The Gates of Creation

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s too fast and strong for the fish. After all, he’s adapted for that kind of life-if you want to call it a life.”

Wolff decided that he would have to give up on Theotormon. He walked back into the jungle with Vala close behind. By now he permitted her to be at his back. She needed him too much to kill him.

He had gone only a few yards when he was knocked down from behind. At first, he thought that she had leaped upon him. He rolled away from her, trying to draw his beamer from its holster at the same time. He saw then that she had been propelled into him by another. The huge glistening wet body of Theotormon was flying at him. The bulk came flat down on him, and his breath was knocked out by the impact of 400 pounds. Then Theotormon was sitting on top of him and striking savagely at his face with the flippers. The first blow knocked him half-unconscious; the second drove him into darkness.

V

Although he had no recollection of the few seconds after his senses had dissolved, he must not have been entirely unconscious. He had gotten his two arms out from under the pinning mass and seized the flippers. Slippery as they were, he managed to keep a grip on them. He regained full consciousness just as he yanked savagely on them, so strongly that Theotormon shrieked with pain and half-rose. That was enough for Wolff. He shoved against the bulging paunch and thrust himself partly free. He bent his free right leg and kicked. Now it was Theotormon’s turn to gasp for breath.

Wolff rose to his feet and kicked hard again, his shoe driving into the weakest part of the monster, his head. Theotormon, caught on the forehead, slumped back. Wolff kicked him in the jaw and then half-buried another kick in the paunch. Theotormon, the moss-green eyes glazed, fell back, his legs doubled under him.

Yet he was not out, and when Wolff advanced on him to finish his work, Theotormon kicked with a huge foot. Wolff caught the foot and so denied its full impact, but he was shoved backwards. Theotormon arose, crouched, and leaped again. Wolff also leaped forward, his right knee driving upward. It caught Theotormon on his chin, and both fell to the ground again. Wolff scrambled up, felt for his beamer, and found it was not in his holster. His brother also rose. They faced each other at a distance of six feet, both breathing heavily and just becoming aware of the pain of the blows they had taken.

Wolff’s natural strength had been increased twofold by artificial means, and his bones had been toughened, without being made brittle, to match the muscular strength. However, all Lords had undergone the same treatment, so that when they engaged in physical combat among themselves, the original strength was, relatively, the same. Theotormon’s body had been reshaped by Urizen, and he outweighed his brother by at least one hundred and sixty pounds. Apparently, Urizen had not increased Theotormon’s power by much, since Wolff had been able to match him so far. Weight meant much in a fight, though, and it was this that Wolff had to watch for. He must not give Theotormon another chance to use it.

Theotormon, his wind having returned, growled, “I will batter you into unconsciousness again, Jadawin. And then I will carry you into the sea, dive into a cavern, and hold you while my pets eat you alive.”

Wolff looked around. Vala was standing to one side and smiling very curiously. He did not waste his breath or time asking for her aid. He charged Theotormon, leaped high into the air, and kicked out with both feet. His brother had frozen for a second at the unexpected attack, then he ducked. Wolff had hoped that he would. He kicked low, but Theotormon was very fast. Wolff’s shoes came down hard on his back, the shoes slipped on the wet back, and Wolff skidded down the back. He whirled even as he shot off Theotormon. The monster turned and leaped, expecting, or hoping to find Wolff flat on his back. Instead, he was caught by another kick in the jaw.

This tune, Theotormon did not get up. His dark seal fur red with blood from a torn lip and gashed jaw and mashed nose, he lay breathing noisily. Wolff kicked him several times in the ribs to make sure he stayed down.

Vala applauded Wolff and said, “Well done. You are the man I once loved-still love.”

“And why didn’t you help me?” he said.

“You didn’t need it. I knew you’d knock that bag of blubber out of his pinhead-mind.”

Wolff looked through the grass for his beamer but could not find it. Vala did not move from where she stood. She said, “Why didn’t you use your knife?”

“I would have if it had been necessary. But I want him alive. We’re taking him along with us.”

Her eyes widened. “In the name of Los, why?”

“Because he has certain abilities we may be able to use.”

Theotormon groaned and sat up. Wolff kept an eye on him but continued his search. Finally, he said, “All right, Vala. Hand it over.”

She reached within her robe and brought out the beamer. “I could kill you now.”