Valkeryn 2: The Dark Lands (14 page)

Orcalion snagged his sleeve again, in a fashion that was becoming irritating to the Wolfen.

‘Perhaps they know of our pursuit. Perhaps they seek to evade us.’

Bergborr rubbed his cheek, and tilted his head. ‘Maybe. It’s getting dark; we need to push on as far as we can, before making camp. I think we should try and find dry wood to burn as we travel.’

Orcalion sneered. ‘We do not need fire. The dark does not worry the Panterran or the Lygon. You have been pampered too long in the brightly lit halls of a rich castle keep, Valkeryn betrayer.’

Bergborr walked away, lest the urge to behead the revolting animal overtook his sense of self-preservation.

The night fell quickly, and beneath the canopy where there was an absence of starlight or moonlight, the darkness was complete… as Bergborr expected. It even tested the Panterran’s extraordinary night vision. Behind them, Lygons grumbled at their fatigue and hunger, and their blundering ability to
stumble into stinging plants or sharp objects in the blackness. Once again Bergborr felt the small creature glide up beside him.

‘We must find a place to eat and sleep – somewhere defendable that will give us the space to be close together. It would be best in these dangerous lands if we are not to be strung out or hidden from each other behind thick foliage. Wouldn’t want people getting attacked… or deciding to wander off.’ The last bit of information was delivered with his peculiar wheezing laugh, and he turned to order several of the Lygon to spread out and find a suitable camping ground.

Bergborr turned and pressed on, keeping one eye on the branches overhead.

*

The huge Lygon warriors struggled through the thick foliage on either side of the animal trail the main group had been following for hours. Fifty feet apart, they searched for a suitable campsite in the rapidly diminishing light.

Drun, out at the farthest point, had been feeling the heat for some time. As the sun went down, the humidity settled over them like a warm wet blanket. He grumbled his displeasure, almost as loud as his stomach grumbled for food. Lygon were built for enormous bursts of strength over short periods of time, not for day-long wrestles with tough vines and creepers.

He cursed the Panterran. He needed to eat something, and sleep, or he might make a meal of the annoying little Orcalion. The thought hung in his mind –
who would know
? If they killed all the Panterran, they could then tear the last Wolfen to shreds. Who would know?

He was now far ahead of the main group, moving ponderously through the dark jungle. Even with his dark-adapted eyes, he could see little more than shapes and shadows. He couldn’t even hear his brother warriors any more, though they were no more than fifty paces apart – the sounds of the jungle at night were even louder than during the day. Several times he heard large beasts moving through the dark – not his brothers, but other things, heavier. He froze until he had determined they were far enough away not to cause him problems.

Drun pushed aside a thick veil of fronds, breaking free of their tangle and into a clearing. Oddly, or perhaps conveniently, it was free of plants, nothing but a room-sized expanse of roughly-churned dark soil. It looked as though someone had been digging. He was tempted to hide and wait, in the chance that the digger was some sort of small foraging animal that might return to search for more roots or tubers. It might make a tasty morsel he wouldn’t have to share.

He wrinkled his nose at the odors – the smell was appalling, even for a creature like him who smelt of meat and death and strong urine. He stood at the edge of the clearing, his senses screaming at him. He took a step, and halted, his huge head turning, trying to detect danger. There was nothing but soil with a few smooth stones churned to the surface.

He walked quickly out to its centre, standing with his legs braced, and his teeth bared, daring anything to come forward. There was still nothing. The ground under his feet was firm, but not hard-packed as he expected from the freshly-turned soil. He bent and flicked at one of the stones. It lifted from the soil, and exposed itself as a jawbone with a set of teeth. He looked around quickly; all the other shards were the same – bones. A killing field, then.

He stood and snorted in derision. It would not concern the Lygon warriors. If anything tried to attack even their small force, they’d feel a wrath and fury like nothing they had ever seen. It would turn into a killing field – theirs. He snorted again.
There wasn’t much in this land that the mighty Lygon needed to fear
, he thought and kicked at some of the bone fragments.

