mark darrow and the stealer of

by Unknown

  On TV he’d watched celebrities on a game show. They had to eat repulsive looking insects and things, and each time he’d watched he had almost gagged with them. He had always sworn that there was no way anyone would get him to put an insect in his mouth.

  Rip had another.

  There were still half a dozen of the squirming things on the upturned rock.

  In the real world brightly coloured creatures were usually extremely poisonous. Their colours are a warning to others. Eat me, they say, and you will die. These repulsive things had to be deadly, Mark thought. Except they didn’t seem to be doing Rip any harm. Quite the opposite, in fact: Rip looked like he was enjoying his meal. Maybe in this world where the sky was red and the trees and grass a dull grey, then perhaps a coloured creature wasn’t venomous.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ Mark said. He tentatively reached for one of the fattest slugs. At the last second he drew his fingers away, shivering in revulsion. Rip quickly snatched the fat bug and munched down on it. Mark scowled at the dog. ‘That one was mine!’

  Rip nodded at the remaining slugs. He licked his chops, then stared intently at Mark. It was as if he was saying ‘You’d better get a move on before I finish them all.’

  Mark’s fingers trembled, but he finally plucked one of the slugs off the rock. The last thing he wanted was to see its face as he guided it to his mouth, so he screwed his eyes tight. He popped the slug between his teeth, expecting it to taste foul. Then he bit down. Liquid flooded his mouth. His first reaction was to gag, but then he realised that the liquid wasn’t as bad as he thought. In fact, it tasted a little like raspberry juice. He slurped it down. Then he chewed on the slug and it was no different than eating a segment of fruit. He opened his eyes.

  ‘Not bad,’ he said, reaching for another.

  Rip joined him and they finished off the crop on this rock. After they were done, Mark turned over other rocks and found more. They ate their fill. Mark was feeling full and his thirst had gone. But there was always room for another. He turned over another rock and saw the biggest, squirmiest slug of all. ‘Ha, haa!’

  As he reached for the slug, Rip grabbed Mark’s wrist between his teeth. Not hard enough to break the skin or even to hurt, but the dog clung tightly to his arm and guided it away from the slug.

  ‘Hey,’ Mark said, ‘you’ve had more than me, already.’ He tried to extricate his arm from the dog’s jaws and Rip only bit down a little harder. ‘Ouch!’ Mark said, even though the dog hadn’t really hurt him. Rip didn’t let him go: he pulled Mark from the slug. When Mark was safely out of reach, Rip scrabbled about in the dirt until he found a stick. He held the stick lengthways, as though he had a cigar clamped between his front teeth. Then he leaned in and gently touched the slug with the stick. In the same instant the slug appeared to split along one side, like a seam unstitching, and its body flopped wide to show rows of teeth. Then the teeth chomped down on the stick, grinding it to dust.

  ‘Whoa!’ Mark cried in dismay.

  Rip used the remains of the stick to flick the slug away from them and Mark watched as it squirmed wildly, biting at the earth it landed on. It bit and chewed in frenzy, puffs of dust erupting from tiny holes on its opposite side. Within seconds the slug had disappeared under the surface. Visions flew through his mind, trying to imagine the injuries the slug would have caused if he’d popped it in his mouth. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘What was that thing?’ Mark demanded, but of course his words were pointless, as Rip had no way of replying. All the dog did was to shake its head at him. He pointed at the now empty rocks. ‘Tell me none of those other slugs had teeth like that one.’

  Rip shook his head again. Then he shut his eyes as if to say, ‘You must be blind.’

  Mark saw it now. The slugs they’d feasted upon were yellow with green bands, but the slug with teeth was green with yellow bands. Outwardly that was the only difference, and in his opinion, an easy mistake to make. Mark realised just how careful he was going to have to be from now on. In this world where repulsive things could taste delicious, he realised that harmless seeming things could very well be extremely dangerous. It was quite a lesson he’d just received.

