Valkeryn 2: The Dark Lands (2 page)

Harper half turned to look over his shoulder. Soldiers stood guard on each side of the door. He knew there were two more on the other side as well. He also knew the project was not really his anymore. In the blink of an eye, or the firing of a laser, it had fallen under military jurisdiction.

His role had become little more than making educated scientific suggestions. The military listened, then did what they wanted. He sighed and turned back to the screen, flicking back to the view of the acceleration chamber and the dark wavering hole. He looked hard at the image, wondering if something on the other side of the breach was staring back at him.

Harper kept his eyes on the screen, and reached down for his cup. His fingers closed on empty space. Looking down, he saw that his cup had moved, slid a few inches towards the side of the table. He felt a ripple of fear in his gut. They were several floors above the acceleration chamber – the gravitational effect was growing.

God help them all.

Chapter 2

There are… things in there

‘Arn, help me!’

Eilif was screaming as she was held back from him. She strained and bared her teeth, but couldn’t break free.

Arn held out his hand but couldn’t quite reach her. He was stuck, unable to move the extra few inches toward her. Eilif’s ice-blue eyes were misted and her face streaked with tears. her head flew back and she let loose an unearthly howl that chilled his blood. The long torturous notes were like a blow to his gut, and they spoke of pain and betrayal, of love found and just as quickly lost. 

A bag was pulled roughly over her head, and she was dragged down a corridor of concrete, steel, and fluorescent lighting. Soldiers were holding her, human soldiers. She was in his time, his world – it didn’t make sense. He could hear her as she called his name over and over, muffled beneath the material. Each time she cried out it seemed farther away. His name echoed, echoed, and then was gone…

‘Eilif!’

Arnold ‘Arn’ Singer sat upright, perspiration running down his face. His heart hammered in his chest and he worked to calm his breathing. It was the dream again, or at least more of it. As if a movie was being played in the deep-sleep corner of his mind, a few more minutes of the reel every time he closed his eyes.

He wiped his face with his hands and blinked away his broken night’s sleep. Arn pulled in several large breaths, inhaling the dawn scents of the huge bowl-shaped valley spread out before him. From where he sat high on the cliff edge he felt he could see forever. Perhaps it was the height, or the fact that there was not an ounce of pollution in the crystal air.

He let his eyes move over the landscape; it was strange, almost prehistoric. If this was still Illinois then it had folded, sunk, and rearranged itself into something that looked completely primordial.

He waited for his heartbeat to settle. Blankets of floating mist hung in patches over the tree canopy. There was what looked like a volcano’s crater-topped mountain to the west, and on the far horizon something glimmered in the weak morning sun, maybe a river or a lake. He’d look at Vidarr’s map again to check the jungle’s lumps, bumps and contours against its vaguely drawn landmarks.

Arn reached into his pocket and retrieved the only remnant from his own time – a pocket knife. Its small oval shape still shone, and pressed into its side was a compass the size of his thumb nail. He held it flat and waited a second or two for the tiny arrow to settle… north-east to the lake, river or inland sea, or whatever it was gleaming in the distance.

And then?

He grabbed a stone and started to draw on the rock as he let his mind wander. He scratched lines into the hard granite. He had originally planned to travel until he found what he hoped might be a sealed bunker with the gauntlet and lightning bolt insignia on its front. He pulled out the fragment of ancient parchment the old Wolfen Vidarr had given him; he knew the place; he had seen it himself a year ago. He snorted.
Perhaps a million years ago.

He scratched some more lines.

If he found it, after all the hundreds of millennia, would he be able to be open it? Would there be anything inside other than a deep decrepit hole that, in the old archivist’s own words, ‘might contain things that crawled up from Hellheim itself’? Stay in the light, he had been warned.

He grazed a knuckle as he carved, and he lifted his hand, seeing the small lines of blood, as well as the silver wolf’s head ring. Its snarling face and red eyes glared back at him, roaring out a challenge of the House of Grimvaldr, the kingdom of his friends. Now fallen.

Eilif had given him the ring. He fiddled with it – still a little loose. It now seemed so long ago that it could have been a dream. He wiped his hand and finished his rock carving. He smiled at the words – Arn was here.

‘Arn who?’ he said to the carving and lay back, placed one arm under his head, and looked up into the rapidly brightening sky. Blue, a few clouds, It looked the same. It had been a year since he had fallen into this world. A place where his own people were nothing more than a myth or legend, and in their stead now lived creatures, whole races different to anything he had ever known.

