“I am glad you said that,” said Tanda, “because if you had refused, the law dictates that I should kill you.”
Vac regarded her, scornfully. “As if a mere slip of a girl could take me in combat... oh.” There was a stiletto knife pricking the front of his throat.
“Please do not underestimate me,” said the girl, pressing it gently. “I am quite capable of killing you. In fact, you do not know how close you came to that in your hut. I am, er, was, after all, the daughter of a chieftain.”
“Then why...”
Tanda smiled and sheathed her knife. “I was dead horny,” she said, simply. “I couldn’t be bothered with all that waiting and study before I officially became a woman. It was… interesting. Nonetheless, I am needed here to help tend the wounded. I hope the Smorgs do not return, tonight. Sit and rest, and come up with a plan for our survival.”
With a blank expression, Vac leaned sat against the wall while the others searched the village for survivors. There were not many. A call for ‘the leader’ brought him back to his feet, and he followed a soldier into the loft in one of the nearby huts. There, the dead body of a dull green creature with seven legs confronted them. It was pinned to the wall by one of the Smorg spears. The pole still bore its delivery note.
“Knitting needle, size twelve, with the compliments of Janet Ward Stores Universal,” it said simply. “Thank you for your custom.”
Time for a Bite?
The tribe goes for a walk.
Vac faces his end.
A
plume of black smoke curled upwards from the Skagan village in the early morning light. The few remaining Skagans had collected the bodies of the dead and heaped them on to a funeral pyre, as is the custom of their people. Tanda, reading from one of the few remaining books, performed a simple ceremony. A couple of firelighters, and a pile of junk-mail they had collected, were enough to get the fire roaring. The Dead were toasted in Fuksake and then the remains of the drink were traditionally, and gratefully, spat on to the sad pile; it tasting disgusting without Smakroot to numb the mouth. The dead warriors were now on their way to Heaven, Hell or Watford, the ‘Spiritual Lands of the Brave’, which were acknowledged to be a ‘far better place’, and reserved exclusively for those who fell in battle: palaces of sumptuous banquets, unlimited sex, without having to stop for food or comfort breaks, meat pies, and soft toilet paper.
When the work had been completed, and the death rituals duly observed, Vac collected the sorry band of survivors into the central square. He called Tanda.
“You must find the haven of Sisleoze,” he said. “If there are other survivors, they will know to meet you there. It is the place of origin, where we came from and to which we must return and recover. This unprovoked attack on our people will be avenged. The Skagan race will triumph. Glory, Sex and Death.” He punched the air. The other Skagans watched him sadly, and did not join in. “Glory, sex and death?”
“That’s all very splendid,” said Tanda, regarding their raggle-taggle group of walking-wounded and juniors, “but I’m not sure we are in a position to do anything but hide, at the moment. You and I are the only able warriors left. We need you with us. If you go, I’ll have to protect our people by myself.”
“Then die bravely.” Vac gave her one of his macho stares and was pleased to see the satin brown of her face colour slightly. He continued, haughtily. “I must track down the Smorgs. Many of our people could be prisoners, under the influence of the Smorg poison. I have to release or kill them, to put an end to their wretchedness.” Secretly, he knew that he was attempting an impossible task, and hoped Tanda would beg him not to go. He planned to hold out for a few entreaties and then give in, as he twisted the conversation round to her offering him her body again, this time as an inducement to remain with the group.
“Oh all right then,” said Tanda lightly. “Good luck; we’ll manage. See you in Sisleoze with the rescued prisoners. Cheery-bye.”
Vac had not even considered this possibility. How could she refuse him? He shook his head. The eyes of the entire group were on him. He dare not renege on his mission, for fear of losing credibility with his people. “Er, who wants to come with me?”
“Sorry,” said Tanda. “We should not further split our remaining forces. Sisleoze is a sanctuary, that is what we have always been taught, although as far as I know, nobody living has ever been there. Only a few know the route. It has been passed down by word of mouth through generations of chiefs, and I guess, to me. There are no people I can spare. The children must be taken through to safety. They are our future, despite the fact they have litter basket blindness.”
