Valkeryn 2: The Dark Lands (11 page)

The Panterran saw her approaching and each drew a curved blade; even Bergborr braced himself, perhaps thinking her plan was to push them both over the cliff edge.

Eilif lunged at the Panterran, ducking under the swinging slice of his sword, and briefly clasping the creature to her, while snatching the cloth and holding it to her breast. Fists and the flat of blades pummeled her, and she fell to the ground, curling into a ball. She managed to tuck the material down her shirt, and then covered her head with her hands as more fists and boots joined in the assault.

“No, leave her.’ Bergborr covered her body with his own, and he too was roughly beaten before being pulled from her. ‘She’s still hurt.’

Orcalion leaned down and grabbed at the sensitive ruff at the back of her neck, and pulled her head back, hard. ‘I said I needed you for now, Princess Eilif. But I never said anything about needing all of you. Try that again, and as well as losing your freedom, you might find you also lose one of
your precious hands.’ He pushed her head forward. ‘Bind her.’

She was dragged from the edge of the cliff, her hands bound in front of her, then she was thrown roughly against a broken shard of boulder. She stayed down with her back turned to them. Outwardly she was dazed, but inside her heart sang. Eilif half turned and listened for a second or two, before slowly turning back to her prize. She reached inside her shirt and lifted the small square of cloth to her face. She closed her eyes and inhaled – images flooded her mind. She laughed softly into the cloth. She could still see his midnight black eyes, and smile, teeth small, unlike a Wolfen’s, but white and strong nonetheless.

She opened her eyes and tucked the bandana into her shirt. Her face lost its mirth, as she thought of the Panterran’s beating.

‘Vile creatures. It won’t always be an unarmed warrior you try and beat on. There will another time, and as Odin is my witness, vengeance will come soon.’

She silenced her whispering as footsteps approached.

*

Bergborr paced back and forth along the cliff edge. He lifted his head and breathed in the scents on the breeze, slightly closing his eyes to concentrate. There it was, the scent of the son of Grimvaldr, and also the most hated being, the Man-Kind. He felt disgusted – the princess chasing after the freakish creature like some sort of lovesick cub. He ground his teeth; he had never wanted to kill another creature so badly.

He turned, lifting his head and concentrating. A frown creased his brow. It was strange; he also thought he could smell another Valkeryn warrior. He snorted; he didn’t really see himself as a Valkeryn Wolfen anymore. He wondered if he ever did. He sniffed again – it was impossible; all the warrior blood of Valkeryn had been spilt and they were just bones by now… undoubtedly picked clean by Lygon teeth.

Turning back to the dark jungles, he narrowed his eyes; they weren’t far ahead – perhaps only a day. Bergborr made a silent prayer to Odin, pleading for the chance to face the Man-Kind in battle. He knew Odin would approve of him keeping their race pure, and halt any chance of some vile union of races. His stomach turned at the thought.

He let his mind dance on the images in his head of facing the Man-Kind. He’d soon show the princess: the Arnoddr was a false prophet, and little more than a weak coward who relied on trickery and cunning. If he was an example of the mighty Ancients, then it was no wonder they had fled from the planet. His eyes narrowed as he imagined the fight – there would be no quarter given on that day.

A sting at his elbow startled him, and he looked down to see the flat face of Orcalion snagging his arm with one claw. Bergborr went to take a few steps away but the claws dug in, and the black slit of a mouth opened.

‘Brave Bergborr, clever Bergborr, I’m so glad you were able to free yourself from the mighty battle and flee, even though you seem to have gotten yourself lost on your way bringing Queen Mogahrr the offspring of Grimvaldr.’

Orcalion continued to grin up at him. He waved one small arm at the dark jungle beyond the cliff edge. ‘And now look. Now you have managed to guide us so quickly to the trail of the Arnoddr Sigarr, and the young Valkeryn prince.’ Orcalion’s claws pulled him around; his yellow eyes travelling over the many injuries Bergborr sustained from his recent fight with the Lygon warrior.

‘So many wounds, so lucky to survive.’

Bergborr ripped his arm free in disgust. Orcalion nodded up at him, the black grin splitting his face even wider. ‘Yes, so lucky to survive. Such a strong and clever Wolfen.’

Bergborr felt revulsion for the small creature. When the time came, he would take his head, and kick it around for pleasure. As if reading Bergborr’s mind, the Panterran smiled even wider, revealing his entire mouthful of needle-like teeth.

‘Friend Bergborr, so, there are now just a handful of Valkeryn Wolfen left in this world? Perhaps soon, there will be none, and your once mighty race will be no more.’

Bergborr bared his teeth. ‘Careful, tiny licker of spittle, I gave the Panterran the Valkeryn kingdom, and for that I have Mogahrr’s good grace and protection.’

