by Ste Sharp
‘Really?’ Lavalle responded. ‘It looks like an ancient conflict.’
‘Diversion!’ Bowman called out and the line veered off to the left to avoid a concentration of bodies.
John shook his head at the sight: scores of carcases – dog and dinosaur as he thought of them – lay crushed and broken in a mound of desiccated flesh.
‘This was the centre,’ Samas said some way behind John. ‘I’ve seen it before: the crush of foot soldiers.’
‘But no one took care of the bodies,’ John said.
‘The weapons have been taken,’ Li said. ‘The armour too, so someone must have been here.’
‘It would be wise to take any weapons we see.’ Mihran was scanning the ground. ‘But take care if you leave the path.’ Mihran sounded like a teacher on a field trip.
John was tempted but held back. Who knew what lay out there? Unexploded bombs, hidden creatures or objects full of the horrific trickery of this land. Crossley had no qualms and was darting in and out of the bodies every time he saw a glint of metal.
John raised his eyebrows. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t be playing around with this stuff, eh?’
Crossley shrugged and looked at John’s arm. ‘Who knows what to trust, eh?’
They passed a group of soldiers studying and pulling at a sleek metal object two men high.
‘Some kind of missile launcher,’ Crossley said, and ran to join the group.
John kept his hand in his pocket and walked on. The number of dead dwindled, replaced by craters and the smaller dog-like carcases with bolts sticking out of their chests.
‘Water break!’ Lavalle shouted as soon as they left the battle site and split into groups to share their discoveries and water.
‘We must make efforts to maintain our direction,’ John overheard Mihran saying to Li. ‘There are no stars to guide us and this empty landscape can fool us.’
‘I have been leaving markers,’ Li answered.
Mihran’s left eyebrow raised a touch. ‘Good.’
‘And I’ll scan ahead for any useful geographic markers.’ She walked away to take readings.
John followed her, intrigued by Li’s future technological apparatus, just as he’d been with Delta-Six. She was pressing buttons on a wrist strap and occasionally tapping her helmet.
John heard Li talk to herself. ‘That’s odd.’
John stepped forward. ‘What is it?’
Li turned sharply. ‘Oh, nothing… just a frequency I don’t recognise.’
‘A frequency?’ John had no idea what she was talking about.
‘A new setting. Number one is full power, two fires out pulses and three freezes objects… this new one allows me to manipulate particles.’
John saw a mote of sand dancing in the air a few inches from Li’s visor. ‘Amazing.’
‘Li,’ Mihran shouted and the fleck of sand dropped to the ground. ‘Bowman has spotted a sandstorm on the right flank. What can you see?’
Li turned. ‘It’s a sandstorm alright. Heading this way. An hour away.’
Crossley walked over to John. ‘I bet that’s what cleaned those bones so fast.’
John swallowed and stared at the brown haze on the horizon.
‘Where’s Althorn?’ Lavalle asked.
‘The other flank,’ Li replied. ‘He’ll be able to outrun it.’
Mihran pulled his cloak around him. ‘Without shelter our only choice is to keep moving.’ He shouted at the reclining soldiers, ‘Double pace – Samas, you lead.’
John felt panic rising in his chest. How could he run with his arm in this state? He pulled the sling straps tighter, bringing his gun-arm tighter against his chest. The bags over his neck balanced the weight and he trotted forward, picking up pace until he found a steady rhythm.
***
John’s throat was dry and his back ached from the bouncing weight of his gun.
‘Here it comes!’ Crossley had wrapped a shirt around his head as the wind swirled around them. ‘Put your gas mask on.’
‘Good idea.’ John turned his back to the scraping winds, tugged the bag-like mask free and pulled it over his head.
‘You look like a damn teddy bear,’ Crossley laughed.
John hated the claustrophobic mask but at least his eyes had stopped stinging.
Mihran’s face was barely visible beneath his tightly bound robes as he urged everyone on but Mata was the least affected by the vicious winds and rough sand, as his skin turned bark-brown across his legs and face.
