Return of the Ancients

by Greig Beck

  Arn laughed softly. ‘So much stuff . . . It’s endless.’

  Vidarr hummed his agreement, and held up his torch. ‘Items accumulated since the dawn of Valkeryn. From time to time a traveller will have something strange to trade – and if it is of interest, then it usually finds its way to me.’

  Arn noticed that the old archivist kept looking over his shoulder to some of the darker areas of the caves. Arn held out his own flame and squinted, taking a dozen or so steps away from the group. He noticed that this passage ended not with a rock face, but instead with heavy bars set from floor to ceiling.

  Vidarr answered his unspoken question. ‘The deeper caves are home to all manner of things.’

  ‘I’ve met them.’ Arn grunted. ‘The jormungandr.’

  ‘Yes. And . . . others.’

  Arn recalled his arrival deep below ground, and the glistening thing in the dark that had looked like a giant hairless rat – and most disturbingly, had giggled.

  Vidarr shuffled off, and Eilif came over to take Arn by the hand, pulling him along. He looked back once more to the bars sealing off the deeper caves, and thought he heard sniggering away in the darkness.

  They followed Vidarr, ducking through various passages, around pillars, and soon entered a cathedral-sized opening that swallowed their torchlight. Even though the ceiling was hidden in the blackness, there was a sense of openness, of hugeness, which staggered Arn. They could hide an army down here, he thought.

  Vidarr lit the torches that were protruding from rings embedded in the rock, before finally placing his own into an empty holder. He turned and opened his arms wide, and walked out towards the centre of the cavern.

  ‘And now . . .’ He turned to them, his breath steaming in the chill air. He motioned to the mountains of artefacts piled, stacked and bundled everywhere. ‘. . . Now it would help if you knew what it was you sought, young Man-kind – a thing, a word, or even just a thought – down here, I can help.’

  ‘We’re looking for clues.’ Eilif nudged Arn, and winked at him as if sharing a secret. He realised she was still holding his hand, and he gently extricated his fingers from her warm grip. Once free, she immediately began pulling things from among the piles of artefacts. She stopped, frowned and held something up to sniff.

  ‘What’s this?’ She held up something that might once have been metal. Now it was an L-shaped lump of rust and verdigris that weighed heavily in her hand.

  Arn took it from her, and rubbed away some of the corroded crust. He snorted softly. ‘It is . . . It was a gun. A small weapon of sorts.’

  Vidarr took the gun and held it out, sighting along the barrel. ‘Ah yes – the pistol. I believe it expels a metallic pellet faster than the eye can see, which could penetrate any armour known to Wolfen-kind. A small weapon, but one with formidable power.’ He registered Arn’s surprise. ‘As I said, Arnoddr-Sigarr, I have studied these objects and scraps of history my entire life. I know what they are, and where they are, but unfortunately how they could ever work is still a mystery to me.’ He held the gun out to Arn. ‘Perhaps that is where we can help each other?’

  Eilif snatched the pistol and brandished it like a club. ‘Imagine if we had some of these – the Lygon would be sent straight to Hellheim in a blink!’

  ‘Does it help you?’ Vidarr folded his bony arms into his robe.

  Arn looked around. ‘Sort of. It tells me that my people were here, but at a different time. And now they’re gone – at least, from this part of the world, as far as we know . . .’

  Vidarr nodded slowly. ‘It’s true that the dark lands hold their own secrets, and adventurers who have entered those realms tell of all manner of strange beasts living there, but . . .’

  Arn stepped closer. ‘But?’

  ‘But nothing. Legends upon myths upon tales. You must realise that you are the last of your kind, Arnoddr-Sigarr.’

  Arn turned away, feeling deflated. Balthazar placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Arn, but we’re glad you’re here. Tell us what we’re looking for.’

  Arn realised that he didn’t really know. He’d probably recognise it if he saw it, but he needed their help as well if he was going to make any headway.

  ‘Something with writing on it, I guess. If it looks interesting, set it aside in a pile, and I can look it over.’ He picked up what appeared to be the handle of a cutlass, its blade long since disintegrated. ‘Are the artefacts organised in any way?’ It didn’t look to Arn as though they were.