“I’ll go with him,” said Rodney Iron-Patella from the litter he was being supported on by some of the larger youngsters, “as soon as I get this arrow out of my knee. I can still wield a sword.”
“I need you with me,” said Tanda. “Vac is a hero. He will return to us. He will rescue our people, won’t you, Vac?”
She forced her wiry body against his, and gave the squirming warrior a lingering kiss, forcing her tongue deeply into his mouth. She noted with satisfaction the effect she had on his lower regions.
“You wouldn’t like to pop inside for a moment?” he ventured.
“Off you go.” She broke away from his grasp, playfully punching him in the groin. “Perhaps when you return, you will deserve it. Go that way, towards the Smorg lands. The trail shouldn’t be too hard to follow.”
She turned him round, and launched him towards the path of beaten foliage and black dust the Smorgs had taken. He stopped uncertainly, and she gave him another shove.
“All right,” he said, “I’m only getting my bearings.”
“Don’t lose them,” she said. “Make us proud... or I’ll see you in Watford.”
She called to the rest of the group. “While Vac is rescuing our friends, we go this way, to the safely of the north. I’m afraid that the details of the route are a bit vague, as I was only shown it when my father sketched it in the mud one drunken evening, but this is a good direction to start in. I’m hoping I’ll recognise some of the landmarks.”
The survivors limped away through a broken wall, leaving the new leader by himself.
“I’ll get started then, shall I?” he said, to the deserted village.
* * *
Vac had no problem following his quarry. Several hundred Smorgs in a dense forest left an easy trail to follow, and to make the task even easier, every few miles there would be a shallow excavation in the ground, as the Smorgs searched for minerals vital to their survival. They seemed to be moving extremely quickly, though. Vac passed empty bottles that had contained caffeine pills and iron tablets, the Smorg substitute for fresh blood. He marched rapidly, but at the end of the day, he had still seen no sign of the main band of Smorgs. He gave up at dusk, and slept in the open for the night, fastening his clothes tightly against the Crotch-beetles that roamed after dark.
The next morning was fine and sunny. This was not unusual because all mornings on Skagos were fine and sunny, one of the reasons the founders had dumped the tribes there. This morning, however, felt different. Vac’s resolve had hardened and his wounds were healing quickly after the night’s rest, as they did in all Skagans. The race had been bred for rapid recovery, so that their frequent battles were not delayed by bed rest. He resumed his quest almost light-heartedly.
Continuing along the trail, he munched the stem of a Frenzy Mushroom, for energy. At about midday, he came out of the trees, shielded his eyes against the sun, and gazed across a vast plain. In the distance, beyond rough grassland and sparse brush, he could see the watery rift separating his land from that of the Smorgs, and behind the river, rose the mountainous terrain the Smorgs loved so much. The view unsettled him. He had spent the whole of his life within the confines of the forest, and to be out in the open was a new experience. He squinted and picked out a dark mass close to the river: his quarry. He muttered to himself, weighing up t
he alternatives.
“They are too far away for me to overtake, before they cross to the safety of their own lands. If I can find a way to follow, it will mean entering Smorg territory, and thereby facing certain death, or worse still, capture. What to do? This open space, I can perhaps come to terms with, but why waste my life too, on a futile crusade? If I cut myself about a bit, and then return, Tanda might think I tried my best.” He turned and slipped back into the forest. “I can’t do it!” he muttered to himself, leaning on a tree trunk. “What can one man do against an entire nation?”
An ethereal voice came out of the vegetation. “You can do it! Don’t be a drongo.” A spectral black shape glided within a few feet of Vac and then hung in front of him, drifting gently up and down in a vaguely annoying way.
“Who are you?” Vac drew his sword, and menacing the shape with it.
