by Greig Beck
At last, there was a furious shaking of the rack as the body next to him must have begun jerking and straining against its bonds. There was a thumping blow, then silence and stillness – it seemed the Panterran had run out of patience.
Arn heard the vile old thing speak to its companions in its distinctive whining chuckle. ‘The fools don’t suspect we are so near, or aware of our pact with the Lygon. Time is still on our side.’
Arn could feel the moist, stinking breath on his bare shoulder once again. ‘But we’ll know our future for certain when this ape wakes.’ Its voice grew fainter as it turned. ‘Let me see the bodies; there is something we will need to collect for our emissary . . . before we give them to the Lygon. Our giant friends are developing a taste for Wolfen flesh.’
Wolfen? wondered Arn. Is that what the new captives were?
He waited for what seemed an eternity until he could detect no sound or impression of anything close by. Then he shook his head violently to shake the rags off his face, and immediately turned to the new captive, hoping to see another like himself.
He stayed staring for several seconds with his mouth hanging open, feeling his heart sink and his nerves jump at the same time. A large wolf-like creature was strung to the frame next to him. The creature was similar to those he had seen from the hilltop, but smaller, and he could see through the crusted blood much younger, finer features.
Through the shattered armour, he could see that the body was covered in fur, but did not possess the V-shaped chest of a dog. Instead, it was broad and flat like a human’s chest, as were the shoulders, arms and waist. The bound paws were more like hands – long fingers ending in short and sharp claws. But further down, the anatomy of a canine returned in the legs with their knee joints turned backwards – but oddly, ending in human-like feet.
Arn craned his neck forward and frowned. He could see inside a tear in the chest plates the swell of human-like breasts – female, then. Arn looked back up at the head that lay turned towards him. He winced. Her face was cut, but it was hard to tell if the wounds were serious as there was so much blood matting the short silvery fur. Where the body looked like some weird type of hybrid dog-human, the face was still all wolf.
‘Wolfen – amazing,’ he breathed softly.
Her eyes opened. They were so luminous and light, they resembled slivers of pure silver blue ice. There was intelligence there – not the crafty, hate-filled slyness he had seen in the Panterran’s eyes, but something very different. On seeing him, they widened momentarily, before they half closed and she turned her face away from him.
‘Am I in the promised place?’ The Wolfen tried to move, and groaned. ‘No, there is too much pain.’ She turned back to Arn. ‘Are you Man-kind?’
Arn nodded.
‘My father said you would come back one day.’ She smiled weakly. ‘We always believed . . . that you would return to us in our hour of need.’ She grimaced, closed her eyes again. ‘Death will come soon – the Slinkers will see to that. I just pray it is quick, and I can hold my tongue when the old sorcerer returns.’
Arn swallowed. He could not believe that only yesterday he was worried about a few taunts from the class idiot, and now he was in some nightmarish place, bound to a rack, and talking to a dying wolf-warrior woman.
He leaned forward. ‘Hey, what’s your name?’
Her eyes didn’t open. ‘I’m called Eilif.’ She smiled. ‘My father would have been proud of me this day.’
She turned her head again, the ice blue eyes drilling into him. ‘Why don’t you slay them all? You are one of the Old Ones – whose magic was so powerful it allowed them to fly away. You were the original rulers of this world.’
Arn shook his head. ‘No, not me; I’m not from this place . . . or time. I’m just someone who is lost.’
She sighed, and looked disappointed. ‘Why are you here?’
‘I wish I knew – an accident, I think.’ He craned his neck to look around. ‘We need to get out of here. They said they were going to read my entrails; I certainly don’t fancy being killed and then cut open.’
Next to him Eilif gave a soft, tired chuckle that ended in a cough that left blood on her lips. ‘Then rest easy, Man-kind; they’ll be cutting you open first, then killing you – the sorcerers like their entrails warm.’
‘Great.’ Arn gulped. ‘Then we’re definitely leaving.’
