Valkeryn 2: The Dark Lands (30 page)

Arn carefully allowed his eyes to open, and exhaled, suddenly realizing he had been holding his breath. Thankfully there was no harsh light, as he feared it would make his migraine a thousand times worse.

‘What?’ He spun left and right – Grimson was beside him, still snoring. ‘What happened?’ It was growing dark outside. He tried to recall the last thing he remembered – it had been dawn when he had met the king. The feast. Simiana was there. He had drunk some sort of wine or nectar. Then everything just fell into darkness.

He got unsteadily to his feet, and staggered to a small window – it was barred with wooden poles – he tested them – tougher than steel.

‘Am I in prison? Why?’

A groan from behind him. ‘My head hurts.’ Grimson sat up, cradling his head.

Arn came back to his side. ‘Mine too, little buddy, but it’s getting better now. I think we might have been drugged, and…’ he pointed to the window. ‘… taken prisoner.’

‘What did we do?’

‘Good question.’ Arn tested the door. It was made of the same strong wood. He gave up.

Grimson got to his feet. ‘Can we break out?’

Arn looked back to the wrist-thick bars over the window. ‘I don’t think so… maybe if the rising moon gives me more strength. But the bars and door feel like some sort of ironbark.’ Arn went back to the window, and placed one hand on a bar.

‘Psst.’

He leapt back. ‘Jesus… there’s someone there.’

‘It’s me.’ A small brown hand gripped the bars and then waved. Arn went back to the window and turning sideways, looked down over the rim at the small woman.

‘Simiana, you scared me half to death. What’s happening? Why are we in here?’

Simiana shook her head, looking down momentarily. ‘I am ashamed. Troglan distrusts you. He feels you will lead your giant people here, and they will overrun our tribe. I tried to speak on your behalf, but…’

‘What? I won’t do that. We’re just passing through. Look, let me talk to him.’

Simiana grimaced, showing white even teeth, with slightly pronounced canines. ‘I can’t. He won’t see you.’

‘Now what? How long will he keep us here?’

She brightened. ‘Not long now. He has already decreed you are to be presented to the Wyrmragon.’ She smiled up into his face ‘It will be a great honor.’

‘Wyrmragon? The one true god, Wyrmragon?’ Arn scoffed. ‘Well, that sounds great. I’m guessing that’s not a good thing, right?’

Simiana shook her head. ‘No, no, it is a good thing. Wyrmragon is one of the gods of the forest, and you and the Prince of Valkeryn will get to join with him. It is a great honor. I truly envy you.’

Arn gripped the bars and rested his forehead against them. ‘When?’

‘After the evening’s feast. It’s starting now.’

Arn felt her hand cover his. The small brown fingers worked along the knuckles until they got to the snarling wolf ring with the ruby eyes. She rubbed the silver, and then picked at it.

‘Can I have this?’

Arn lifted his head, seeing her attention was now solely on the silver ring. He had forgotten about the ring and turned his ha
nd to look at it.

‘No. This was a gift from someone very special.’

‘You won’t need it anymore.’ She stepped back, sulking. ‘Perhaps later.’

‘Enjoy the feast.’ Arn turned his back on her. ‘I’m not hungry.’

*

The Deltas caught up to Sorenson who stood at the base of the giant tree that Arn and Grimson had used to cross the river. Fish swarmed at the bank where he stood and he stared down at them in the dark water.

He pointed to marks on the bank and on the trunk of the tree. ‘Even though it doesn’t reach the entire way across, they used the tree somehow. And on the far bank there are signs of a skirmish. I think they made it, but not sure how.’

‘Well, they didn’t swim.’ Brown kicked stones into the water, scattering the fish. The group had already discovered they were carnivorous; Doonie had already lost the tip of one finger when he tried to wade out.

Sorenson looked up and down the bank. A sound of frustration came from his throat. ‘We must return to the falls – it is narrow enough to cross and stay dry.’  He sprinted back down the bank.

Alison Sharp watched him disappear. ‘Does that guy ever get tired?’

‘Must be all the clean healthy living.’ Teacher waved the Delta team after him at a jog.

*

‘We will fight them… all of them.’ Grimson stood beside Arn, his fingers flexing.

Arn looked down at the Wolfen, already taller and more powerful than when they had set out. He was growing fast, and the desire for battle was flowing through his veins.

