by Unknown
‘Wait a minute...’ Mark had no one else who could supply him the answers, so he could only come up with his own. ‘This isn’t real. This is another trick...another of Skathalos’ defences.’
He looked at Rip for clarity and the dog was standing with its ears lowered, the tufts of hair twitching beneath them. All the dog would offer was a shrug of its shoulders.
Mark looked again at the wall. No way was he having any of this!
As he gave strength to the denial the faces of Jake and his two friends sank into the wall and all that remained was the slick black surface.
‘I knew it,’ he said. ‘It’s all lies. Come on, Rip. Let’s get on with this. The sooner we’re done with this monster the better.’
Rip was in agreement. He set off at a trot and Mark followed close on his heels.
Skathalos might not know it yet, but his traps meant to ensnare or destroy the will of his enemies had wrought the opposite effect on Mark. He’d never been so determined about completing any task in his entire life as he was now.
22
When Mark thought about it, since entering the pyramid, he’d been taking corridors and passageways all on the same level, each had been much the same length and each time he’d followed the left turn. Logic told him that he would end up back at the same place where he’d started, except he’d come to understand that there was nothing logical here.
He found himself standing on a great shelf, staring down into a massive chamber that stretched to a hazy horizon on three sides. Above him, the sloping inner walls of the pyramid reached skyward, and way overhead he thought he could make out the red of the sky where the walls just quite did not touch. As he looked tiny black dots streaked out of the opening, and he realised how high the pyramid actually climbed when he considered that those tiny dots were more of the harpies sent by Skathalos to fight the army of golems.
But Mark didn’t want to look up.
He looked down instead, searching the bottom of the great chamber for any sign of his friends or their tormentor.
Thousands of Firbolg were massed around a central dais, all of them craning their necks to watch what was occurring on the top of it. Mark searched for what held their attention.
On top of the dais were two large stones, like the up-right monoliths seen at Stonehenge. The stones glowed faintly, one a smoky orange, the other pale blue. And standing on each of the stones was a figure. They were both moving and gesturing, like they were engaged in a dual game on a Wii console, each gesticulating wildly as they attacked and counterattacked in turn. In time with their wild flailing around, Mark was sure that he heard the corresponding thunder of exploding boulders coming from outside.
His eyes weren’t too bad at a distance, it had always been the close-up stuff he struggled with, so he instantly knew who the combatants were.
Skathalos, the withered stick man from back in the wheat field, was standing on top of the red stone. On the blue was Shax, but he didn’t much resemble the gawky kid that Mark had come here to find.
Shax looked tall and solidly built now. His shorts and t-shirt had been replaced with a tunic that showed off the muscles rippling across his shoulders and in his bare legs. His ears didn’t look so out of proportion now that he’d grown. Mark had to admit that Shax had grown into a good-looking guy. Not that he’d ever tell him that!
Time here wasn’t measured in the same way it was back on Earth. That was apparent now. Judging by the new Shax his friend had been here for years, not the hours that Mark had.
The truth struck Mark like a slap in the face.
He’d come here to save Shax from a beheading. The torso he’d discovered in the stream in Larchwood was that of Shax as a thirteen year old kid, but this Shax looked to be nineteen at least. Had his venture into Skathalos’ world already changed the future? Or had Shax’s own efforts thwarted what was to be? Had Mark travelled here, placing Amy in danger, for nothing?
The fact that Shax had been here some years made a lot of sense when he thought about it. It would explain why Tu knew all about him, how Shax had earned the nickname The Trickster, and how the boy had grown into a man capable of launching an army of Golem at the resident devil.
Shax must have spent a terrifying time in this hellhole if Mark’s few hours were anything to go by. Shax’s enduring had been spent all alone; what if the boy who’d become this great magician had forgotten all about his boyhood friend? What if he had grown to hate Mark for failing to help him all those years since? What if...?
‘Enough.’
Mark sheathed his sword and pulled free the shotgun.
Whatever terrors Shax had endured he needed Mark now.
