Return of the Ancients

by Greig Beck

  ‘Phew.’ Arn had his hand up over his nose. ‘When was the last time anyone saw Vidarr alive?’

  Balthazar looked around slowly. ‘Ten years, maybe more – he never leaves. But wait, he’s here. Look.’

  He pointed to a torch that was burning at the far end of the entrance hallway, its flame looking tiny in the enormous chamber.

  Everywhere Arn looked, there were stacks of papers, books and scrolls, and bottles of things dried or floating in fluids. It resembled a cross between a magician’s workshop and a very disorganised library. He felt a cold draught; the chamber had arched doorways leading away in all directions.

  ‘Vidarr.’ Balthazar looked around, smiling, but tapped his foot impatiently. He raised his voice. ‘Vidarr, it’s Balthazar; I’ve brought someone interesting for you to meet.’

  The three of them stood in silence, listening as the echo of Balthazar’s voice died away.

  Eilif edged closer to Arn in the gloom. He felt her elbow touch his.

  Balthazar was about to call again, when a shuffling sound swept through the silence. They turned, trying to find its source, but it seemed to be coming from all around them. Then it stopped.

  ‘Is it the young Man-kind?’

  Balthazar laughed softly. ‘Perhaps. But you will have to come and see.’ He whispered to Arn, ‘Even though he spends his life within these dark and dismal walls, he misses little. Answer him truthfully, young Man-kind, and he may just help you.’

  A small cough emanated from one of the arched doorways, and then the most ancient creature Arn had ever seen shuffled into the dim light. He barely came up to Arn’s shoulder, and he wore a robe that swept the floor behind him.

  Arn felt Eilif take a small backwards step, and then she spoke softly into his ear. ‘Loki’s beard, he must be a hundred.’

  Immediately the ancient creature responded, ‘I was over a hundred when Balthazar was but knee high.’ The words drew out into a wheezing sound that could have been a laugh. Balthazar bowed deeply.

  ‘Vidarr, I am honoured that you would join us.’ He straightened and motioned to Arn. ‘May I present a youthful representative of the Old Ones, the human race, the last of the Man-kind . . . Arnoddr-Sigarr.’

  Balthazar stood aside, and Arn felt awkward and exposed. He bowed, not knowing what else to do.

  ‘Arnoddr-Sigarr? Do you know what that name means in our land?’ Vidarr shuffled forward.

  Arn nodded. ‘I do now.’

  ‘And you came to us after falling through a magical doorway?’

  Arn remembered what he told Balthazar when they first met. He nodded, and Vidarr grunted softly but didn’t look convinced. He kept his eyes on Arn as he shuffled lightly forward.

  ‘This door – is it still open now?’

  ‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. It might be; I mean, I certainly hope it is. And if that’s the case, then I expect my people are looking for me.’

  Vidarr nodded. ‘Good. A race that cares when a single one of its kind is missing is a good race.’ He pinched Arn’s cheek, then his arm, then poked his chest – performing a quick examination. ‘And this magic door . . . How was it opened?’

  Arn shrugged, but stayed still as the little Canite prodded and poked. Truthfully, he didn’t really understand all the science behind the technology at Fermilab, and had no idea how he could describe it to a medieval society of creatures. His explanation might end up sounding like sorcery – something attributed more to the Panterran.

  ‘Ah, it was an accident.’ He looked down at the ground, avoiding Vidarr’s gaze.

  Vidarr gripped Arn’s forearm, and turned him sideways. ‘An atomic accident?’

  Arn felt his breath lock in his chest, and he stared squarely into the eyes of the ancient creature. ‘How . . . How do you know about atomic energy?’

  Vidarr chuckled softly in his wheezing manner and shuffled away towards the rear of the chamber. ‘Lots to discuss.’