What would his grandfather have made of it all?
Yuhica ee-hahn blay
– the waking nightmare – he would have said ominously. Then the old man would have closed his eyes to think on it for a while, mumbling to himself, maybe even spirit walking, as he used to call it. Arn wished he were here now; he would have known what to do.

Arn was Shawnee. His family was one of the last few true bloods left in the state, and he’d spent years cutting his hair, ignoring his heritage, and forcing his body into normal clothes so he could conform. Looking like everyone else was, to him, more important than who he really was.

He sat forward and examined his hands and arms. The skin was darkly tanned, the muscles in his arms bulged and were whipcord strong from days of climbing. His long black hair was pulled back with a cloth band around his forehead. Now he probably looked more like a Native American than even his grandfather had.

He smiled ruefully.

Here, being a red man, or white man, or
even a blue man didn’t matter. Just being human was different enough – enough to get him killed and eaten. He still had the stone in his hand, so he stood and threw it over the edge of the precipice, watching it sail outwards, then arc down towards the ground thousands of feet below. He didn’t expect to hear when it struck the valley floor.

A small figure immediately appeared beside him. ‘That was a good throw. I think I could do that.’

Arn looked down. Grimson stood there with his hands on his hips, looking like some sort of jerkin-wearing Boy Scout in a Halloween mask. Except it was no mask. The boy, or rather the Wolfen creature, was, or had been, the prince of a mighty kingdom. His care was now entrusted to Arn, by the king… of a kingdom that by now had probably been overrun by creatures from some lunatic’s nightmare.

‘Be my guest.’

Arn picked up another stone, tossed it to him, and stood back watching the Wolfen as he drew his arm back. Grimson’s fur shone in the morning sunlight, and his silver-blue eyes stayed on Arn with an evenness that was confident, honest and sharp. They were the eyes of a hunter, a noble born, and a warrior.

It was hard to hold the gaze of the young Wolfen and he looked away. The eyes haunted Arn, because they reminded him of the Valkeryn princess, Eilif. He felt a pang of regret, and a deep loneliness. Never had he met someone, some-
thing
, like her. She had disturbed and attracted him in equal measures. He had thought of her as a friend… but still couldn’t stop thinking of her as something, more. Could someone love another who is so different?
No, impossible
, he thought, and flung another rock.
Gone now, all gone.

‘Are you watching, Arnoddr?’ Grimson held his arm cocked, obviously waiting for an audience

‘Huh?’ Arn blinked and looked at the youth. He smiled a
nd motioned with his arm to the cliff edge. ‘Let her rip.’

Grimson frowned. ‘Let her rip?”

Arn shook his head. ‘Uhh, I mean, go on… throw it.’

Grimson’s arm swung forward and the small stone disappeared over the cliff edge, travelling about a third as far as Arn’s. The Wolfen walked to the edge and peered down, following the tiny object with his keen eyes until it finally disappeared into the lumpy green treetops thousands of feet below. He turned and nodded. ‘Hmm, yes. I think it went a little further than yours.’ He wiped his hands on his pants and planted them on his hips. ‘I’m hungry. Can we hunt now?’

Arn looked along the path, and then down. ‘Yep, but first we need to get down there.’

Grimson stepped even closer to the edge and looked down over the precipice. His eyes moved over the landscape, as if seeing through the thick canopy of trees to what lay below. When he turned to Arn, his face was stony.

‘That’s the start of the Dark Lands. There are… things, in there.’

Arn laughed, slapping the youth on the shoulder, and holding on to pull him back a step.

‘And there are things up here. They’re called Arn and Grimson, and there be no creatures more fearsome in lands dark or light. Shall we make our way down, and scare some small things onto our plates?’

Grimson laughed, his trepidation forgotten. ‘Some large things would be even better.’

The pair edged along the narrow path for another hour, sometimes moving just inches at a time with their backs to the rock face where the path was little more than a foot-span across. Arn closed his eyes for a moment, his foot almost daring him to step forward, knowing that one slip would mean all his fears, pressures and troubles would be over.

A small hand nudged his, and he looked down to see Grimson urging him on, a grin splitting the Wolfen’s face. Just like
a human boy, for him this was an adventure, and every day meant something new and exciting. Arn continued to shuffle along, forgetting his selfishness; he had bigger responsibilities now.

Slowly, slowly they moved around a bulge of dark granite and then abruptly, the path ceased to exist.

‘Crap.’

An ancient rock fall had scoured the side of the mountain clean and dragged their track down to the valley in a heap of raw earth, boulders and crushed trees. Arn looked back the way they had come, then over the edge, and then again in the distance along the cliff face – it was near vertical, broken only by some dark holes that could have been caves, or just deep fissures.