  ‘Yes. This room contains all the most modern pieces. Everything you see here comes from the periods you call the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. After that, there is nothing. But for before that . . .’ He pointed down a dark tunnel. ‘. . . We will need to go to another chamber to look at the eighteenth and nineteenth century items. And then—’

  ‘Wait.’ Arn stared in alarm at the old archivist. ‘The twenty-first century is the last era of my kind that you’ve come across? But that’s my era! Is that when we were wiped out?’

  Balthazar shrugged. ‘Or departed. Remember the legends, Arnoddr.’

  Arn frowned. A memory was surfacing – Edward, or was it Beescomb or Dr. Harper, talking about the possible dangers of using the accelerator . . . A disquieting thought bubbled up in his brain, but he tried to push it down, squeezing his eyes shut. Once again, he heard the mocking whisper that had tormented him on his trek through the wastelands. Was it you? Was it your fault? Did you kill them all when you fell through the wormhole?

  ‘Here.’ Balthazar pulled back some dusty oilskins to reveal several wooden chests that were as large as bathtubs. He grabbed the metal lock of one of them, but it fell to red dust in his hands. Wiping the residue from his fingers, he grabbed the lid and swung it back – instead of opening smoothly, the lid crashed to the floor as its hinges broke apart. ‘Oops.’

  ‘Don’t know your own strength, counsellor,’ Eilif laughed, kneeling beside the chest.

  Inside were individually wrapped packages, all of varying shapes and sizes. Balthazar picked one up and unwrapped it, revealing a book with a cover made of simple boards. Arn leaned over him holding the torch.

  Balthazar’s hands shook slightly as he opened the book, which immediately began to disintegrate. He cursed under his breath.

  Vidarr grabbed his wrist. ‘Take care; the air in the archives preserves most things for many millennium. But as soon as light, heat or shaking hands touch them, they immediately show their age.’ He pulled a blade from its sheath on his belt and used it to lift several of the pages at once.

  Arn and Eilif crowded in to look over his shoulder. Arn lifted his torch a little higher. ‘Looks like a diary.’

  Tight cursive writing filled the page. Arn read what he could make out.

  ‘Something, something . . . Okay, here we go. The town has been sealed off. No one knows anything, not even Daddy. The government has stopped anyone saying anything on the news, and I can see soldiers on every corner.’ Arn skipped a few faded lines. ‘The sky is all wrong. I’m scared.’

  ‘I’m scared,’ Eilif repeated. ‘Scared of what – the sky?’

  Arn looked at the numbers in the upper right-hand corner of the page. It was dated just a few months after he had left. If the book was found close by, then something happened right in his old neighborhood – maybe even started there. He thought of Fermilab again and the accident. Once more the voice tried to whisper its mocking torments into his mind. He shut it out.

  He tried to read further, but even as he watched he saw the words disappear. The light, heat, or perhaps the steam of their breath was lifting the ancient ink right off the pages.

  ‘Turn it over, quick.’

  Vidarr used his blade to lift and turn another of the pages. The next was only half full and, as before, the words started to fade. Arn read quickly.

  ‘The soldiers have told us we all need to go to the shelters now, but I don’t know how we can, because the car won’t work, and neither will anything else. Daddy
says it’s because there’s a magnetic disturbance close by. The sky is getting worse – it’s dark purple and full of lightning, and it looks like a giant tornado is growing over the science base. It’s sucking the clouds into its centre, and they’re going down into the base somewhere. I have to hurry, but I don’t know what to take. It’s so windy outside that I think we’ll all get blown over anyway. I don’t want to go out there – I just saw a tree get pulled down, and it’s sliding down the street towards the tornado thing at the base.’

  The words faded away, and Arn urged Vidarr to quickly flip to the next page. There was one final entry.

  ‘Daddy says I can’t take my diary, but I can wrap it carefully and place it in the cellar. I can get it when we return. And hey, if you’re reading this, don’t steal it, or even read it!!!’

  Like magic, the words faded, faded, and then the entire book melted into a pile of powder. It was as if the small diary had waited countless millennia to give up its message, and now its soul had been released.

  Eilif stuck her finger in the dust and lifted her hand to stare at the powder as if looking for the lost words. She rubbed her finger and thumb together. ‘They never came back . . .’