If the old sorcerer had forgotten the pocketknife in his hand, Arn certainly hadn’t. But try as he might, he couldn’t get it to open. Some things that seemed so simple with two hands – like doing up buttons or opening a pocket knife – were near impossible with just one. He dared not rush; if he dropped the knife, he didn’t want to think about what would happen when the creatures returned – both to him and the young Wolfen.
Arn froze – he could hear thundering roars coming from further off in the dark forest, and knew that the throat that made these sounds was much larger than those belonging to the small vile creatures that had imprisoned him.
He turned to Eilif. ‘What the hell are those things?’
She looked at him with fatigue in her eyes. ‘What are they? We met them in battle and I still don’t know. But they now stand with the Slinkers. They were able to bring down Isingarr, one of the king’s mightiest warriors. I fear for the kingdom if there are many more of these creatures. They are something straight from Hellheim.’
Arn watched her face for a moment, and then shut his eyes to concentrate. He held the pocketknife between the tips of two of his fingers and opened the others wide for a few seconds to allow his sweat to dry, and afford him a better grip.
With his eyes shut, he pictured the knife in his mind, and worked through his plan for opening it. He turned it in his hand, and held it between his two outer fingers, wedging his thumbnail into the notch in the back of the blade. He had it nearly a quarter of the way out, but try as he might, he just couldn’t work his fingers into a good position to get the leverage he needed. There was only one thing to do – he slid one of his fingers along the sharpened edge of the blade, to stop it retracting. He then pushed – it cut deep, but the knife opened at a right angle. It was enough – it would do – it would have to.
He immediately set about sawing at the rope binding his wrist, concentrating on his task, while also listening to the forest around him. He had to be careful, as already the blood from the cut in his hand made the pocketknife slippery.
There came the sound of something approaching – a Panterran, or Slinker as Eilif called them, pushed through the trees.
Arn stayed silent and still, and closed his eyes. He could sense it approach him, and lean over his face – perhaps interested in seeing his features up close now that the torn clothing had fallen away. Arn smelled its foul breath; sweat trickled down his cheek, and something like a wet rasp – a tongue – slid up his flesh, almost making him scream. It was tasting him.
He needed every bit of mental resolve to resist the urge to pull away, or gag, and the thing’s face was so close, it must have been nearly pressing its short flat nose up against his own. He couldn’t help it – he was going to have to open his eyes, going to have to see what it was doing . . .
‘Disgusting vermin of the night – cowards, backstabbers, unblinkers, disease carriers.’ It was Eilif, and Arn knew what she was doing.
The hot, greasy breath swung away from him. The Panterran leaned over Eilif, and drew from its robe a wicked-looking dagger. It whispered something into her ear; then, finding a place on Eilif’s shoulder where the armour had been torn open, it dragged the blade across her furred flesh.
Eilif grunted from the pain, but didn’t cry out. Instead, she spoke as evenly as she could manage. ‘Mighty warrior . . . but only when I am bound.’
Arn knew she was drawing the Panterran’s attention away from him, and continued to saw at his bonds until he felt the coarse threads part and fall away. He considered his options – he could reach across and saw through the ropes binding his other wr
ist, but the chance of his being detected was high with the Panterran so close. And with his feet still bound, it would only have to step back, and he’d end up a sitting duck – a trussed and sitting duck.
He looked down to his side; the old sorcerer’s heavy water jug and bowl were still there, on the bench – within reach.
Eilif saw that Arn had released one of his hands, and she spoke again to her tormentor, the scorn heavy in her young voice. ‘Be warned, vermin – Fenrir sees all cowardly acts.’
The Panterran hissed back at her, ‘Then Fenrir can watch while the Canites are wiped from the face of the Earth . . . beginning with you.’ It laughed cruelly, and then sniffed at her. ‘Your very stink makes me unwell.’ It lifted its blade again, this time to Eilif’s face.
‘Perhaps Fenrir sees, but soon you will not.’ He brought the dagger close to one of Eilif’s ice blue eyes, but she refused to blink or look away. Instead, she smiled.