‘We can’t outrun it!’ Samas shouted from behind his round shield, lashed to his cast.
Silhouettes of soldiers, leaning on spears, came and went from view as John pushed through the thickening clouds. Some walked together, arm in arm, while others stumbled blindly. The sand stung John’s good hand and the winds pulled at his bag and arm, draining his energy. He scanned from left to right and back, searching for someone – anyone. His heart pounded and his breathing was heavy. Where were they?
Then he saw Bowman. He was pointing and his voice faltered with the wind, ‘…ahead!’
A blast of wind swept away the nearest cloud of sand like a huge curtain to reveal a dark shape in the distance, nothing more than a smudge. Was it a rock? Not wanting to be left behind, John found the energy to jog towards a cluster of soldiers as another blast of clear air revealed their intended destination.
John could hear Crossley. ‘It’s a goddam castle!’
Chapter 9
Panzicosta leapt off the behemoth Lutamek, ignoring the sparks and smoke emanating from the exposed access consoles. The robot strained against its braces as Panzicosta stretched his legs and appendages, with satisfying cracks.
‘This place smells like a Skrift’s intestines,’ he said to Millok, who descended gracefully from the front of the enslaved vehicle.
‘How long since you last saw the Doctor?’ Panzicosta asked, noting the shudder as Millok stared at the tall, grey-washed buildings of Abzicrutia: Doctor Cynigar’s experiments had been far from pain-free, but it was every Brakari soldier’s duty to improve – or be improved.
‘Long enough for me to heal, General,’ Millok replied and stepped over a muddy puddle. ‘The roads are no better.’
‘Or the sanitation,’ said Panzicosta. ‘Still, it has its purpose.’ Panzicosta looked at Millok and held back a wave of sexual need. ‘The Lutamek performed as you promised. Good bracing.’
‘Thank you, General.’
Between the mud-coloured towers sat squat domes for those Brakari who longed to sleep in a moist and warm environment. Panzicosta watched Millok steer clear of these, obviously wary of the male attention she attracted.
A guard from the nearest watchtower scuttled over. ‘Doctor Cynigar will be here shortly, General.’
‘Good,’ Panzicosta snapped. ‘And my intelligence report?’
‘Yes, General. The Draytor has been in contact.’ The turquoise soldier with unusually large eyes read from a sliver of plastic. ‘The new biped army call themselves ‘humans’ and have crossed the great lake. The Draytor remains undetected and awaits further orders.’
‘Good.’ Panzicosta walked a circle. ‘We have the name of our enemy at last.’
‘And your orders, General?’
‘Tell the Draytor–’
‘Panzicosta!’ A high-pitched squeal cut him off. ‘I see you are still resisting your adaptation?’
Panzicosta turned to greet a small, black-shelled creature who swam through the air. Spikes and fins wafted over the body of a long sea slug with a monkey’s face.
‘Doctor Cynigar, I…’ Panzicosta started.
‘You need time, yes, but how much time, I wonder? Will you be ready for the next war?’ The Doctor’s voice was clipped like that of an officer Panzicosta had once served under.
General Panzicosta’s scales raised a touch but paused before flexing fully and snapping shut.
‘Don’t start bristling at me, young Brakari!’ A wave of green electricity washed
over the Doctor. ‘Belsang wants every Brakari at their full potential and that means having more than your new knife arms and engorged pincers!’
Panzicosta took in air and deflated slowly. He had to stay calm. Doctor Cynigar was one of only two Brakari he was truly wary of. Who knew which adaptations and violent skills he had endowed upon himself?
‘But you will find out from Belsang yourself if you are here to wake him?’ The Doctor floated up to Panzicosta’s eye level and kept a claw’s length back.
‘Yes, I intend to wake Belsang shortly,’ Panzicosta replied.
‘Any more news of this new species?’ Doctor Cynigar asked.
‘Humans, they call themselves.’ Panzicosta grumbled and turned to the guard. ‘Lieutenant, has the Draytor any intelligence on these humans’ adaptations?’
‘Speed, invisibility, merging with weapons,’ the turquoise soldier replied.