Orcalion bowed. ‘I meant no offence, mighty warrior. I was only talking of something that would sadden me if it were to occur.’ He looked up with the guileful gleam in his yellow eyes. ‘For then, whom would we war upon?’ Orcalion bowed again, but Bergborr detected the soft sound of a wheezy laugh coming from under his cowl.

Bergborr looked away, detesting being in the presence of the small goblin-like creatures, detesting their ability to see into the soul of a being. They were unnatural.

Behind the Panterran counselor, there were dozens of other Panterran and a small war party of the fearsome Lygon. The large creatures were breathing heavily, from the exertion of the climb, and there was palpable excitement at the thought of getting their hands on more Wolfen… and perhaps even the Man-Kind itself.

Orcalion saw him looking at the formidable frames of the Lygon and nodded. ‘Yes, I agree. We Panterran and Wolfen had better travel down the pathway to the Dark Lands first. Our large brothers might not prove so… agile on a cliff.’

Bergborr grunted. ‘I’ll see to the princess.’

Orcalion shook his head, the grin never faltering. ‘No, we need her not. She goes back to the queen.’

Bergborr thought quickly. ‘The Man-Kind thinks highly of her. Also, if she is gone, then we have no leverage over the prince.’

Orcalion narrowed his eyes. ‘We don’t need leverage. We just need to find them.’ He looked back to where the princess sat. ‘She is proof that Orcalion does what is asked of him.’

‘No.’ Bergborr advanced a step.

Orcalion held up a fist. Immediately several Panterran raised cross bows, aiming at the dark Wolfen’s chest. Bergborr’s teeth came together.

Orcalion started to turn away. ‘She goes back.’ He turned back to Bergborr. ‘Be careful, or we may decide that we don’t not need you either. The protection of the Queen counts for little so far away from her gaze.’

Bergborr could only watch as a Lygon looped a rope around Eilif’s neck.  She stared at him, her ice blue eyes penetrating him to his core. He watched her every step as she was led back down the rocky slopes, leaving him to scale down the cliff side, alone.

*

Sorenson had found another route down the cliff walls and climbed down in an almost reckless rush. He needed to be on the ground first, lest he be spotted on the wall when the Panterran and Lygon had reached the ground.

He was torn – follow Bergborr or try to free the princess. He groaned, indecision momentarily forming a knot in his gut. He knew Eilif was smart and tough; he would have to trust that she could survive for a while longer.

It would be Arn and Grimson he would track and, with luck, find first. He had the ability to see their trail. He was confident that while the Lygon and Panterran bullocked through the trees, he would dance above them.

Chapter 14

Human, but Then Again Not

I think it’s a dead whale.’ Becky sipped at the remaining warm water in the greasy looking plastic bottle.

Edward grunted. ‘Maybe.’ He walked along the line of chalk-white ribs. ‘Maybe once it was. Maybe it started out as a whale… but it’s not a sea creature anymore. Hey, did you know whales actually started out as land creatures?’

Becky turned her mouth down and shrugged.

Edward nodded and reached out to run his hand along a thick bone. ‘Sure. It was called an
Ambulocetus
, looked a little like a furred alligator, and was only about ten feet long. It developed a taste for shellfish, and the rest is history.’

Becky sipped again and motioned with her head towards the long line of bones. ‘Well this baby is more than ten feet long – more like a hundred.’

Edward nodded. ‘Hmm, maybe it thought it safer to try its luck back on land. Done a complete evolutionary about-face – re-evolved the ability to walk on its limbs.’ He looked around. ‘I wonder if this was an ancient seabed?’

Becky scoffed. ‘Safer on land? What the hell would scare this giant enough into wanting to drag itself out of the water.’

Edward grinned at her, an image of a giant whale-like creature running up out of the sea, chased by something even bigger lurking in the depths. ‘No, I meant it would have taken a lot of generations, and perhaps some forced mutations along the way. I reckon a million years ought to have done it. Besides, it might have been pollution, sea warming or a hundred other things, rather than predation, and…’

‘I don’t care. Let’s keep going, I’m boiling to death.’ Becky started walking away.

Edward had wrapped his shirt around his head; his shoulders were now pink from the sun. He caught up, walking beside her for a few moments and examining her face. ‘You okay?’

She looked at him, her cheeks glistening with perspiration. ‘You’re gonna have sunburn tomorrow.’

‘Thanks Mom. But seriously, are you…’

‘Yes, yes; just freaking hot and uncomfortable. We’ve been walking for hours, and I’m super tired.’ She didn’t look at him but he noticed her bottom lip was trembling.

‘Don’t worry Becky; we’ll come to the forest soon, and hopefully find some shelter. We just need to keep following the tracks. The soldiers did it, and Arn managed to cross this desert with nothing but his determination.’