Drun was satisfied that he had found a suitable site – he’d bring in his brothers. As he went to turn back to the jungle, he felt the earth slide under his feet. It was if something was moving beneath the soil. He stepped back and noticed that the dark earth was swollen in places. The more he watched the more swellings seemed to appear.

His senses screamed. He bared his teeth. His skin crawled and the fur lumped around his shoulders and along his spine as his body ramped up to fight. Drun reached for his belt, and lifted free the enormous axe. A soft, sticky sound brought his head around in time to see a pair of red eyes, peering up from the soil – no pupils, just fist-sized orbs that watched him for a second or two, before closing with the same mucousy noise he had heard before. Then they were pulled back beneath the ground.

The same sound was repeated from a different direction, and once again another pair of blood red eyes briefly examined him before pulling back beneath the earth. Drun started to pant, wishing he hadn’t walked as far out into the centre of the clearing. Things seemed to lengthen, stretch and then coil underneath his huge feet. He backed up, swinging his axe, looking for something to strike.

Red eyes were opening stickily all around him now, some higher than the others, their owners still invisible in the darkness. They squelched closed, dropped, and then once again he felt the sliding sensation under his feet, as they seemed to move a little closer.

Drun had had enough and spun, preparing to bolt from the clearing, when he was confronted with a sight that froze the breath in his throat. A pair of the unblinking red eyes regarded him dispassionately, so close to him he could see the creature clearly now – a trunk-like segmented body. A massive worm with a triangular head, staring into his face.

The thing swayed slightly, and then beneath the eyes Drun saw a circular hole open, displaying hundreds of needle sharp teeth, all pointed inwards – a mouth designed for gripping and holding. Drun roared and swung his axe, but the thing sprang back under the soil, and the mighty weapon cut through nothing but humid air.

The strength of his swing pulled him off balance, and he stumbled to one knee. Immediately one of the worms shot from the dark earth and fixed onto his leg. A searing pain shot up his body as he felt the sharp teeth cutting into his fur and tough flesh. He swung backward with the axe, but like before, the creature managed to disappear, taking with it most of his calf muscle.

Drun roared again, in frustration, pain, and fear. His bellow was also a call to his brother warriors. Supporting himself on his hands he tried to get to his feet, but more worms shot from the soil and fixed themselves to an arm, his flanks, and a shoulder.

The soil boiled beneath Drun now. He felt more sliding movement, more serated teeth latching onto his body, and then more of his flesh was ripped away. His blood spurted, covering the black sand, and he could see the earth surrounding him rise and fall like water as more of the creatures became excited by the scent of his life pouring out. Drun mewled in terror as he tried to drag himself to the edge of the clearing. Red eyes broke the soil’s surface and cut through the dark earth towards him as another of the worms homed in, finally launching itself onto his already wounded leg, sawing until the limb parted at the knee. Drun weakly flung his axe back at it, but the worm and its prize disappeared under the soil.

Worms rose from the earth like weird plants, attaching themselves to his body. Soon the huge Lygon was dragged backwards, to the centre of the clearing, and then slowly pulled beneath its surface. Drun could feel the teeth burrowing into him, taking his body away from him, piece by piece. 

As the soil reached his shoulders, his mind turned back to his previous brave comments – there was nothing on the land they needed to fear. It seemed, just like the legends of old, it was what was below the land that demanded respect.

His final roars turned to screams of futility, and as his vision dimmed, he saw his brother warriors appear at the edge of the clearing. With them, the small Panterran who was staring at him without care, and keeping his brother Lygon back with a raised arm. He must have bewitched them, for none made a move to help him.

Drun reached out one last time, his tortured arm immediately grabbed by a worm and dragged below. As the soil closed over his face, shutting off his screams, he saw the Panterran forcing them back, and lastly there was the sight of the dark Wolfen warrior, smiling.

*

Orcalion watched the giant creature with interest as the sand worms bore it below the soil’s surface. He ordered the remaining Lygon back from the edge of the clearing, and turned to the dark Wolfen, looking up at him with more good humor than the moment demanded.