Grimson nodded to the door. ‘They will come for you first. I will wait, ambush them, and secure a weapon… and then, let them fear us.’

Arn nodded – sound tactics. ‘Not yet. Let’s let them lead us outside and down to the ground. They are better in the trees than we are, and I think we’ll have more of a chance to escape when we have a little more open space.’

Grimson looked dubious, but nodded. Bolts were pulled back on the door. Twenty warriors stood there, spears held ready. Some of them Arn recognized from the riverbank and they all looked wary – perhaps they had heard what he was capable of.

Arn held up his hands. ‘Do not be afraid.’

Their hands were quickly tied behind their backs, and a loop of rope around their neck. Grimson bared his teeth, but the rope was yanked tight to subdue him.

‘Take it easy.’ Arn glared, and the warrior backed off a little.

Arn and Grimson were led outside to one of the pulley-lifts and then transported to the ground. Once there, another larger party took control and led them out into the jungle. Arn noticed that further back, flaming torches bobbed, and by the number he guessed it was pretty much the entire tribe that followed. They had donned garlands of flowers, and robes intertwined with vines and blooms. Arn thought it looked like some sort of wedding party – unfortunately he and Grim were off to meet the groom.

Eventually they slowed, and then pushed into a clearing. The baseball field-sized space was ringed with small stones, creating a line about ten feet wide at the jungle’s edge. The tribe fanned out left and right along the border, staying out of the clearing itself.

Grimson pushed a little closer to him. ‘Something smells ba
d.’ He looked up. ‘Flesh eater.’

Arn could see that at the centre of the clearing there was a large hole, and inside nothing could be seen but blackness. At its smooth edges it glistened as though coated in a viscous slime, and a few feet back from the void, a single three-foot high post was embedded into the ground.

A small movement from the other side of the clearing drew Arn’s attention. Simiana was giving him a small wave. She smiled. Arn couldn’t work out whether it was an expression of hope, a wish for good luck, or maybe a short, “goodbye sucker”.

King Troglan stepped out a few feet into the clearing, but Arn noticed he was careful not to tread beyond the line of stones that bordered its outer rim… and he could guess why; within the inner clearing fine tendrils of a gossamer-like thread could be seen crisscrossing the crushed-down plant matter. All of them led back to the twenty-foot wide pit, and disappeared over its slimy edge.

‘We should try and escape now.’ Grimson spoke softly and kept his eyes on the pit.

‘Yep.’ Arn looked around at the jungle’s edge – many of the tribe had climbed trees, squatting in low branches for a better view. Arn and Grimson’s arms were now lashed tight behind their backs, and their ankles bound with a rope travelling from their necks, to wrists and then to their ankles – they were effectively trussed.

‘I think we’re in trouble now.’ Grimson looked up at him with raised eyebrows.

Arn responded with a half-smile. ‘What, only now?’

Grimson nodded towards the hole at the centre of the clearing. ‘Do you think they’re going to push us in?’

Arn turned back to the slime
edged pit and sighed. ‘No, I don’t think we’re going in. I think something’s going to be coming out.’

The king raised his arms, closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sky. ‘Great Wyrmragon, we call on you. Wyrmragonnnn!’

‘Wyrmragon, Wyrmragon, Wyrmragon.’ The tribe picked up the chant until it became like a physical force that echoed beyond the clearing and out into the jungle.

‘Look.’ Grimson nudged him.

A creature – to Arn it looked like a goat – was brought forth. A tether hung from its neck with a loop at one end. Two tribesmen used extremely long poles to push it further out into the clearing towards the post. The men using the poles strained to reach out, one eventually laying down on his back, careful not to cross the barrier. He slipped off his moccasins and then to Arn’s shock used his foot to grip the pole. The foot wasn’t a foot at all – it was more like a hand.

Arn knew his mouth had dropped open, and he glanced back to Simiana – the broad moccasin shoes they all wore, the way they had copied him, the “not like you,” comment from Grimson – it suddenly all made sense. They weren’t like him, they weren’t the people of the Ancients; they weren’t people at all. They were actually evolved from some type of ape-like creatures.

Simiana grinned and waved again. He exhaled slowly. There would be no pity from anyone in the tribe: they didn’t even think of him as one of them. No wonder the king had been wary.