Shax was flagging, growing weaker, the effort of throwing his magically animated army at Skathalos draining him quickly now. And Amy, crouching in the lea of the blue stone, was now being imperilled by Firbolgs creeping up the dais as Shax’s ability to protect her waned.
Shax may be the Trickster, but Mark was the Deliverer.
It was still his duty to save his friends and to set free the Tuatha.
Mark turned to Rip and saw that the dog was also intent on the action below. Mark laid a hand on the dog’s shoulder.
‘I realise now that you cannot change into Ammut all the time. Only when circumstances become too desperate to avoid. Well, Rip, I’m feeling pretty desperate right now.’ He pointed down at the throng of Firbolg who stood in row upon row and spread the length and breadth of the immense great chamber. ‘I need your help to get me over there safely. Do you think you can do that for me?’
Rip whined softly.
‘I promise you, friend. When this is done, I’ll have Tu hand over every chocky bicky he has stashed away.’
Rip licked his lips, but it seemed that the motivation of a chocolate promise wasn’t the magic words he needed to hear.
‘Abracadabra?’ Mark asked. ‘Shazam? Open Sesame?’
Rip shook his head. Then he pressed by Mark and stood at the very lip of the shelf, so he was in plain sight of the Firbolg below. Rip barked. His single bark took on the sound of a thousand as it echoed around the chamber, reverberating like the challenge of the demi-god within him.
‘What are you doing? They’ve seen us now...’
Without exception every peapod-shaped head in the massive chamber turned their way. Mouths opened and the masses of Firbolg answered the challenge. The back ranks turned fully, and surged forward, followed by hundreds more. Their roars attempted to drown out Rip’s single bark, but whereas his was commanding, theirs was just a rumble of anger battered down by the staccato reverberation of the bark. Instead of growing quieter with each repetition, the bark took on volume, and now it sounded like a roll of canon-fire. Dust began sifting down from the walls of the pyramid, and for a moment Mark thought that the entire building would begin to shake, fall apart and tumble down to crush everyone inside.
A corresponding rumble sounded from below as the Firbolg charged forwards.
Rip glanced at Mark, and he could have sworn that the dog was smiling. And did he also just wink?
Rip began to shudder.
Mark had watched this transformation earlier, but he didn’t care how many times he bore witness to it he would never get used to the dog becoming the fearsome Nile god.
It began with the bristling of the fur, the elongating of the jaw. It was like something he’d seen in a sci-fi movie: The Thing!
Rip’s size ballooned, and his forelegs became the claws of a lion and the rear ones the thickly muscled hindquarters of a hippopotamus.
His ears shrank and disappeared while scales sprouted along his new crocodilian head. He opened jaws to reveal glistening teeth that shone white against the grey scales that rimmed his lips.
When Rip – or more correctly Ammut – gave voice this time it was in a fearsome roar that caused the front ranks of Firbolg to come to a stuttering halt. The spider-like monsters didn’t halt for too long; they roared back at Rip and came on.
A
mmut turned and regarded Mark with eyes the size of grapefruits. Rip’s brown eyes were still there, but surrounded by flaming halos of red. The lids surrounding the orbs drooped as the Nile god looked at him. The eyes looked infinitely sad for the briefest of seconds, but then they flared wide and the big mouth split in a grin.
Ammut nodded at his own shoulder.
‘You want me to get on your back?’
Without answering Ammut crouched down.
Mark paused, but then he went forward, grabbed a hold of the bristling mane of hair around Ammut’s neck and then vaulted on-board.
Mark had never even been on a pony’s back before. Even if he had, he didn’t think it would have prepared him for this ride. As soon as he settled, Ammut rose up again and Mark felt the incredible power of the beast’s body rippling beneath him. Ammut grunted – maybe he was telling Mark to hold on tight – then he took a running step and launched himself over the edge of the shelf.
Mark yelled in terror.
