by Beck, Greig
Harper wished he was a lip reader, but guessed from the severe look on her face, it was little more than curses and invective, probably directed at the two teenagers, Edward and Rebecca… and probably him.
She dismissed the man and turned towards the scientist, her face like stone. He felt his heart start to race. This isn’t going to be fun.
Colonel Marion Briggs stopped only a pace in front of him, planting her legs and stood with her hands on her hips. She wasn’t tall, but she had an aggressive, authoritative presence that filled the room, and now, his personal space. She tilted her head to the side as she studied his face, her eyes moving from his left eye to his right, and then back. Harper waited, beginning to fidget.
‘Friends of yours?’
He shrugged, trying to remain cool. ‘Not really, I mean, no. It was Rebecca Matthews, Arnold Singer’s girlfriend, and also Edward Lin I’d say, his best friend. I guess they are trying to find him.’
‘Uh-huh.’ She smiled flatly and with absolutely zero humor in the curl of her lips. ‘You guess they are trying to find him; that’s a pretty good guess. I mean they certainly knew where to come, and what to do.’ Her smile parted to show her teeth ground together. Her pale eyes bored into him. ‘The girl meets with you often… right?’
He looked away, feeling his stomach flipping over. ‘It’s your job to maintain security now. What happened to that?’ He turned back to her and raised his eyebrows.
The unfriendly smile returned to her face, and she grabbed the front of his coat pulling towards her. ‘You know what I think? I think those two kids just saved us a lot of trouble – now we don’t need to worry about them anymore. After all, you saw what that freakin’ world did to a full squad of combat professionals. How long do you think some teenagers with a couple of stolen Glocks will last?’ She tugged him even closer to her face, and spoke in a whisper. ‘We’ll scrape up what’s left when we go through… in… ninety-four minutes. Might even work in our favor – they can act as a distraction, decoys even, so we can travel uninterrupted.’
She snorted and pushed him back, yelling a single word. ‘Samson.’ It made him jump. She twirled a finger in the air, and the large, scarred soldier started yelling orders to the men and woman, causing them to file back towards the elevator. She turned away from him.
Harper shook his head and wiped some of the woman’s spittle from his face. How long do I think they’ll last? Well, one other kid without a Glock has managed to survive for months, he thought and jammed his hands in his pockets. He went to follow the soldiers into the elevator, but Briggs had positioned herself at the doors and she held up her hand in front of his face.
‘You get the next one, Doc.’ She half turned, but seemed to have another thought. ‘Any other surprises we need to know about? Last chance.’
Harper shook his head.
She nodded, but her eyes were narrowed. He could tell she didn’t trust him now… if she ever did. ‘By the way, Doc, we left your men supervising floor safety and defense. Who’s in charge of your security?’
Harper frowned. ‘Markson, Zackary Markson. He’s a very go...’
She shook her head. ‘Not anymore, Doc. Tell him he’s fired. In fact, tell them they’re all fired. We’ll assume full control of all internal and external security from now on.’
She stepped back but kept her eyes on him as the doors slid shut in front of her face.
Chapter 13
What’s an Elephant?
A shadow fell across Arn as he was hunched down examining the footprint. He sat back quickly, landing on his ass, and fumbling for his knife.
‘It’s me.’ Grimson stood over him, swaying slightly, his eyelids and nose paler than usual. He blinked constantly as if he was having trouble focusing.
Arn got to his feet, and hurried to the youth, grabbing him on each side of the head, and staring into each of his eyes, turning his face and looking for cloudiness, dilation in the pupils, or anything that might indicate some sort of permanent damage. Thankfully there was nothing obvious. And just as well – his medical experience extended to bumps and bruises, and anything else got treated with the feninlang flowers.
He nodded his approval and ran his knuckles up over the Wolfen’s head. ‘About time, Grim. How do you feel?’
