds parted before him to reveal a large, red sun sinking in an aura of a deepening, darkening colors. A wave of warmth streaked across the land, opening the buds of small, partly buried seeds that poked their green tips through the black, fertile earth.

The world was coming back to life amidst the irony of the fading, dying day.

He followed the course Zeno had outlined on the maps -- maps he had burned into memory. In his mind he knew the trails by instinct, guided only by the lay of the land. He hiked at a slow, even pace -- he had stopped running as soon as the top of the Black Pyramid vanished within the canopy of the sprawling wilderness. Ahead of him a fine smoke whisked through the trees -- a Wollo village nearby was having dinner, he was stung by the smells of fresh breads and cooked meats and for the first time that day he realized he was hungry.

Grune was alone, truly and utterly alone. His stomach was knotted in a kind of nervous anxiety he had never known before. He was faced by a terror different than what he had known in that cramped, isolation of his prison -- it was the unknown future that lay before him, the world, vast and infinite, that waited impatiently for its conquest.

A moss-covered log lay across a thin, babbling stream but he crossed it noisily over the gently currents. On the other side he knelt on its banks and wet his face with the clear, refreshing liquid. He was covered in dust and cobwebs millennia old.

As the shades of evening drew near the air chilled in a sudden breeze. He shivered in his own fur looking, looking up to sky. The clouds were white and thin and the stars shinned easily through the mist. He turned his eyes back down, catching for a brief moment a glimpse of Winter's face rippling on the flowing surface of the stream. He turned to see nothing -- his heart beat ferociously in terror.

Was it a trick Mumm-Ra had played on him? Was it the sort of lonely torture he would have to face from that moment on? Was he cursed to snatch only the briefest moments with his beloved and nothing more?

Grune was not afraid anymore -- he understood. He had the change to start his world anew. Mumm-Ra and his ancient spirits of evil had no effect on the world -- unless he let them.

He stood and wandered to a tall, wide oak. He climbed up onto a strong limb and comforted himself there the best he could. He would have only a small rest before he went on to the city Zeno had told him about. It would be quite a challenge to raise an army there or anywhere on that planet but he had faced longer odds before.

He sighed and shut his eyes. The branches rustled in answer and in the ruffling of the leaves he heard a soft, familiar voice call to him. He moved his lips as if to speak but they were stopped by the unmistakable press of a kiss.

"Winter," he said at last.

His eyes opened, he turned his head, feeling a pinch on his neck. He reached back, letting his fingers investigate. He pulled out a long, sharp sliver of an object and looked at it under the dim, eerie moonlight -- in his palm was a white tooth, a hog's tooth.

Little Liono sat on his lap -- Grune tickled him lightly and the cub's giggles echoed through the air.

"Gwune, Gwune," the young lion mumbled, looking up at him, touching his saber-teeth lightly with small, chubby fingers.

A younger Jagga appeared before them --

Grune laughed himself to sleep, lulled by a soft, whispering voice that only he could hear.

Zeno -- who was not even then a wrinkle older than before -- stood over Grune's gave on the day it received him. The grassy clearing had been trimmed neatly and only the small, brown mounds that marked the placement of the bodies revealed the scene for what it was. The air was clean and the faintest scent of wildflowers tickled his nose. Only somber tones echoed within the wilderness.

The small flock of mourners -- generals and loyal soldiers -- dispersed once the funeral rites had been completed. They talked to themselves about how they would repart his great empire among them. In the distance, timid onlookers watched attentively but dared not approach -- their faces tried hard to hide their true feeling of relief at Grune's death and they were too afraid they would be spotted by the military men. They, the Wollos and Balkans, whose unfortunate history with the man would be the only one long remembered.

Alone, he knelt over the unmarked stone and planted an acorn into the loose soil. With the dust of a fine chalk he drew a pentagraph on the mound, dispersing a red salt that flashed in a quick flame and vanished. He poured an icy liquid that the ground soaked like a sponge.

"Sleep now, my friend, there, there, rest your weary soul -- with Winter at your side forever, eternally." He looked up, his eyes pointed to the clouded sky, he whispered, running his hands over the grave. With the spell complete he stood at last -- a loud crash of thunder rumbled in the heavens -- and with that he vanished into the very mists from whence he came.

Grune fought many wars and battles. Honors and fears were heaped on his name. In time he had became a king by his own hand -- but that was another story....