Further on, their path resumed, but it was well over a hundred feet away. Too far to leap, too steep to clamber across, and not a single handhold on the scarred granite.

The raised slope they had chosen to cross looked to be about five thousand feet high, with a fairly easy slope on the Valkeryn side of their climb. But this side dropped steeply, was rugged, and Arn was sure from a greater distance it would resemble a giant tooth curving up and in towards the Dark Lands. In fact the entire cliff line had sharp peaks of similar shape, a gigantic set of open jaws waiting to swallow anything mad enough to enter.

Arn marveled at the forces that had created the barrier. A gigantic crustal movement had occurred when tectonic plates had ground up against one another. One part of their world had dropped, while a geological behemoth had been forced up elsewhere.

Our world? Arn wondered at the wisdom of the thought. Compared to the mountainous cliffs, he and Grimson were just two biological specks. He half smiled.
I am as old as you, Brother Mountain. Now, let me pass.

Arn leaned out again and felt a steaming humidity rise up past him, the first he had really felt in this strange world. To date the climate had been dry and benign. The mountain range was acting as a partition, separating one land from the next. He had crossed from a desert to a forest, and now was trying to enter a jungle.

‘Can’t go back, can’t get across, and too high to jump.’ Arn exhaled in a silent whistle.

‘I can pray to Odin.’

Arn looked at the youth and smiled. ‘Sure, why not… everything helps.’

Grimson nodded and shut his eyes, his lips moving silently.

Arn watched the youth for a few seconds. Praying might be all they had left, he mused. He guessed that the Panterran would soon be following them. The attackers of the Valkeryn kingdom, and their monstrous allies the Lygon, were ruthless, and the thought of falling into their hands again, and allowing them to capture the young Wolfen, made him shudder. It would be better to die trying than risk going back.

Arn leaned out from the rock face, and then looked up, moving his line of sight slowly back the way he had come.

‘Maaaybe.’

Arn’s voice made Grimson stop his praying and open his eyes. Arn tapped his shoulder. ‘Back up about fifty paces.’

The youth did as he was instructed, and soon they both stood below a series of craggy bulges and fissures. Arn pointed at the scarred rocks ahead, working his finger up to a point above them. ‘The rockslide started around our level. But above it, the mountain is still wearing its original face. I think if we can climb straight up about fifty feet, err…’ Arn did a quick translation into the Wolfen numbering system. ‘… about twenty longs, we can edge across, and then drop back down onto the path.’

Grimson made a fist. ‘You see. I knew it there’d be a way across. Odin always looks after the faithful.’

Arn smiled at the youth’s confidence. ‘K
eep praying, Grim. The hard part is just about to begin.’

Arn turned back to the rock face, mentally mapping his route. He knew the climb would be impossible for the small Wolfen, as the scarce crevices, cracks and fissures in the stone they would use as toe and handholds were more than his body length apart. Arn was going to have to bear his weight – not impossible, as long as the Wolfen hung on tight and remained immobile.

‘Okay, gonna have to carry you.’

‘By Odin you will not, Man-Kind. I will climb myself.’ Grimson backed up a step, his brow furrowed with indignity.

‘I
will
carry you, otherwise we won’t make it, and the Panterran will catch us. They’ll be after us soon, if they aren’t already.’

Grim’s eyes narrowed, but there was a sliver of fear in them. ‘The Panterran will never catch me unaware again. The next time they come, I’ll cut their foul heads from their necks.’

‘Maybe, but not today.’ Arn reached for him. ‘Remember, your father entrusted you into my care, and that means you are to do as I tell you. Now give me your hands.’ Grimson put them behind his back, and turned his face away.

Oh Great. Remind me never to have kids
, he thought and snorted mirthlessly.
Like that’s going to happen here.

‘Do as you’re told!’ Grimson’s eyes widened in shock at the harsh tone. ‘Now, give me your hands.’

Grimson slowly held them out. Arn pulled his headband from his head, and unwound it. He then grabbed the young Wolfen’s hands, and tied the wrists together. After much arguing, and a few choice curses, the youth finally understood what was expected. Arn carefully knelt and then looped the boy’s tied arms over his neck. He stood up, Grimson hanging down his back.

Surprisingly, and thankfully, light, he thought. A year ago, exercise was something the jocks did, while he just watched. Now, he lived it. Arn looked up at the rock face again, grabbed Grimson’s swinging legs and wrapped them around his waist. He drew in a deep lung full of air, and leaped up a few feet to the first handhold. His fingers stuck, and he wedged his toe into a crack.