‘You saved my life again, brother Arn.’ Grimson pulled away and wiped his nose. ‘Hungry, thirsty… and sore all over. Where are we? Did I miss anything?’
Arn stood back and smiled. “Miss anything?’ He shrugged and looked around with a slightly indifferent expression. ‘Nah, not much. Oh wait, you did nearly die after being attacked by a giant carnivorous bat, there have been miles of jungle I had to carry you through, we ate a rat thing that looked like a miniature elephant, trunk and all, and…’ He tapped his chin as if trying to remember an obscure fact. ‘… and, oh yes, we nearly got eaten by a monster snake… who itself actually got eaten by a bigger monster.’ He raised his eyebrows, grinning and looked down at the youth, whose mouth had dropped open.
Grim shook his head in disappointment. ‘Aww, and I missed it all.’ He frowned. ‘And what’s an elephant?’
Arn laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘C’mon, we better get going. And don’t worry, I’ve got a feeling there’ll be more interesting things for us to discover on the way. By the way, look at this.’ Arn pointed to the footprint.
Grimson smiled up at him, but then looked down at the track in the soft soil. He frowned and got down on his hands and knees to examine it. He sniffed it, and then got back to his feet, the frown still in place.
‘Well?’ Arn asked.
Grimson looked back at the print, and shook his head. ‘Strange.’ He seemed to be confused. ‘Not… right.’
Arn shrugged. ‘Okay then brother Grim, let’s go.’
‘Brother Grim?’ He looked up at Arn grinning, before his face became serious. He brought out his blade and made a slice across his palm, then held the blade out, and his hand, with blood welling up from the wound.
‘Brothers in word, in deed, and in blood,’ he said, with a smile.
Arn took the blade and ran it across his palm, and then gripped the boy’s hand. ‘Brothers.’
The blood mixed, a portion of the young Wolfen’s entering Arn’s system.
*
Eilif’s finger traced the outline of the letters carved into the stone. She lifted her sleeve as if to check that the name was the same, but she didn’t need to. She could never understand all of the complex writing of the Man-Kind, except for one word she had committed to memory. That one word, a name, was now, in turn, cut into her flesh.
She sniffed, and then threw herself forward to sniff again at the rock – a scent, his scent, in the smallest specks of skin where he had perhaps grazed himself against the stone. She sat back on her haunches feeling dizzy and excited – it was proof they were heading in the right direction and probably weren’t that far behind now. She could find him in a matter of days.
She closed her eyes and laughed, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. It was probably the first time in weeks she felt any sense of hope, or dare she think it, lightness of being. She opened her eyes, the dizziness still with her. She couldn’t remember much of the recent fight – was Bergborr attacking her, or saving her? And now she found herself a captive of a Panterran and Lygon war party.
Bergborr had told her that they were hostages, effectively being used to try and force Arn to return with them. He said they’d do as they were bid, for now, and soon as an opportunity for escape presented itself, they’d take it.
But, he had whispered to her, it was important that she follow his instructions. He was only pretending to be their friend, and she must trust him.
She frowned – why wouldn’t she trust a fellow Wolfen? But still, something inside her urged caution. Eilif sat f
or a few moments with her head down in silence, listening; no one approached. She opened her eyes and looked again at the letters – no one else would know what the faint carvings meant. But she did – it was a message from him, to her and her alone, she was sure of it.
She could sense him and her brother, Grimson, in the air. All may not be lost just yet, she thought as she got slowly to her feet. They had made camp at the top of the cliffs, and Bergborr and the Panterran, Orcalion, had walked a few paces away and were looking out over the edge trying to find a route to the ground, which lay a dizzying distance below.
Eilif stood and looked out over the Dark Lands. They were feared by most Wolfen – a place of myth and mystery. The endless thick vegetation looked forbidding and mysterious. She took a deep breath. She didn’t care. She would run headlong into Hellheim itself if it meant finding her brother and the Man-Kind. She would be patient. Time was still on her side.