‘Nothing aerial?’ the Doctor asked.
Panzicosta stretched a mandible. ‘Doctor, aerial warfare is inhibited by the laws of this land. We are bound to do battle on land only.’
The Doctor swung round with a flash of luminescence. ‘I’m well aware of the imposed rules, General, which is why I push them to their limit! One successful aerial adaptation would be worth a dozen land traits.’
Panzicosta raised his head a notch and refused to respond.
‘And you, Millok,’ Doctor Cynigar floated over, ‘your new visage suits you.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’ She crouched slightly. ‘Everything has been as you said.’
‘And you have been practising?’
‘Yes, Doctor.’
‘This is acceptable. Come with me for further testing, I wish to see proof and talk about your donation.’ Doctor Cynigar swayed through the air to return to his laboratory. ‘It’s good to know some of our soldiers are enhancing the Brakari cause.’
Panzicosta’s scales wavered.
‘Goodbye, General.’ Millok bowed and followed the Doctor through a low doorway.
Panzicosta dismissed the guard and was left with his thoughts. He paced a circle in the mud. ‘The dirty little Lutamek stain,’ he mumbled. ‘When the battle is won, I’ll turn him inside out and drown him in a bowl of his own faeces.’ His scales opened and snapped with a clack. A thought came to him and two of the antennae on his head flicked upright.
‘Lieutenant!’ he shouted and the turquoise officer scuttled back. ‘New orders for the Draytor.’
‘Yes, General.’
‘I want it to kill three humans every day. The human army must be weakened by the time it reaches us.’
***
John sat up, gasping for air. The remnants of his dream hung close to him and he thought he could still hear Rosie on their bed, screaming and covered in blood.
In the dull light he could see men running out of the room, so he followed. They rushed through the rooms of the castle and joined the back of the crowd as Lavalle spoke to the group.
‘…killed in the night. Three of them. All beheaded.’ He stood in the early-dawn light at the tall entrance.
John looked at the calm desert morning, which contrasted with the pure hell of last night. In the thick of the sandstorm, the last hundred steps had been tortuous: clambering around walls, through ditches and over rough ground. Anything designed to inhibit an army willing to attack the castle had slowed them down as they searched for shelter. Now, with the clouds of skin-lashing sand gone, John could see the symmetry and beauty of the defensive system.
‘How were they beheaded?’ Mihran pushed through and stared at Lavalle. ‘Was it a sword? An execution?’
Lavalle dropped his head. ‘Look for yourself.’
‘The bodies were dragged here.’ Mihran’s voice trailed away.
John couldn’t see – and realised after some neck-craning he didn’t want to see three decapitated soldiers anyway. But who were they? Who hadn’t made it to safety last night? He looked around. Mata’s large frame was easy to spot and Crossley was in the thick of the action.
John relaxed, knowing his friends were safe, and felt an urge to go back into the castle. Like a thief sneaking into an empty bank, he walked back into the darkness: back to the drawings.
He had a little more natural light now than when he and Crossley had explored last night. He climbed the stone steps leading to the first floor, past the room where he’d seen Mihran and Li discussing military tactics, using images she projected onto a wall. One more room and… the drawings: black smudges and lines covering the grey stone wall to form a vast, crude picture of war. With the morning light creeping in, John made sense of what appeared to be the castle’s final battle, drawn by the defenders. But who were the soldiers fighting and where were they now?
The drawing had been split into a triptych of war. In the first picture, the safe haven was being built by a group of tall, metallic creatures. Some towers reached five storeys high and, at the perimeter, they were digging a shallow moat and filling it with white stones.
John looked at the second panel. A swarm of giant leeches surrounded the castle, held back by the moat. The leeches were firing barbed shells which, according to the picture, grew into stone-eating polyps when they hit the walls and burrowed through to attack the robotic army within.
‘I thought you’d be in here again.’ Crossley’s voice made John jump. ‘I still think this last one was drawn in the last few hours of the battle.’ Crossley pointed at the third panel.