  Trembling slightly, he walked away, heading back to the trail. Shocked by his encounter with the gnashing slug, he had forgotten his urgency to save Amy and Shax. But that lasted only until he climbed back onto the trail and looked towards the nearest hill. He didn’t know how far they’d travelled since leaving the mountain, but they couldn’t be that far away from the pyramids now.

  As if to confirm that, the drums he’d heard earlier struck up again and they sounded so close that they were like cannon fire.

  12

  The drums beat like the heart of a titanic monster. Mark could actually feel the change of pressure in his ears each time the drums thumped. He could feel the vibration in his chest and his teeth ached. Maybe his toothache had more to do with all of the raspberry juice-like syrup he’d consumed, but they only seemed to throb in time with the drums.

  He wondered about the dog. Rip’s ears were a hundred times more sensitive than his: how could the dog stand the racket? Rip didn’t seem concerned. He trotted forwards with Mark following close behind.

  Mark wasn’t conscious of it, but he’d bent over at his waist as he moved toward the drums. If he’d stopped to think about it, he’d have realised he was being naturally defensive, trying to make himself a smaller target. However the thought didn’t cross his mind. It was enough that he had gone undiscovered until now.

  Rip stopped before cresting the latest hill. He dropped down onto his belly and then crawled forward. Taking the dog’s actions as a cue, Mark dropped down onto his knees and elbows and crawled after him. Shoulders touching, they peeped over the top of the hill. Spread below them was a wide-open valley. Standing in the centre of the valley were the three pyramids. The centre pyramid was massive, almost as tall as the mountain that Mark left behind. This close, Mark could see that the sides of the structure were as slick as glass. The pyramid reflected the red sky, making it the colour of blood.

  But none of that was important. Mark looked for the source of the drumming noise.

  Rip nudged him with his nose and then nodded toward movement in the valley.

  ‘This place gets weirder every second,’ Mark whispered. Rip raised his eyebrows. Mark shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, it does.’

  In the valley was a host of figures. They were entrenched in ditches and behind walls made from timber – which plainly hadn’t come from this valley – and crouched behind massive siege machines. As Mark stared he saw a huge catapult launch a boulder the size of a car at the centre pyramid. The rock turned end over end, so heavy and cumbersome, but looking almost as if it drifted on a breeze. Before it could strike the pyramid, there was a flash like a burst of lightning and the rock was reduced to dust. As it exploded there was a concussive boom and Mark finally understood the source of the drumming sound. As he watched in wonder, other catapults loosed their missiles and each ended with the same result. It was like the drum roll crescendo in a classical music piece.

  ‘Who are those people?’ Mark wondered. When he got no answer, he said, ‘They’re making war against Skathalos, that’s for sure. They just don’t seem to be too successful.’

  Rip snorted.

  ‘Maybe we should join them.’ Mark began to rise but Rip grabbed him by his elbow and tugged him down. ‘What’s wrong with you? They’re enemies of Skathalos. Maybe they will help us save Shax and Amy.’

  Rip shook his head emphatically.

  ‘Okay. I get it. An enemy of your enemy is not always your friend. They are just another enemy.’

  Rip lolled his tongue – and though Mark realised that he was adding human attributes to the dog that were not really there – he thought the dog was grinning at his astuteness.

  Out in the valley the catapults sent another salvo of rocks toward the pyramid. Like last time the rocks were blasted to
smithereens. Dust settled on Mark’s hair and his ears rang from the succession of booms.

  ‘Can’t they see that they’re wasting their time?’

  Rip snorted. Then he shuffled back a few feet. Mark continued to peer down at the attacking army. Until now it hadn’t struck him that the army attacked in silence. There were no shouts or challenges. Other than the terrific boom of exploding rocks everything else was eerily quiet. They were either the most disciplined army ever, or the attackers were mute.

  Mark tried to make out what kind of people could go to war without voicing their fears or anger, but his eyes weren’t sharp enough to make out the figures. Even with his glasses the figures appeared only as stick men in clothing as dull and grey as the surrounding land. They didn’t seem to be the most motivated army, either. They barely moved from their hiding places. How did they ever hope to win this war?