Simiana waved again, her eyes ablaze with excitement. She nodded towards the dark pit as if this was something to be enjoyed.

The cheering of the tribe brought Arn’s head back around. The warrior had managed to loop the rope over the pole and the animal bucked and squealed in fear, likely from the stench emanating from the nearby pit.

A foul odor filled the clearing, followed by a faint breeze. The goat animal’s fur ruffled as something vented from the hole. It became more frantic and began tug so hard it scraped skin from its neck.

The sensation and odor reminded Arn of when he was in a subway with a train approaching, and the dank air of the tunnels was pushed towards him before the carriages arrive.

‘I can hear it.’ Grimson’s ears were erect and pointing forward. His face carried a hint of fear, and in another second Arn could hear it… and feel it beneath his feet, a vibration as something huge travelled below them.

Wyrmragon, Wyrmragon, Wyrmragon
– the chant became louder and faster, and then a plume of dust exited the pit followed by an enormous column of flame-red flesh. It lifted several dozen feet into the sky, and wavered for a moment, as though testing the air. The top opened, and like a giant lamprey, the end of the massive worm opened to become a round hole lined with teeth.

Some sense found its prey and the worm toppled over to thump down upon the small creature tied to the stake. The mouth, easily ten feet across, had covered the animal completely and stayed motionless for several seconds, waiting. There came a bleating scream and movement from inside the mouth as the goat-animal, still living, must have kicked or thrashed.

This seemed to be what it was waiting for; a sign of life. When it lifted up again the animal was gone and just a red smear remained on the ground. The column of flesh straightened again, the gullet working as the meal was swallowed.

‘Odin save us.’ Grimson moved closer and buried his face into Arn’s side. Arn held onto the young Wolfen, but felt sick and dizzy after what he had just seen. He tried to comprehend what this massive thing might have evolved from – some gigantic worm or nematode that had grown large on a diet of flesh, radiation, and mutated evolution over a million years, or perhaps…

‘Like a giant bag-worm,’ he whispered. Arn remembered a tiny creature from his time, a worm that created a sheath-like structure coated in silk and slime and lived out its life below the earth, waiting for a vibration from above to let it know that prey was close by.

With a wet, sticky sound, Wyrmragon pulled back into the hole, leaving a fresh coating of slime around its edge. Arn had no idea how large it must be, but guessed from the portion they had seen above ground that it had to be a hundred feet in length.
What he wouldn’t give for a few gallons of gas and ten seconds with a flaming torch
, he thought.

‘This is not a good way to die, Arnoddr. I may not see Valhalla unless I fall in battle or at least have tasted battle.’

‘Hey, you’ve tasted many battles, my young friend.’ Arn nudged him. ‘We’re not dead yet, Grim. Always retain hope. Remember that.’ Arn tried to stand a little straighter but the rope around his neck had no give to it.

A shove to the back forced both of them over the stone line. Immediately, the long poles prodded them forward. Though Arn would have liked to walk forward with dignity, his legs resisted every inch of the way.

Arn noticed that amongst the tribe members, all the warriors held their spears ready, with the points directed at Arn and Grimson; there would be no easy escape past them, and given that their ankles were tied closely together, all he could manage was a geisha-like shuffle – not exactly made for a high speed dash through jungle.

Wyrmragon, Wyrmragon, Wyrmragon.

The king took up the chant once again, and the tribe quickly followed. They ate fruit, giggled, and jostled in a carnival-like atmosphere. Arn saw that even Simiana was chanting, laughing and clapping along with the beat. He leaned down to Grim.

‘Looks like we get to be sacrificed to their god, and also be the evening’s entertainment – double the fun.’

Grim’s eyes stayed on the pit. ‘Can you use your strength to break the bonds?’

Arn tested the rope but without the fully-risen moon, he found the coils unbreakable.

‘No, not yet.’ He looked down at the length of rope that joined them. He hoped there was enough slack there to be able to push Grim out of the way once the creature began to descend. He shuddered at the thought. Grim was right – not a good way to go.

‘I can feel it coming.’ Grimson said softly.

Arn nodded. The ground vibrated as the thing moved deep below the surface. The breeze in the clearing swirled around them, and the stinking odor enveloped them once again. In another few seconds the tower of glistening, red flesh burst forth to hang in the air.