Two Panterran approached Bergborr and Orcalion. One of them carried a small, crumpled object. She concentrated on the thing, and drew a little closer. The small hooded creature opened his hand and showed it to the Panterran counselor, who lifted it, and sniffed. He wrinkled his nose. It was a piece of fabric, red. The breeze was blowing towards her, and a few atoms of its scent drifted towards her sensitive nostrils and made her eyes burst wide. Reason fled from her as she sprinted forward, almost blind with determination. She covered the dozen paces between them in seconds.
The Panterran saw her approaching and each drew a curved blade; even Bergborr braced himself, perhaps thinking her plan was to push them both over the cliff edge.
Eilif lunged at the Panterran, ducking under the swinging slice of his sword, and briefly clasping the creature to her, while snatching the cloth and holding it to her breast. Fists and the flat of blades pummeled her, and she fell to the ground, curling into a ball. She managed to tuck the material down her shirt, and then covered her head with her hands as more fists and boots joined in the assault.
“No, leave her.’ Bergborr covered her body with his own, and he too was roughly beaten before being pulled from her. ‘She’s still hurt.’
Orcalion leaned down and grabbed at the sensitive ruff at the back of her neck, and pulled her head back, hard. ‘I said I needed you for now, Princess Eilif. But I never said anything about needing all of you. Try that again, and as well as losing your freedom, you might find you also lose one of your precious hands.’ He pushed her head forward. ‘Bind her.’
She was dragged from the edge of the cliff, her hands bound in front of her, then she was thrown roughly against a broken shard of boulder. She stayed down with her back turned to them. Outwardly she was dazed, but inside her heart sang. Eilif half turned and listened for a second or two, before slowly turning back to her prize. She reached inside her shirt and lifted the small square of cloth to her face. She closed her eyes and inhaled – images flooded her mind. She laughed softly into the cloth. She could still see his midnight black eyes, and smile, teeth small, unlike a Wolfen’s, but white and strong nonetheless.
She opened her eyes and tucked the bandana into her shirt. Her face lost its mirth, as she thought of the Panterran’s beating.
‘Vile creatures. It won’t always be an unarmed warrior you try and beat on. There will another time, and as Odin is my witness, vengeance will come soon.’
She silenced her whispering as footsteps approached.
*
Bergborr paced back and forth along the cliff edge. He lifted his head and breathed in the scents on the breeze, slightly closing his eyes to concentrate. There it was, the scent of the son of Grimvaldr, and also the most hated being, the Man-Kind. He felt disgusted – the princess chasing after the freakish creature like some sort of lovesick cub. He ground his teeth; he had never wanted to kill another creature so badly.
He turned, lifting his head and concentrating. A frown creased his brow. It was strange; he also thought he could smell another Valkeryn warrior. He snorted; he didn’t really see himself as a Valkeryn Wolfen anymore. He wondered if he ever did. He sniffed again – it was impossible; all the warrior blood of Valkeryn had been spilt and they were just bones by now… undoubtedly picked clean by Lygon teeth.
Turning back to the dark jungles, he narrowed his eyes; they weren’t far ahead – perhaps only a day. Bergborr made a silent prayer to Odin, pleading for the chance to face the Man-Kind in battle. He knew Odin would approve of him keeping their race pure, and halt any chance of some vile union of races. His stomach turned at the thought.
He let his mind dance on the images in his head of facing the Man-Kind. He’d soon show the princess: the Arnoddr was a false prophet, and little more than a weak coward who relied on trickery and cunning. If he was an example of the mighty Ancients, then it was no wonder they had fled from the planet. His eyes narrowed as he imagined the fight – there would be no quarter given on that day.
A sting at his elbow startled him, and he looked down to see the flat face of Orcalion snagging his arm with one claw. Bergborr went to take a few steps away but the claws dug in, and the black slit of a mouth opened.