  A low bark from behind him brought Mark back to his own predicament. Rip stood looking at him, his brown eyes as intense as any Mark had ever seen. Mark crawled back down the slope until he was sure he couldn’t be seen before he stood up. ‘How do we get past the army? We need to get to that pyramid.’

  Rip set off trotting, off the trail to the right and into the woods. Mark followed, trusting the dog to lead him true. They followed the tree line, below the fold in the land until they had travelled about a mile in Mark’s estimation. Then Rip found a narrow cut in the land that could have once been a streambed but was now as dry as everything else. The dry stream led them through the hill and once again Mark found himself crouching down and looking across the wide valley. The army that assailed the pyramids was way off in the distance now. The booming of their futile missiles sounded like distant thunder, the explosions like flashes of lightning. Rip raised his head and sniffed the air. Then he jerked his head to the right, signalling something else. From up the valley in that direction came a second army. They were like the first, silent, shambling stick men who marched without making any sound.

  ‘We’re going to get trapped between them,’ Mark groaned.

  Rip shook his head, pushed his muzzle forward. Mark followed the gesture and saw that the streambed stretched across the valley, almost to the foot of the largest pyramid. If they stayed low and moved fast, they could use the cover of the streambed to make their way across the valley unseen.

  ‘Okay,’ Mark said. ‘But we’re going to have to move fast.’

  Rip danced his eyebrows and then set off. On his four legs the going was easy enough. For Mark, it was uncomfortable scrambling along on his toes and fingertips, but fear of being trapped by the invading army kept him moving. At one place the banks of the stream were so low that both Mark and Rip had to go down on their bellies and slither along like snakes. By the time they came back to their feet Mark’s clothing was streaked with dirt and he had more than a dozen small scratches on his body. He didn’t let this minor discomfort stop him though; he kept on going, following Rip’s bobbing tail.

  Shadows danced overhead, and Mark craned his head back to look for their source. The same three harpies that had snatched Amy were on another errand of their master. This time they carried boulders in their talons. As he watched they streaked by, howling their terrible cries. Mark couldn’t help himself, he bobbed up to watch what they were doing and he saw them loose their burdens. The rocks tumbled through the air, then collided with the front ranks of the marching army. The rocks struck and figures were flung in the air like tenpins, but the rocks didn’t stop the carnage there. They bounced and hit more men, then rolled, squashing others. Between the three boulders they accounted for dozens of the enemy, but throughout it all, not one scream of agony was heard.

  ‘What kind of men are they?’ Mark wondered. But it was just another question that he wouldn’t get an answer for yet.

  As he watched in wonder, he saw some of the advancing men lift weapons and arrows streaked up at the harpies. So many men joined in that the arrows made the sky dark. Two of the nearest harpies were struck countless times, the arrows peppering them so that they now looked like they were covered in small thorns. Both of the harpies shrieked, but they weren’t finished yet, they swooped down into the rows of men, their claws ripping and tearing. The men retaliated, more throwing spears and rocks at the giant creatures. One of the harpies staggered and went down on its chest and men swarmed over it, hammering it with axes and the blades of swords. The second harpy continued to tear at the men, but then a large spear was driven into its chest and then the soundless men covered it as they battered it to death.

  Above the battle the third remaining harpy circled, screaming in anger at the demise of its friends. Then it swooped away, back toward the largest pyramid. Mark watched it go, and he saw the harpy alight at the very top of the pyramid. Only now did he notice that the tip of the pyramid wasn’t as pointed as it first appeared. The top was flattened, and even as he watched, he saw the harpy disappear down below its rim. A way inside, Mark realised. If he could get to the top of the pyramid, he could follow the harpy’s route and find his friends.

  But he had to live first. Emboldened by their defeat of the two harpies, the army surged forward, beginning to jog as they took up their attack on the pyramids. Mark didn’t need Rip’s warning bark this time. He scurried as quickly as possible after the dog, but he just couldn’t see how he could make it out of the stream and under cover before the attackers overran the place. They perhaps didn’t yell as they charged, but the thunder of their feet told Mark how close the army were. Any second now and he’d be buried under their boots.