She looked at him and smiled, her eyes seeming to shine in her red face. ‘I hope so. I didn’t think we’d be walking this far, and I’m just about out.’ She held her water bottle up and jiggled it. It had about a single sip left.

Edward’s mouth dropped open. ‘You’re kidding me? Weren’t you rationing?’

She pulled a face, giving him a look suggesting he was a dimwit. ‘No-oo. No one told me to.’ She finished it and threw the bottle onto the sand.

He raced after it and picked it up. ‘We might need this. What do you expect to find in the forest, a 7-Eleven? Even if we find water, you’re going to need take some with you.’ She didn’t acknowledge him. ‘Where will you keep it? In your mouth?’

Becky increased her pace, leaving him behind. He shook his head.
Ooh boy, Princess Rebecca and her faithful hand-servant, Edward .
He sighed and pulled his shirt turban down over his eyes and plodded on.

*

Albert Harper tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible as Colonel Marion Briggs walked up and down the double line of Special Forces soldiers. Each stood a head taller than her. The man standing at the front was another six inches on top of the tallest person, and seemed to be her second in charge. He had a stare that was pure psychopath. 

Briggs half turned from them, and put a finger to the small stud in her ear before she spoke. Her words were loud so she could be heard over the screaming wind.

‘Images?’ She nodded. ‘Sound… life lines?’ She grunted. ‘Good work.’ She then turned to Albert Harper who stood white faced at the opposite side of the tunnel.

Harper’s coat flapped and he held it down. The air was rushing inside the tunnel now, being pulled from both directions of the huge particle collision ring, and drawn to the oily spot hanging in the air. The tear in time and space was now large as a truck tire and looking like a toothless mouth – a hungry devouring mouth, waiting for its next meal.

‘Count yourself lucky, Harper. I need you here in the event we need to technologically enforce an emergency exit strategy.’ Her mouth turned down. ‘Whatever the hell that might be.’

She half turned away from him and roared over her shoulder. ‘Final weapons check.’

There came the rapid sound of metal and ceramic clips, slots and barrels being opened and slid back, of ammunition rounds, gas canisters and grenades being counted off, and bodies snapping back to attention. It all lasted only a few seconds.

Briggs turned, and walked up and down the line of soldiers, stopping now and then to stare into a face of one or another and speak a few words.

‘Samson, no quarter.’ The brutal man nodded.

‘Teacher, you’re on my three at all time.’ This man looked both formidable and intelligent – probably an even more lethal combination.

Briggs walked on, hands clasped behind her back, her voice raised and her jaw set.

‘This country is ours. We own it. We paid for it with our blood and our fore-father’s blood, and by god, we’ll rip a hole in anyone or anything that tries to take it away from us.’ She paused.

‘HUA!’ the Delta’s yelled as one. The word sounded like
hooah,
and was all a soldier needed to respond with, and all a leader ever wanted to hear. It was the combat professional’s shorthand for Heard, Understood and Acknowledged.

She continued pacing along the line and then stopped to turn and face Harper. ‘We own this goddamn beautiful country… now, tomorrow, and in the future forever and ever, Amen.’ She grinned cruelly at scientist. ‘Let’s just make sure that those assholes in the future are clear on that.’

‘HUA!’

Briggs turned to the gaping maw hanging in space, sucking in air and anything else not tied down. She balled her fists, and uttered a single ‘forwa-aard’, and sprinted at the dark void, leaping and disappearing in an instant.

Samson roared the same command over the banshee sound of the wind. ‘On the double – forward.’ He lowered a shoulder and ran, almost as if he expected to strike something that needed to be battered down.

Harper guessed the giant soldier approached every problem the same way. He silently watched, as two by two the several dozen black clad warriors leapt into the void. He shook his head and sighed.

‘Look out Arn, your saviors are coming… whether you like it or not.’

*

Edward stood swaying slightly, feeling like he was on the deck of a ship, pitching and rolling in a swell, instead of the dry sands of a desert that was once Illinois. He knew it was just his balance going due to dehydration – his vision was blurring as well. His water supply was gone, the last few mouthfuls given over to Becky, who was probably in an even worse state.

He inhaled the dry air – he could smell earth, and in the distance there was a dark line that could have been mountains, or trees, or nothing but a shimmering trick of the light played out on the endless grains of quartz and silica.

He tried to swallow the dry lump in his throat. His heart hammered under his ribs, keeping beat with a pounding in his head. They staggered on, sometimes falling down, and then using up precious energy dragging themselves back to their feet.

The dark line was closer – not a mirage then.

‘What is it?’ Becky was gripping his forearm, not letting go, using him as a crutch.

He squinted into the distance. ‘I, I don’t know. But I think it’s supposed to be a barrier. Maybe to stop us.’ He swallowed again, and blinked. ‘Oh no.’ He felt the lump in his throat descend an inch or two, but threaten to immediately come back up, dragging with it a ball of sick.