  He paused, and looked back at Arn silently for a few moments, then said, ‘Man-kind were a mighty race, or so legend has it.’ He paused again, closing his eyes and intoning softly, as if reciting scripture, ‘Not only will atomic power be released, but some day harness the rise and fall of the tides, and imprison the rays of the sun.’ He opened his eyes and smiled. ‘Do you recognise that, young Man-kind? You may have, because it was a human who said it . . . so long ago, that even his memory is now dust. Well, except to old things like me who keep all good memories alive.’

  When Arn didn’t respond, he seemed to be a little deflated. ‘A Human-kind called Thomas Edison said it – have you heard of that one?’

  Arn nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, of course. He was a great scientist and inventor. The father of the light bulb.’

  Vidarr clapped his hands together, seemingly satisfied at last. ‘A great scientist from any species, I think. And did you?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Imprison the sun? Harness the tides?’

  Arn pictured the enormous power of the machines he had seen at Fermilab. He thought of the energy of nuclear reactors, and laser power. He saw in his mind mighty dams built to hold back a trillion gallons of water, or steep-stepped canals allowing ships to sail across continents. He then remembered Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and Chernobyl. He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, yes I guess we did. But sometimes things didn’t always go to plan.’

  Vidarr smiled. ‘Do they ever?’

  *****

  Vidarr led them all to a large round table overflowing with ancient texts. He lit several candles, and shuffled off, returning almost immediately with a jug of liquid and several wooden mugs.

  He poured a mug for Eilif first. ‘I was at your birth,’ he said to her. ‘You’ve grown into a strong and beautiful princess. You remind me a little of Queen Freya, and a lot of King Grimvaldr.’

  He patted her shoulder. Next he served Balthazar.

  ‘And the Lygon, young Balt – is it true the Panterran have drawn those stumbling brutes from the dark lands?’

  Vidarr was probably the only Canite in all of Valkeryn who was old enough to refer to Balthazar as ‘young’. The counsellor nodded gravely.

  ‘We fear they are literally at our door. Once again, war bares its teeth at us, old friend.’

  Vidarr nodded. ‘Then some things need to be discussed, and some things need to be preserved in the event we are overrun.’

  Finally, he came to Arn, who could smell the liquid’s underlying metallic odour, mixed with something sweet, something ripe. Honey, cloves and yeast, maybe, he pondered.

  ‘And you, Man-kind – you have come with questions, questions about yourself.’

  Arn wondered at the perceptiveness of this little old creature that made him feel like an open book. The questions were on his lips, but Balthazar lifted his mug.

  ‘To Valkeryn, and the king.’

  Arn raised his mug and sipped the heady brew – warm, gritty, yeasty-sweet. Not bad . . . but not good either. There was some underlying flavour he couldn’t quite pick out.

  ‘It’s called yogunburr,’ Vidarr offered – seemingly reading his thoughts again. ‘I brew it on the rooftops, so the sun can warm the vat. It’s also close to the pidhen roosts; their bodies help in the fermenting process.’

  ‘Magnificent,’ said Balthazar, smacking his lips. Even Eilif raised her mug in a salute. Vidarr went to pour them a little more.

  Arn groaned inwardly; that was the extra ingredient he had detected – decay. He grunted and nodded . . . and put down his mug.

  ‘I do have questions,’ he said. ‘I believe my time was long ago, and the accident somehow threw me forward . . . to your time, this time. But there are no traces of humans having been here at all.’ Arn looked across the table to his friends. ‘Balthazar has told me of the legends, about man somehow rising up to the sky, in body or spirit. But I’d like to know if there is anything more substantial? Some kind of records?’

  Vidarr sat down, leaned back and laced his fingers across his stomach. ‘Hmm, and there are ot
her stories that tell of Man being released by a great fire. Perhaps the Great Fire that delivered the very first Wolfen.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I do not know. There are several ancient Man-kind texts and artefacts here, but nothing that provided an insight into the final days of your species.’

  Arn sat thinking through Vidarr’s words. ‘Balthazar also mentioned that there are other libraries, other caves.’