“You will live to rescue your friends.” The voice continued, apparently not concerned. “Keep your wits about you, and all will be well. You are halfway there already, with the wit thing.”
“How do you know this? Nobody can see the future!”
“I have no body, so what you say is true,” boomed the voice. “What I do know is that if you turn back, your leadership of the Skagans passes to the next in line. You know what that means don’t you?”
Vac did. He would be duty-bound as Tanda’s bondage slave for all time. He shuddered, wondering what she would do to get even. “They would not find out,” he faltered.
“It would be my burden to inform them.” The shape chuckled. “You will be the butt of all their anger... in many ways,” it added.
“Yeah right, but what do you want from me?” Vac began to edge towards the spectre, meaning to make sure the information remained secret. As he approached, the apparition drifted out of reach and settled on a bush. Small wisps of flame seemed to appear round it.
“We will see about that. You don’t impress me.” Vac suddenly threw his sword at the phantom. The weapon passed through, harmlessly, and lodged into the leaves. The fire went out. Vac cursed. He stormed over and plunged in his hands to retrieve the sword. He cursed more loudly, as the thorns on the plant tore his flesh. He should have recognised the small pink flowers, and been more careful. His face went purple with anger and he retrieved his sword, to spend some time slashing and stabbing, searching for the source of the laughter that still echoed.
“I’ll tell on you, if you don’t go.” The voice continued. “Go on, you can do it; trust me. And you’ll have some fun too, I promise.”
“Sod you then.” Vac grunted. “I will go. At least the Smorgs are solid enough to hack to death. If you and I ever meet in person, I will show you what it means to defy a Skagan.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said the voice from above his head. “Now be a good boy, and go do your duty.”
Vac felt a powerful push in his back and he stumbled back into the sunlight. He slashed backward with his sword, but there was nothing to see or feel, behind him. He began to jog forward, and by the time his anger had subsided, he was halfway across the plain. He turned and took one last wistful glance upwards at the safe green edge of the forest. Taking a deep breath, he continued towards the land of the Smorgs.
The waterway he had seen from a distance appeared wider and wider as he got closer. Though he did not know it, it was one of the tectonic chasms between the continents, and this crack was very, very deep.
The Smorg band rested at the edge of the water for a while. Vac was able to close the distance between them, before they started moving again. To his surprise, they waded directly into the river. He was further amazed, when they continued to stride out from the bank, with the flow only up as far as their knees. He realised there must be a hidden causeway. How it had got there, he did not know, but even his somewhat limited intelligence was starting to suspect foul play. The Smorgs had not previously been capable of this sort of cunning.
Vac noted landmarks on both sides of the water, and then studied the group from a distance. The Smorgs had captured more of his people alive than he had realised: he could see their blond hair, bright in the evening light. However, there was one other, a girl—his sixth sense told him that. He rubbed his eyes as he picked her out. She seemed to be naked, although it was difficult to tell at that distance. What he noticed especially was her hair: a great billow of curls that shimmered like gold in the sunlight, neither Skagan nor Smorg characteristics. A strange feeling inside (another sense?) told him that he had to possess her, she should be his trophy. He determined that if nothing else, he would rescue this lady for himself.
The Smorgs and their captives waded further across the divide. “Why don’t my men try to escape?” thought Vac, and then the answer came to him. “Of course, the mind drugs injected by Smorg bites render them unable to resist. I am their only hope.” He quickened his pace in pursuit.
The distance to the river was further than it looked, and dusk was falling as he reached the shore. He waded straight in, hoping the coming darkness would hide him from the enemy. It did not need to. In a moment, he was up to his neck, swimming for his life in icy water. Then he banged his knee on something hard and scrambled onto a submerged causeway. The rest of the crossing was easy through the shallows. There was no need for caution; his quarry had already disappeared into the gorge on the other side.