  13

  There was something about the eerie silence of the charging men that frightened Mark even more than the shrieking of the harpies did. It was as if he faced the rush of a thousand wordless ghosts. It was sinister: a term that Mark hadn’t thought too much about before. If they were to shout or scream angrily, then at least he could gauge their intentions better than he could now.

  Rip was under no illusions. He scurried along the dry streambed, casting back worried glances, exhorting Mark to more speed with high-pitched barks. Mark crawled frantically. Dust was already beginning to sift down on top of him as the tremor set off by the advancing army shook the earth.

  On the right of the stream bed Mark saw an overhanging rock.

  ‘Rip,’ he called, pointing at the rock.

  Rip raced back to him, understanding his gesture, and together they pushed into the small hollow under the rock. Just in time, too. Even as Mark pulled his feet back into the shadows the front line of attackers charged down the embankment and into the streambed. Mark saw hundreds of boots and the bottoms of tattered trousers, all grey and dry, as unchecked the army rolled on. There were creaks and groans and the rattle of weapons but not even as much as an exhalation of air. Then the first rank was up the far side, and the second wave came on. Mark held his breath. Beside him Rip trembled slightly. Mark didn’t think the dog shook with fear, but with excitement. His own trembling was definitely from fear.

  The army seemed to take forever to pass by. But finally the last few men dropped down into the dry bed. And that was when things became even more sinister than before. These were men who had survived the attack of the harpies but not without awful injuries. Some of them were twisted, as though broken. Others were missing parts of their limbs, legs and feet shorn off by the massive boulders as they’d crashed amongst them. Then Mark saw something that made him throw a hand over his mouth to halt his scream of terror. One man flopped down into the streambed, clawing himself along with his fingers. He was missing the entire bottom half of his body. No blood followed the man’s progress, only a trail of crumbling dirt. The man – like every other of these silent things – was made from dried mud.

  Golem.

  The word came to Mark, dredged up from a late night horror-movie fest. He remembered watching the old black and white movie, where a vengeful creature of clay was brought to life by sorcery. There was something about the shambling, unstoppable creature t
hat had put the fear of God into the boy. And now, here one was, a golem. He had to correct himself: here were thousands of them!

  Mark wanted to yell in terror. But if he did that, the creature clawing its way up the far side of the stream would hear him. It would turn and flop its way back to him, sink its clawed fingers into his flesh and tear him limb from limb. So instead Mark bit down on his bottom lip and kept his terror to himself.

  When the golem finally disappeared from sight he let out a ragged breath. He looked at Rip and saw that the dog was staring back at him, nodding his head slowly.

  ‘I wish you could speak, Rip,’ Mark said. The dog only lifted one eyebrow. It was ironic that - in this place where everything else was insanely altered - a dog couldn’t converse with him. Stuff like that only happened in Disney movies, Mark supposed.

  Without waiting for him, Rip squirmed out from under the rock. He trotted across the streambed, then up the other side. He didn’t climb all the way to the top, just far enough so he could poke his head over the rim and watch the army move on toward the pyramids. Seeming satisfied, he turned and gave a short bark. Mark crawled out from under the rock, the shotgun on his back digging into his ribs. Mark pulled the shotgun into his hands and looked at it. The small-bore gun with two shells full of salt was becoming more of a hindrance than help.

  ‘What good is this damn thing, anyway?’

  Mark dropped the gun.

  Rip immediately charged forward, grabbed the gun between its teeth and shoved it toward Mark.

  ‘It’s useless,’ Mark said. ‘What good is a pop gun against a golem?’

  Rip shoved the gun at him again.

  Mark snatched the gun out of Rip’s jaws and angrily slung it over his shoulder. ‘Okay. Okay. But I don’t see what good it’ll do.’

  Rip turned sideways on, but his eyes never left Mark’s.

  It was the kind of look that Mark got from his parents whenever he said something they didn’t agree with. Usually it turned out that they were right.