Arn swung the heavy jug down onto the creature’s head. The Panterran fell heavily, and Arn was momentarily confused; he didn’t think he hit it that hard, or that these creatures were so fragile. But its crushed skull was evidence enough of the force he had used.
Eilif spoke quickly, ‘Hurry, Man-kind; time now is against us.’
Arn finished cutting himself free, then stepped down to quickly rummage through his torn clothing and pull on his mangled jeans. Only one leg remained intact; the other had been ripped off at the knee. His shoes were gone.
He looked at Eilif and hesitated.
‘Can I trust you?’
The Wolfen held Arn’s gaze for a second before responding, ‘Always.’
Arn cut through her bonds, and she immediately fell forward into his arms. He helped her to stand. She was lighter than he expected, even though she was still partially dressed in her armour.
‘Can you walk?’
‘Not far. I have lost much blood, and have no strength. I need to find some feninlang leaves – they’ll help to numb the pain, and give me enough energy to travel. Once we get back to one of our outposts, they can treat my injuries properly.’
Arn held the Wolfen upright, and placed one of her arms over his own shoulder. ‘Let’s go . . . Ahh, which way?’
Eilif pointed with her long nose. ‘East, and fast away from this Slinker encampment.’ She groaned as they started off.
Arn could smell cinnamon again as she slumped against him.
‘Man-kind, if they come, you must promise to leave me. You must get to Valkeryn to tell the king that the Slinkers are near our lands. This unholy alliance they have with the giants . . . We must be ready for them.’
Arn spoke quietly to the Wolfen without meeting her eye. ‘Not a chance – no one is going to be left behind today.’
He felt her relax slightly. ‘Yes – the Man-kind were said to be honourable. I still don’t know your name. What are you called?’
‘I’m called . . . I mean, I am Arnold Singer – Arn, to my friends.’
She nodded, as though expecting this. ‘Of course; the Arnoddr-Sigarr – your name means Bringer of victory.’
No wonder the Panterran became excited at hearing my name, he thought. He looked down at her. ‘Quiet now. Show me where this feninlang grows, and then let’s put as much distance between us and these creatures as we can.’
‘To the river, and then home, Arnoddr-Sigarr.’
‘Arn, please call me Arn.’
‘It would be my honour, Arn.’ She gritted her teeth.
Arn felt something warm running down his side, and knew it was the young Wolfen’s blood. The thought crossed his mind that he should check the wound, but seeing he had no real idea of first-aid for himself let alone for a hundred pound wolf-girl, he decided that they should keep moving.
Eilif’s head fell forward, and he spoke to keep her conscious. ‘What does this plant look like?’
‘It grows on the banks of rivers. Some call it the blood-star flower. Its fat leaves are what we seek.’
Arn nodded. ‘I know it.’
Eilif looked at him wearily. ‘Of course you do. This is your world, after all.’ She collapsed against him, and he lifted her in his arms and ran on, hoping he found the river soon.
Chapter 10
A Daemon on Earth
Twilight had caught up with them.
Arn easily found the river, and left Eilif leaning against a large rock, still warm from the late afternoon sun. Blood-star flowers lined the water’s edge, and he pulled free several of the fat juicy leaves. He looked up the bank to the girl . . . He shook his head. He was starting to think of her as a normal girl, yet she was as strange to him as he probably was to her. She half dozed and her breath now fell in a shallow wheeze. He looked at the small pile of leaves in his hand, wondering if she would be able to tell him how to administer them – was she supposed to rub them on? Swallow them? Burn them and then inhale the smoke? He had no choice; he’d have to try to rouse her.
Arn was making his way back up the bank with a handful of leaves, when he noticed that Eilif was covered in the small, carnivorous yellow butterflies – they were fighting over her wounds. Disgusted, he ran forward kicking and swatting at them.
‘Get outta here!’
They floated upwards in a yellow cloud, content to hover overhead – waiting. It seemed that the smell of blood attracted them like a school of gossamer-winged piranha.