Vac emerged from the river, and stepped on to the Smorg land for the first time in his life. He took a breath, and sword in hand, advanced following the trail, into a wide scrub-lined ravine, bisecting a land of flat-topped barren hills. His way was easily marked, obviously a major road. He scanned carefully for signs of life, but nothing moved. Was it a trap? Was the Smorg force hidden somewhere and waiting for him? Extra cautious now, he melted into the shadows at the side of the ravine, and started along the path.
Around a cliff, and hidden from the river landing was an ancient stone fort. From this point onwards, torches burned at regular intervals, lighting the way into the hills. The building itself appeared dark and lifeless. Was this where the enemy force had mustered? Vac decided he would leave exploration of that until all other possibilities had been ruled out. Tracks led away from the structure in both directions, so he moved deeper into the enemy land, always keeping in the shadows and following that sense, leading him towards his countrymen.
A small stone cottage loomed up out of the darkness. Vac peeped in through one of the windows. The building was empty, but showed signs of recent military occupation. There were discarded bean tins and rude pictures pinned to the walls. He wondered where the inhabitants were, but was relieved not to meet any at this early stage of his invasion, as he now liked to think of it.
As he passed more deserted outposts, Vac became aware that the night sky was brightening with a dull orange glow. Light levels increased as he got nearer to the source, and when a great valley opened in front of him, he had to shield his eyes from the brilliance. The basin was floodlit with many burning sodium torches, and the entire nation of Smorgs appeared to be congregated: thousands of them were gathered in the space. He took a sharp breath. His invasion was going to be more difficult that he had imagined. He paused, and then realised he would be an easy target if someone came up behind him. His silhouette was distinctly not Smorg. There were a number of cottages on the edge of the valley. He quickly slipped into the nearest, and moved silently to a window to watch, in the hope that an opportunity would present itself.
In the centre of the throng, he picked out the Skagan captives standing on a stage, still apparently alive, unharmed and some were even struggling against their bonds. In the centre was his golden-haired girl. She was not moving. The captives were surrounded by Smorgs, shouting for blood.
The crowd fell silent, as an official-looking Smorg, in a crimson-lined cloak, and wearing a large white collar, stepped onto the platform, and took hold of a microphone.
“Laddos!” The Crimson shouted to gain the attention it already had. “JWS has apolog
ised for the incorrect delivery of fire-swords we recently received, isn’t it. I am informed that the replacement billiard tables are on their way to us, at this very moment, shouldn’t we. They hope the inconvenience of a small war was not too great, and that Order Dispatch Director Bluben, who they say is totally to blame for the error, didn’t he, was helpful. As a token, they give us permission to do with these Skagans what we will, don’t you. Tonight we eat vegetarians, haven’t they!”
There erupted a great cheering and stamping of feet from the crowd. Vac shook his head, at a complete loss as to how he could mount a rescue. He stood in the dark, banging his head on the wall in frustration. Then he snapped to readiness. He whirled round, drawing his sword in the same movement. Behind him was a young Smorg woman cowering in the gloom. He poised himself to attack, and then hesitated as she started backwards, seemingly terrified.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I won’t hurt you if you do as I say.”
“That a promise, won’t you?” The girl seemed to relax when he moved no closer, and then uncovered a lamp. Vac instantly took in her long dark hair, dreamy brown eyes, curvaceous figure, and an unnerving smile that played on her lips. He began to be less concerned with the threat of sudden attack.
“Don’t move, and I won’t kill you,” he said uncertainly.
The smile widened: another Skagan sense smelt animal lust. “You’re Skagan, isn’t it?” she purred. “I can tell by the double negative, won’t you. Don’t you just cop an eyeful of this, aren’t I.”
She loosened her robe, which slithered to the ground, leaving her stark naked in front of him. Her dark skin was completely flawless. Vac gaped in surprise. She noticed. “Come on then, Skagan, let’s see if what they say about your people is true, won’t you.”
Vac glanced outside. “Are there any other Smorgs living here?”
The Legend of Dan Page 12