What they had originally taken to be a stand of trees, or even some sort of wall, had turned out to be row after row of upright crosses, each with a body of some tortured being lashed to it.

‘There must be hundreds of them.’ He looked along the fence line of brutalized bodies.

Becky’s fingers dug into his arm like claws. ‘They’re like scarecrows.’

He nodded. That was exactly what they looked like. ‘And we’re the crows.’ He took a few more steps, and squinted up at the things. Their bodies looked strange – human, but then again, not.

Edward started to approach, but Becky held on, digging her heels into the sand. He tugged at her. ‘Let’s get closer – I want to take a better look.’

He had to drag her with him. She complained, but in the end knew they had to go forward, and fast – one way or the other, they needed to make it to the forest – they could never hope to trek back across the sands to the tunnel now without any water.

He plodded forward another twenty feet and stopped. ‘What the hell is that? A man with a wolf’s head?’ He rubbed his eyes, not believing what he was seeing.

‘Maybe it’s wearing a mask, or they stuck it on.’ Becky’s voice was little more than a squeak at his shoulder.

Edward’s scientific interest was piqued, and his intellect urged him on. He just needed to convince his legs and feet to agree and stop trembling beneath him. Taking another few steps, he stood close to the first cross, looking up.

The figure was shaped like a man, but bigger. Edward estimated about six and a half feet. Its body seemed normal – chest pectorals, stomach muscles, and arms and legs that were long-limbed and strong, but the whole thing was covered in a light sheen of fur. He grimaced; in this, as in most of the bodies, deep cuts and blue bruising ravaged the skin and fur. The figures were obviously dead, and flies feverishly jostled with each other over the wounds, eyes and mouth.

‘Yuck, I can smell them.’

Edward ignored her, and walked to the next figure, this one suffering a deep slash from the side of the face all the way down its torso. Sticky blood still coated its legs and dripped to the sand a few feet below its trussed feet.

‘Looks like they were tortured, and I don’t think they were all dead when they were strung up. Why were they staked out here? Were they meant to be a warning, or were they meant to die facing something in the desert?’ He went to reach up, and Becky grabbed his arm.

‘Don’t. Please don’t touch it, Edward. Maybe they had been cast out because they had a disease, or they were criminals… or maybe they deserved it somehow.’

Edward pulled his arm away, and looked at her with disbelief, before turning back to the creature on the cross. ‘A disease that was probably on the end of a sword or axe I’d say. Look at the wounds on him – at the wounds on all of them. These guys look like a vanquished army. Genghis Khan did the same thing to his enemies.’ He looked at her again. ‘And no one deserves something like this.’

Edward reached out again, this time placing his hand on the creature’s foot. The thing immediately jerked as if shocked, and lifted its head, screaming out words at the sky in a language Edward had no hope of understanding. He fell backwards, colliding with Becky and dragging them both to the ground.

They scrabbled backwards on the sand, both breathing heavily and their eyes fixed on the wolf-being.

The creature opened its weary bloodshot eyes and looked down at them. The light-colored orbs told of pain and suffering on an unimaginable level, but the mouth and lips still worked to form words. Only two made any sense.

‘Arnoddr Siggar.’

Edward stood again and hurried forward, clasping the creature’s foot and looking up into its pained face. The thing repeated the words.

‘Arnoddr Siggar.’

‘I think he’s saying… ‘ Edward breathed the words back to the creature. ‘Arnold Singer?’

The wolf-man stared for several seconds, and then its body started to shake. It slowly lifted its face to the sun, sucked in one last deep breath, and roared out a single word.

‘Valhalla-aaa!’ The word stretched and as it ended, the creature’s eyes closed, and the head slumped back to its chest.

‘It’s Arn. They know him.’ Edward turned to Becky. ‘Come on.’

*

Briggs was thirsty, and the black coveralls attracted significant heat regardless of the cutting-edge technology designed to draw away moisture and ventilate the body – there was only so much military science could do to keep you cool in temperatures over a hundred and ten degrees and humidity of around zero

The double line of men and woman marched at a pace close to five miles per hour – nearly jogging speed. They’d been keeping it up in silence for over four hours, and would continue to do so for many more. The recon told them there was fifty miles to cover and still twenty or so to go – they needed to cross at speed, without shelter, and without rest. And by the time they reached the tree line they still needed to be able to run, and fight.

Briggs smiled; every single one of her team would do it with ease. She heard the dry crunching sound of their boots on the sand closing on her from behind and she gritted her teeth; she needed to stay out in front. She was the squad leader; she was the one who led by example.

Damned heat
, she thought, and put her head down to push herself a little harder.

*

Out on the sand plains, the two figures shimmered in the oppressive heat as they approached the tree line.