But then the yell became exhilaration as he realised they weren’t going to plummet hundreds of feet to their deaths. Beneath them were a wide set of stairs, concealed from above by the limited view he’d had, but wide and sturdy enough to support even Ammut’s huge feet. Ammut went down them in a series of bounding strides that gave Mark the sensation of flying.
The Firbolg were already mounting the stairs at the bottom, but Ammut wasn’t to be deterred. He merely leapt over the top of the front rows and landed light-footed amongst those coming on from behind. Mark hung on for dear life while Ammut powered through them, using the strength of its hindquarters to thrust him forward while he cleared his way with swipes of his claws and rending jaws. The sprouting scythes that the Firbolg brought against him were ineffectual against his toughened muzzle and thickly bristling shoulders, but they did slash and stab at his back end. But not enough to stop the huge beast, Ammut just plunged on and every step brought them closer to the dais upon which Skathalos and Shax still battled for control.
The sounds of battle were horrendous, but Mark could still hear his own yells of encouragement as Ammut forged ahead. Behind them lay the scattered remains of the Firbolg who thought they were Ammut’s matches.
Suddenly the way ahead was clear as the Firbolg scattered.
Great, Mark thought. They’re too cowardly to face Ammut.
But his thought was a fallacy.
They weren’t running, they were clearing a space.
Into the gap stepped a Firbolg so monstrous that he made Sreng Strongshield look puny.
Oh, Mark thought, this must be his cousin.
Bludd Skullsplitter.
23
Skullsplitter stood his ground, rearing up to his full height and beating on his chest with one arm, calling Ammut to battle.
Back home the huge creature could have stood outside his house and looked into Mark’s bedroom without going up on its tip-toes.
Like his slighter cousin, Sreng, this Firbolg had undergone further mutation after so many years in this demented netherworld. He was arachnid-like in appearance, with the same pod-shaped skull, but he’d also formed huge antlers not unlike the rack seen on an elk, and further growths sprouted from his shoulders like the spines on a cactus. His forearms were as round as beer kegs, and from them snicked his weapons. Whereas every other Firbolg sprouted scimitar blades Bludd’s were more akin to huge broad swords that flared at their tips like the heads of axes.
Mark understood where the monster got his name. There’d be no cut and thrust with these weapons, just bludgeoning, brute force.
The monster raised its axes as Ammut charged directly for him.
‘Look out!’ Mark yelled as the monster brought down its weapons directly on Ammut’s head.
His warning yell was pointless.
But not because it went unheard, it was simply redundant, because Ammut swerved from under the descending blades, and went up on his own hind legs. He clawed at Skullsplitter and clamped his immense jaws around the massive Firbolg’s throat.
Skullsplitter brought up his arms, catching Ammut in an embrace of its own, and it squeezed, intending to crush the life out of the Nile god. His big blades whooshed and chopped, as though with a life of their own. Mark felt the air split apart directly over his head and thought it would be a great idea if he got out of there. He let go of his grip on Ammut’s mane and slid like a bag of suet down its back, then dropped the last six feet or so to the floor.
Above and all around him, both giants strained for victory, roaring in effort, their feet stamping, blades scything, claws tearing. Definitely time to get out of there.
Mark rolled to his feet, clutching the shotgun in both hands.
The battle had brought them directly beneath the dais.
Above him were some of the normal-sized Firbolg, but after Sreng and now Bludd Skullsplitter these creatures held no fear for Mark. He vaulted up onto the steps, and began running up the dais. A Firbolg leapt to intercept him, but Mark bashed it in the chest with the stock of his gun and the Firbolg fell in a clatter down the steps. Before it could get up and come after him again, Ammut stamped down on the beast’s back and the Firbolg didn’t move afterwards.
Ammut attacked Skullsplitter with even more fury and the watching Firbolg all fled from them to avoid being demolished by the chopping axes or rending claws.
Mark kept going, but the steps weren’t designed for human feet and more than once he found himself scrambling up on his hands and knees, his breath coming out in deep gasps. Encumbered by the gun it made the going even tougher but there was no way he was going to relinquish his grip on it.