Arn knelt beside Eilif. She was very still. Arn was thirsty, so he guessed she must have been severely dehydrated, given the amount of blood she had lost. He placed the leaves on the ground next to her, glanced up at the hovering butterflies, and then raced back down to the stream. He scooped some water into his hands, and ran back up the bank. Her nostrils twitched as he approached, and her eyes opened slightly. Arn had expected a long tongue to dart from her mouth, and for her to start lapping at the water. Instead, she reached out to grab his hands and guided them to her mouth, sipping the water daintily. Swallowing, she gave a soft croak of thanks, and then lay back.
Arn leaned forward. ‘I have the leaves – what should I do?’
Eilif lifted a hand, palm open, and Arn dropped some of the leaves into it. He noticed that a few of the butterflies were once again starting to flutter close to her head, and he swatted them. Looking at their broken bodies scattered in the dirt reminded him of the marching fish. His stomach rumbled.
‘Back in a minute.’ He grabbed the fallen butterflies and raced down to the stream. But when he returned a minute later carrying a couple of freshly caught fish, he was dismayed to see that she hadn’t moved. Her head lolled to one side, and the leaves lay untouched in her open palm. He knelt beside her and shook her gently.
‘Hey, wake up. You need to show me how to prepare the leaves.’ He shook her again, and she mumbled groggily, but didn’t open her eyes.
‘Eilif, please. You need . . .’ A deep trumpeting sound came from the forest behind them, and Arn swung around. He looked along the edges of the forest, now quite dark as the sun was nearly down. He held his breath . . . The forest beyond had grown ominously silent.
He heard it again – like a giant horn being blown, this time a little closer. A hunting horn, he thought. We’re being tracked.
He looked down at the comatose Wolfen and shook his head. He wanted to run, and got to his feet. He couldn’t think clearly. If the Panterran caught them again, there would definitely be no escape. His stomach lurched at the thought of that vile old sorcerer cutting him open. He was breathing fast and knew he was starting to panic. It took all his willpower to close his eyes and drag in a few deep, calming breaths.
He had more at stake than just his own safety. He needed to think of the girl – well, wolf-girl. He knew they couldn’t stay out in the open; they needed a place to hide . . . and it certainly wasn’t here.
Arn quickly gathered up the blood-star leaves from Eilif’s hand, and stuffed them into his pocket. In his other pocket he managed to stuff one of the fish, but gave up on the other, leavi
ng it to the butterflies.
He scooped her up in his arms. In the fading light, he could make out some cliffs just a few miles back from the river. Gotta be some rocks or a cave we can hide in, he thought, looking down at the unconscious warrior in his arms.
The horn blared again – still distant, but definitely working its way closer. With Eilif in his arms, Arn started to run.
The lengthening shadows merged into darkness, and as the giant moon had not yet risen, Arn knew there would be a period of utter blackness. He didn’t break his stride, knowing that the Panterran would be worried little by the lack of light – he had the feeling they would probably prefer it.
He shook his head, not fully understanding how he managed to carry someone nearly as big as himself, and not fall over from fatigue. Adrenaline, he told himself, and increased his speed.
After another few minutes, he saw a cave in the distance and raced the last few hundred feet towards it. Pushing some overhanging brush out of the way, he stepped through its mouth and gagged. The smell was slightly like fish and ammonia, but the cave looked unoccupied. It didn’t matter anyway as he was out of options. He just needed somewhere to hide until morning, and time to work out how to administer the plant medicine to his new friend.
Once his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, he noticed that the cave opened up into a larger cavern. Dagger-like stalactites hung from the roof overhead, and sticks crunched painfully beneath his bare feet. He carefully lifted Eilif to one side of the cave, away from the mouth, to give them better cover. He eased her down against a tumble of smooth boulders.
Arn pulled the leaves from his pocket, noticing many were now crushed, coating his hand in thick green fluid. They gave off an odour like cloves and mint, much more appealing than the smell of the cave. Once again he held them out to the Wolfen.