  The archivist nodded. ‘They are located in a remote and inhospitable region, well beyond the Valkeryn kingdom. Some are still sealed, and strange symbols mark the barriers that cannot be dented by the strongest Wolfen steel. Many generations have tried to enter, but none have succeeded. They must contain great secrets.’

  Vidarr rose and leaned across the table, pulling a pile of papers and a stick of charcoal towards himself. He spent several moments scratching, rubbing and shading something on one of the yellowing pages, before holding it up and examining it carefully. Satisfied, he slid it across the table to Arn.

  Arn felt a small thrill as he looked at the charcoal image. It was rough, but clear enough – a gauntleted fist holding a thunderbolt.

  Could it be? he wondered excitedly. Could it be the military base at what was once North Aurora, where these very symbols were marked on the outside of the blast doors? If anything was going to be preserved, it’d be in underground bunkers like those.

  Arn calculated his distances: Fermilab in Batavia was more than an hour’s bus ride from North Aurora. Mr. Jefferson usually pushed the bus at about forty to fifty miles per hour, so . . . It would be a long and difficult trek through the wild forest, but he had already made it out of the wasteland. He could find it.

  He stared into the ancient Wolfen’s eyes, and held up the picture.

  ‘I know it.’

  Chapter 36

  The Shape of Things to Come

  Each frame of the image feed had been cleaned up and enhanced – every pixel had been illuminated, magnified and scrubbed so that a detailed analysis could begin.

  Harper and Takada had been ordered to attend a meeting at an unmarked base just outside of Chicago. When the black helicopter that had been sent to collect them touched down at Fermilab, Harper had a sinking feeling that his project was suddenly not so much his anymore.

  A briefing room had been set up, and a dozen stony-faced men and women sat at a long table and watched as selected images were projected onto a large screen. It seemed that the images from the probe had already preceded them. Now it was expected that Harper and Takada would explain them.

  Takada stood nervously beside the images. When he spoke, his voice sounded tight in this throat. ‘The being is approximately six and a half feet tall. And . . . we firmly believe that it is not wearing a mask.’ The physicist paused and let the small audience take this in.

  There were murmurs among the group, and one sat forward clearing her throat. Her green jacket had numerous stars pinned to the collar and her face was hard as the table in front of her. ‘How can you be so sure?’

  Colonel Marion Briggs looked around at the others. ‘Does anyone else here remember that young Chinese guy who wore the old man mask onto the plane? It looked so real, he managed to get right through customs and immigration. Even fooled the person sitting next to him for several hours.’ She jabbed a finger at the screen. ‘So, how can we just rule that out?’

  Takada cleared his throat, already wilting. He turned to Harper, who nodded and got to his feet. Harper signalled to a technician at the back of the room, and immediately the screen showed five pictures lined up next to each other, creating a time-sequence panorama. They were all of the face of the lunging beast, the images only milliseconds apart, and only changing fractionally in angle from first to last. Following enhancement, they were brutally clear, right down to every single hair follicle and fold of flesh.

  Harper look at Briggs, then the others. ‘Look at the eyes – notice anything?’

  There were a few shrugs.

  ‘We went from night vision to white light – only for a second, but we lit the forest up like a stage. Note the contraction of the pupils; if the subject was wearing contact lenses, there wouldn’t be any. Those eyes are real, ladies and gentlemen. Now, in humans, light can be reflected back from the eye as a red glow – the bane of wedding snaps the world over.’ No one laughed. ‘In any case, that’s due to the light reflecting back off a blood vessel layer behind the retina. But in wolves, the retina has a reflective layer behind it called the tapetum lucidum. This layer acts like a mirror, reflecting light at the back of their eyes. It’s what helps them in the dark. It’s also what gives their eyes that silver shine.’

  Warming to his lecture, Harper paced around the table. ‘We’ve analysed every life form image we were able to isolate, and not a single one matches any of the known genera, family, species or order we know or understand. Sure, there are things that look like birds, like squirrels, but they’re not. We might be looking at a new dimension, a new planet or time – pick any, or all of them, and you could be right. But if someone were to ask me . . .’