It showed the castle close to ruins. The flatworm army was inside and tearing the robots apart. It also showed a group of robots rushing out on a final defensive attack. Suicidal, but their final chance for escape.
‘I wonder if it worked?’ John asked. ‘Did they survive?’
‘I don’t think I’d want to find out,’ Crossley replied.
But it wasn’t the story of the robots’ last stand that had drawn John back to the pictures. It was the solitary man standing on a nearby hill while the battle played out. Watching. Was this the person responsible for bringing them here? John wondered. Were these battles his entertainment?
‘Time to go,’ Crossley said.
‘Did they find out what happened to the three men?’ John asked as they descended the stairs.
‘Someone – or something – decapitated them, then dragged their bodies and heads to the entrance,’ Crossley said as they wound down to where the main group were waiting. ‘My guess is it was those freaky-looking worms from the picture, but who knows? Li says everyone’s accounted for apart from Althorn.’
‘Oh,’ John replied.
Mihran nodded at them. ‘Right, we’re all here. The same as yesterday. Li on point, triangular formation.’
They filed through the entrance and snaked around the array of broken battlements where John saw three mounds of soil. Each had a block of stone from the castle as a gravestone with a black handprint embossed on the front.
‘Who were they?’ John asked Crossley.
‘Li reckons it was an Ethiopian, an Indonesian and an Irishman.’
‘No obvious connection there,’ John said and looked back to the castle.
‘No, it just sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.’ Crossley nudged John.
John shook his head and tried not to smile.
Unseen by John the night before, large metal cubes lay scattered across the barren earth around the broken castle.
‘These must have been the robot defenders,’ Mihran said to Li, a few steps ahead of John.
‘Odd how they haven’t rusted,’ John pointed to the shiny hulks.
‘The metal is non-ferrous,’ Li answered. ‘Plus the humidity is low here.’
Mihran slowed down to walk with John. ‘Li showed me the triptych. They fought well against such a formidable aggressor.’
‘Even the moat didn’t stop them,’ John said.
‘Yes.’ Mihran looked ahead to the white line running around the battlefield. ‘But it showed they knew their enemy.’
; ‘A valiant defeat is one step from a glorious victory.’ John quoted one of his grandfather’s sayings.
Mihran stared at John and said, ‘Which suggests a glorious victory is only one step away from defeat.’
The moat was ten paces wide. Mihran bent down to touch and taste the white substance that lay a finger deep.
‘It’s salt.’
‘Where did they get it from?’ John asked.
‘The lake I guess.’ Crossley looked back, past the castle to the shimmering horizon. ‘One helluva feat, getting it out here.’
‘They needed it.’ Mihran pointed to a dark patch on the other edge of the moat.
John could tell by its kite-like shape it was the desiccated remains of one of the large flatworms.
‘Over here!’ Li called out.
She was standing by a large pile of broken robot bodies which lay in a semicircle.
‘This is where they breached the moat.’
A thick dark line ran from across the moat.
‘There must be seven or eight dead,’ John said.
Mihran spoke slowly and nodded. ‘They sacrificed themselves for the good of the species.’
‘They died to form a bridge?’ John shook his head.
‘What I don’t understand is if we’ve been getting these… adaptations,’ Crossley said, ‘how come the leeches didn’t evolve a way to hop the moat?’
‘Maybe one did,’ Li answered. ‘But that wouldn’t mean the rest could follow.’
‘Sure.’ Crossley walked over the crunchy salt, coughing rhythmically as he stepped.
***
‘Rekarius!’ General Panzicosta cursed as he squeezed his large shelled body through a dark and dusty tunnel.
His temper was amplified by the knowledge that this was only the third of twenty-seven archways leading to the subterranean Temple of Bekkrypt, designed to ensure guests showed reverence to Belsang. The long passageway sloped downwards and became slippery the nearer visitors got to the humid circular body of the temple, where the Brakari leader resided. But, despite the humiliation, Panzicosta ran through the rites as he slipped through another set of arches, knowing the process of reviving Belsang had to be followed meticulously, and so he pushed on with his incisor arms stabbing the mudstone walls for support.