Finally the top was in his sights, but a peapod head thrust over the top and a Firbolg snarled down at him. It lifted an arm and its wicked scythe sprang out. Caught on his hands and knees, fatigued almost to collapse, Mark could do nothing but wait for the beast to sweep his head from his shoulders.
Suddenly the monster screeched, but it wasn’t in warning of its attack. Its eyes crunched shut. Then the screech became a low-pitched whine and the Firbolg fell over the rim and rolled down the steps clutching itself between its legs.
Mark watched the beast tumble down the stairs then switched his gaze to the head looking down on him.
Amy grinned widely, her brace glistening like fairy-fire.
‘Apparently,’ she laughed, ‘those things were once men. It sure looks like a kick in the proverbials still works on them.’
‘Jees, Amy,’ Mark grinned back. ‘I think you just saved my life.’
‘Well, I got tired of waiting on you coming to the rescue and thought it was about time to show that a girl is no push over.’
Mark scrambled up the remaining steps, all thought of exhaustion forgotten as he threw himself into Amy’s embrace.
Yesterday he’d have been glowing red with embarrassment, but not now. He lifted Amy and swung her round as they both shouted happily. Finally he set her down and they stood looking at each other.
Quickly Amy leaned in and pecked him on his cheek.
He stood there waiting for the stutter to start. But it didn’t come. Instead he leaned in and planted a kiss of his own on her lips. They were soft and warm and tasted nothing of metal like he’d imagined.
When he stepped back, he did glow bright scarlet.
Amy blinked at him shyly, then to cover her own flushing cheeks she looked up at the battle of wills continuing unabated above them.
‘We have to help Shax,’ she said.
Mark looked up at the most inopportune moment as possible. At the same time, Shax was going through a gesticulation of summoning and their eyes met. Shax’s eyes went wide as he saw who was looking back up at him. The distraction was all it took to break Shax’s concentration and Skathalos monopolised on it.
A static charge shot from the stick man, not outward like those he’d been sending against Shax’s stone missiles but directly across the gap between them. The electric charge hit Shax and he glowed with orange fire. Sh
ax screamed in agony and fell to his knees on the stone.
Instantly from outside the silence was deafening. Mark imagined that with Shax stunned his army would have stumbled to a halt. Either that or crumbled back to the earth from which they’d been formed. As if in confirmation the screeching of the harpies filled the gulf of non-sound with their exultant cries. Then they came streaking into the pyramid to join Skathalos’ army within.
Skathalos stared down at Mark, his unblinking eyes like seething coals boring into Mark’s mind. A corner of the creature’s lip turned up, showing a fang as it gloated. Then it hopped from the red stone to the blue. It stood over Shax who to Mark’s stunned senses had reverted back to the kid he’d always known. Even the tunic fell away and it was as if his green t-shirt and shorts materialised out of thin air to cover his shame.
Skathalos took hold of Shax by his hair and pulled back on his head, exposing his throat. From out of nowhere a pair of shears appeared in Skathalos’ other hand. He turned only briefly from Shax to gloat once more.
‘N-n-n-no!’ Mark stuttered.
Not after all this.
After all that he’d done. All that he’d endured. His vision of the future would come true.
‘Shoot, Mark.’
The shotgun was forgotten in his hands as he stared in disbelief at the shears that Skathalos positioned each side of Shax’s neck.
‘Shoot.’
He glanced at Amy. Her face was set in determination as she stared back at him.
‘You must or Shax will die.’
Mark lifted the gun.
Skathalos just looked back at him, a sneer painting its withered features. The monster had no fear for the weapons of mankind, its look said.
‘I’ll hit Shax.’
‘It won’t hurt him, Mark.’ Amy gripped his arms and swung them upwards. ‘Don’t forget. It’s only salt.’
The racket from below them went unabated as Ammut and Skullsplitter roared and snarled and careened around. Harpies filled the air with their ear-splitting shrieks and the babble of a thousand Firbolg extolled their champion to greater effort. Skathalos should not have heard Amy’s words.