  Arn kept looking at the pile of dust, imagining the weird tornado sucking everything into the base, which he assumed had to be Fermilab. He backed up a step, feeling a little nauseous.

  ‘Let’s see what else we can find.’

  *****

  The hours passed rapidly. They searched most of the cavern, finding little more of interest to Arn, but in the process managed to turn a lot of the items to dust. Eilif and Balthazar kept up a continual volley of questions about everything they pulled free – in-line skate boots without wheels, broken beer bottles, a dented aluminum baseball bat that Eilif scoffed at because she thought it was a weapon, a set of false teeth. Balthazar held up the teeth and grimaced.

  Arn sat down wearily and folded his arms. Again, there was something nagging at him, and when Vidarr pulled the remains of a doll from another pile of debris, it hit him: Bones. Where are the remains of the billions of people?

  Arn got to his feet and walked over to where Vidarr was holding up to the light a sealed bottle, shaking it to see what effect it had on the contents.

  ‘Have you ever found any skeletons?’

  Vidarr nodded. ‘Sometimes, but they are in the older caves. We come across the stones that you used to place on top of your dead – things like crosses, and Man-kind with wings. Cemeteries, I think you called them.’

  Arn shook his head. ‘No, not the already dead and buried bodies. I mean the ones who disappeared – who flew away. I mean, it’s not as if that tornado over Fermilab could have whisked away seven billion people . . .’ He sunk down onto the ground, exhausted.

  Eilif sat next to him, patting his knee. ‘I don’t know if I’d want to see the remains of all my people as nothing more than piles of bones.’ She reached over and grabbed his hand and squeezed it, looking into his face. ‘What is a Fermilab?’

  ‘It’s where I came from,’ Arn said wearily. ‘And it’s somewhere I need to try and get back to.’ He thought for a moment, trying to decide whether that was actually true. Finally, he made up his mind. ‘Vidarr, do you have any maps? Can you show me where the gauntlet and lightning bolts were seen? I have no idea where I am now, but I should be able to plot my path back to the lab from there.’

  The ancient archivist nodded. ‘Yes, I think I can show you exactly where the iron doors were seen. I also . . .’ He stopped and stared up into the ceiling. In another moment, they all heard it – a voice calling them.

  Vidarr made a small sound of delight in his throat. ‘Two visits in twenty years – this is strange. Well, we have been down here now most of the day, and I need my dinner. Let’s see who else has paid us a visit. Come.’

  *****

  A tall, thin Wolfen bowed as they approached – Arn came last, lost in dark thoughts, and he only heard the Wolfen’s voice when the latter addressed him directly.

  ‘The king requests your presence, Arnoddr-Sigarr.’

  Arn frowned and nodded. ‘Okay, we’ll just have some . . .’

  ‘It is a matter of urgency.’

  Eilif took Arn by the elbow. ‘I’ll come too.’

  ‘Forgive me, princess.’ The messenger bowed again. ‘King Grimvaldr requires an audience with the Man-kind . . . alone. He asks that you grant them some privacy.’ The Wolfen kept his head bowed, and Arn wondered what would happen if Eilif decided to disobey.

  She eyed the tall warrior for a few moments, before putting her nose in the air. ‘I will come – but I’ll wait outside for the king to finish. It can’t be anything more than another boring talk about the Slinker encampments.’

  ‘Thank you, princess.’ The messenger sounded relieved. ‘I’ll be outside; please hurry, sir.’ He pushed his way out through the heavy doors.

  Arn turned to Eilif. ‘Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll get to swallow more fleet beetles.’ He chuckled and nudged her.

  She turned, her silver blue eyes flashing. ‘There will be no more secret missions for you, Arnoddr. Not without telling me. Promise.’

  Arn was taken aback by her anger. ‘Huh? Of course . . .’

  ‘It is said that the Panterran have more than one life. But I can tell you, Wolfen do not. I’m not sure about Man-kind, but you have escaped death twice now.’ She stared hard into his eyes. ‘I will not lose you.’

  ‘Okay, okay – calm down. I’ll tell you if it’s anything important.’

  Vidarr cleared his throat. Under the small archivist’s arm was a sheet of rolled parchment.