‘Brave Bergborr, clever Bergborr, I’m so glad you were able to free yourself from the mighty battle and flee, even though you seem to have gotten yourself lost on your way bringing Queen Mogahrr the offspring of Grimvaldr.’
Orcalion continued to grin up at him. He waved one small arm at the dark jungle beyond the cliff edge. ‘And now look. Now you have managed to guide us so quickly to the trail of the Arnoddr Sigarr, and the young Valkeryn prince.’ Orcalion’s claws pulled him around; his yellow eyes travelling over the many injuries Bergborr sustained from his recent fight with the Lygon warrior.
‘So many wounds, so lucky to survive.’
Bergborr ripped his arm free in disgust. Orcalion nodded up at him, the black grin splitting his face even wider. ‘Yes, so lucky to survive. Such a strong and clever Wolfen.’
Bergborr felt revulsion for the small creature. When the time came, he would take his head, and kick it around for pleasure. As if reading Bergborr’s mind, the Panterran smiled even wider, revealing his entire mouthful of needle-like teeth.
‘Friend Bergborr, so, there are now just a handful of Valkeryn Wolfen left in this world? Perhaps soon, there will be none, and your once mighty race will be no more.’
Bergborr bared his teeth. ‘Careful, tiny licker of spittle, I gave the Panterran the Valkeryn kingdom, and for that I have Mogahrr’s good grace and protection.’
Orcalion bowed. ‘I meant no offence, mighty warrior. I was only talking of something that would sadden me if it were to occur.’ He looked up with the guileful gleam in his yellow eyes. ‘For then, whom would we war upon?’ Orcalion bowed again, but Bergborr detected the soft sound of a wheezy laugh coming from under his cowl.
Bergborr looked away, detesting being in the presence of the small goblin-like creatures, detesting their ability to see into the soul of a being. They were unnatural.
Behind the Panterran counselor, there were dozens of other Panterran and a small war party of the fearsome Lygon. The large creatures were breathing heavily, from the exertion of the climb, and there was palpable excitement at the thought of getting their hands on more Wolfen… and perhaps even the Man-Kind itself.
Orcalion saw him looking at the formidable frames of the Lygon and nodded. ‘Yes, I agree. We Panterran and Wolfen had better travel down the pathway to the Dark Lands first. Our large brothers might not prove so… agile on a cliff.’
Bergborr grunted. ‘I’ll see to the princess.’
Orcalion shook his head, the grin never faltering. ‘No, we need her not. She goes back to the queen.’
Bergborr thought quickly. ‘The Man-Kind thinks highly of her. Also, if she is gone, then we have no leverage over the prince.’
Orcalion narrowed his eyes. ‘We don’t need lev
erage. We just need to find them.’ He looked back to where the princess sat. ‘She is proof that Orcalion does what is asked of him.’
‘No.’ Bergborr advanced a step.
Orcalion held up a fist. Immediately several Panterran raised cross bows, aiming at the dark Wolfen’s chest. Bergborr’s teeth came together.
Orcalion started to turn away. ‘She goes back.’ He turned back to Bergborr. ‘Be careful, or we may decide that we don’t not need you either. The protection of the Queen counts for little so far away from her gaze.’
Bergborr could only watch as a Lygon looped a rope around Eilif’s neck. She stared at him, her ice blue eyes penetrating him to his core. He watched her every step as she was led back down the rocky slopes, leaving him to scale down the cliff side, alone.
*
Sorenson had found another route down the cliff walls and climbed down in an almost reckless rush. He needed to be on the ground first, lest he be spotted on the wall when the Panterran and Lygon had reached the ground.
He was torn – follow Bergborr or try to free the princess. He groaned, indecision momentarily forming a knot in his gut. He knew Eilif was smart and tough; he would have to trust that she could survive for a while longer.
It would be Arn and Grimson he would track and, with luck, find first. He had the ability to see their trail. He was confident that while the Lygon and Panterran bullocked through the trees, he would dance above them.
Chapter 14