  He signalled to the technician again. The screen changed to a background shot of Arnold Singer – he looked haggard and frightened, and there were bruises over his face and deep marks around his neck.

  ‘Mister Singer here is either in these creatures’ care, or being held as their captive. But the thing is, he’s alive. Does anyone know the odds of finding another habitable planet in our universe? I’ll tell you: it’s about 0.01% over 4,000,000,000 years. And the young man just happens to fall onto one? I think not.’

  He turned back to the screen. ‘I think Arnold Singer is right here, in this country . . . In this state. The big question is: when?’

  Colonel Briggs stood up and placed her cap under her arm. ‘Good enough for me. The doorway’s still open, we can survive there without suits, the indigenous defence technology is primitive . . . and of course, Mister Singer is still alive and needs to be rescued . . . if we can find him. I’ll recommend to the general that we mount a mission.’

  Harper raised his hand. ‘Wait. We need to find him, and the diamond. Without it, we may not be able to shut down the anomaly. There’s also the scientific imperative to do more research. This is a pristine environment; we can’t barge into it with modern technology.’

  Briggs clicked her tongue. ‘Who said we want to shut it down? Besides, you said yourself, Harper – it’s already our world. And how can our technology be modern when they’re the ones from the future?’ She smiled without humour. ‘More importantly, if we don’t claim it, someone else will.’

  She strode towards the door, and then paused. ‘We’ll be needing some technical advice, so you, or one of your science team, will be coming with us.’ She glanced at Takada, who visibly paled. ‘The team will be operational and prepared to go in twenty-four hours. Be ready.’

  The door slammed behind her.

  *****

  Harper slumped down into his chair, his mind spinning. The lights had come up and the rest of the room had filed out, not giving the two scientists a second glance.

  He thought about what the colonel had said, and despite himself felt a thrill of exhilaration coursing through his veins. Though he didn’t like the idea of culturally polluting a pristine species and environment, the thought of an expedition made him shake with excitement.

  He was mentally ticking off what he’d need to take with him, when reality sank in. He wasn’t a linguist or cultural specialist; not having either specialisation wasn’t a deal breaker, but the real kicker was that, if anything went wrong there, he was really the only one who could diagnose and rectify the problem – and for that he needed to be behind a console.

  He sighed. How many scientists get to go and meet a whole new race? Or maybe meet a whole new species? He turned to Takada.

  ‘I envy you.’

  *****

  In the long black car that silently sped along the freeway, Colonel Briggs kicked off her shoes and spoke slowly into the p
hone.

  ‘Yes sir, a Type A environment – indigenous personnel warlike, aggressive, but in my judgment, limited in offensive and defensive armaments.’

  She paused, a smile spreading across her face. ‘Yes sir, I agree. Just a look-see for now. Maybe bring back a few . . . specimens. One team of Green Berets should do just fine, sir.’

  She ended the call and tapped her driver on the shoulder. ‘You know how many colonels will be bringing the President a whole new conquered world this year?’

  The driver knew better than to answer. She laughed and leaned back in her seat.

  ‘Just one, I think.’

  Chapter 37

  Legends Upon Myths Upon Tales

  Arn shivered in the cold darkness. Vidarr had led the three of them deep below the castle through a number of tunnels that were fast turning from excavated passageways into natural caves. Glistening limestone columns of lilac and mineral green danced and shivered as the tongues of flame from their burning torches flickered in the dark.

  From time to time, plate-sized fungi growing from moist grottos intruded across their path, and Vidarr stopped to tear loose a chunk from one of the largest stalks. He took a bite.

  ‘Like meat,’ he said, holding it out. Arn shook his head, understanding now where the pervasive mushroom smell came from.

  The next tunnel opened out into a cavern, and in every nook and cranny there was an overflowing chest or table piled high with debris that was rotting down to sparkling orange dust – small mountains of wood, metal, stone and waxed paper.

  Vidarr stopped and shifted uneasily in the darkness. ‘It has been many, many years since I have had reason to venture this far down.’