‘Nasty business, yes? ‘Perhaps you can say a prayer to Odin to keep us all safe. Did not your Fenrir save us all from the time of great burning?’ He smirked up at the Wolfen. ‘Or was it us that really saved him? Hmm, so long ago, the legends blur, I think.’ He wheezed out a small laugh.

Bergborr spoke softly. ‘Be sure that Odin is watching.  And be sure he has plans for all of us.’ His eyes turned to rest on the Panterran. ‘For none shall weep for the battle fallen. Valkeryies will descend and lift the worthy to the golden halls of Valhalla, where they will await Odin’s call to the last battle.’ He smiled. ‘And that final battle is yet to come.’

Orcalion hissed. ‘I fear there will be no more battles for the Wolfen. And soon, they will be myth and legend just like your Odin, Fenrir, and then even the betrayer, Bergborr.’ He wheezed and turned, gliding away in the darkness.

Chapter 18

We’re All Going on a Little Trip Soon.

Pan Nucleonics, Northbrook – Private Testing Laboratory, 52 miles North East of Fermilab’s Illinois Facility.

Pratihba Singh typed furiously at his keyboard. He had reviewed all the material sent by his old laboratory partner, Doctor Albert Harper, and made his own assessments and comments. The Fermilab generators were now running at ninety eight per cent capacity. It was if their acceleration lasers were firing and refiring particles, and then reordering the resulting collision into recognizable data, before firing again and again and again without stopping. The acceleration was self-generating now, and the result was the creation of a speed-of-light vortex.

Singh knew this had to be a false reading; even though the machines drew enough energy to run an entire city, no actual physical activity was taking place in the multi-mile ring. The sophisticated machines seemed ‘locked’ into full operational running mode – their objective apparently to feed the gravity distortion, nothing more.

Singh recorded his information and summarized it as best he could into short and sharp sentences – brevity counted now, when seconds were critical.

Dear AH, agree your findings.

Energy tipping-point will be reached in forty-eight hours. Energy demand will then exceed output by generators. This will result in one of two outcomes – both equally possible:

1. The high-speed accelerators will implode. Minor damage to facilities expected.

2. The gravity distortion will begin to seek energy sources external to acceleration chamber. Unchecked matter consumption limits – unknown. Potential sources: a) Planetary magnetic core, b) Planetary surface, c) Both.

Other physical consequences will likely be an extreme surface gamma flash that will be prevented from leaving earth’s atmosphere by ionispheric shell – gamma radiation plume will travel globally in ninety-six hours, resulting in significant destruction of surface life, and gross DNA distortion for remaining populations for many generations. Biological mutation or sterilization inevitable.

Conclusion: Machines must be halted immediately. All vigorous containment attempts should be encouraged, or…

He sat back and read over his message. Even thought he had just written it, he felt it was alarming. He shrugged, he knew Albert well enough to expect he had probably already anticipated the potential catastrophe. Perhaps he just wanted a sounding board. Or perhaps he hoped that someone would find a flaw in his calculations.

Unfortunately, there was no flaw – it was as bad as the physics foretold. It was just maths, and maths never lied.

The option to detonate a ten-kiloton tactical explosive device over the gravity wound was firmly on the table. But here the math was a little more vague – there was a possibility it would simply feed the distortion and allow it to grow even quicker. In reality they needed less energy, not more. But if they severed the energy source immediately, would the ‘wound’ close, or would it be simply unbound; freed to consume at will?

He backspaced over the last word – there would be no “or”. He felt they were all locked in the back seat of a speeding car, well away from the steering wheel or brakes.

Singh sat back, exhaled and ran his hands up through thick curly hair. He used his legs to wheel his chair backwards a few paces, looking back at his screen but not really seeing the words. The movement made the laboratory mascot, Atom, an ash-grey tomcat, leap out of the way and stare back at him with a level of indignation that only a cat can project.

Singh could feel the vibrations beneath his feet, could feel it in his teeth and behind his eyes, and he was over fifty miles from Fermilab. Raising his eyes he could see a new crack in the mortar above his head.