  ‘Before you leave.’ He cleared a space on the table and unfurled the sheet. ‘See here – this mark is the centre of our kingdom, where we stand now.’ He pointed with his stick of charcoal at a small area marked with a wolf’s head crest. Then he pointed to the far side of the map, where the detail and place names were sparser. ‘The beginning of the dark lands, the area you seek.’

  Arn could see that the area Vidarr indicated was past a mountain range, and across an enormous lake. In the other direction was an expanse of featureless yellow and brown – the wastelands he had trekked across.

  Vidarr looked up at Arn. ‘A long and dangerous trip, young Man-kind.’

  Arn nodded with some resignation. He traced the edges of the lake with his finger. ‘Are there many Wolfen towns by the lake? Maybe we can borrow a boat.’

  ‘There are some outposts, but none by the lake. It would be wise to give the waters a wide berth.’

  ‘Huh – why?’

  ‘Because of what lives in the lake.’

  Arn rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, great. Does every lake, forest and desert have things that eat people . . . and Wolfen?’ He sighed and was about to turn away, but Vidarr snagged his arm.

  ‘You have a good spirit, Man-kind. And I am glad that in my long life, I have had a chance to meet one of you before I pass on to Valhalla. But there is much you don’t know about this world. It is true that the surface holds many dangers, but below the surface, below the dark waters, and deep in the dank caverns, there are things that shun the light. Things that Wolfen and even Panterran never mention.’ He released Arn’s arm. ‘What is found, cannot be unfound.’ Vidarr stared up into Arn’s face. ‘Promise that you will never travel into the earth below fifty longs.’

  Arn did a quick calculation – a long was the basic Canite unit of measure, and roughly equated to about a foot and a half. So fifty longs was about seventy five feet. But the military base would surely stretch deeper than that . . .

  Vidarr must have seen the indecision on his face. ‘At least stay in light the entire time. Deep in the dark earth, there are things that have crawled up from Hellheim itself. Maybe they were surface dwellers once . . . but no more.’

  ‘Sir.’ The Wolfen messenger poked his head in through the heavy doors. Vidarr rolled the map, and pressed it into Arn’s hand.

  ‘May Odin protect you, Master Ar
nold Singer.’ Vidarr stepped back and ambled slowly to the rear of the large room. Arn thought he glimpsed the ghost of a smile on the old archivist’s lips as he melted into the gloom.

  Chapter 38

  The Forges of the Enemy

  It was dark outside when the Wolfen messenger led them through the narrow laneways, up onto a small stone bridge over a river that ran through the castle grounds. The river flowed deep and swift, and provided much of the drinking water for the castle inhabitants.

  The small party had to stand aside as dozens of Wolfen warriors ran past carrying shovels and picks. ‘Preparations,’ Balthazar explained grimly.

  The warriors rushed towards the main gate, and then out onto the plains in front of the castle. In the distance, Arn could make out a glow on the horizon. He frowned and turned to Balthazar. ‘Wrong place for the sun to set . . . Looks more like a forest fire.’

  Balthazar’s face grew dark. ‘Hundreds, thousands of fires, I’m afraid. It is the Panterran. Listen.’

  Arn concentrated, and could hear a faint, rhythmic clunk-clang of something heavy and metallic being smashed together.

  ‘What is it?’ He looked to Balthazar, but it was the tall, thin messenger who answered.

  ‘The forges of the enemy. They are making weapons in readiness for their attack.’

  The Wolfen, too, were preparing themselves. Some of the castle’s smaller gates had already been closed, and masons worked to brick them up. The main gates were reinforced with crisscrossed wooden beams, locked together with massive iron studs. When it came time to close them, a metal bolt as thick as Arn’s leg would be threaded through several large iron rings.

  ‘Could they lay siege to the castle and starve us out?’

  Balthazar chimed in. ‘Doubtful. We have plenty of supplies, and we also have the river. Though we can’t stand the flesh of fish, we can survive on it. Also, as the far Wolfen join us, we will grow stronger while, hopefully, the enemy weakens.’

  Arn looked down into the water. The river was deep and flashes of silver glinted in its depths. It rushed beneath them, and disappeared through an arched tunnel into the ground.