Valkeryn 2: The Dark Lands (3 page)

One small step, for a “Man-Kind”
, he thought as he pulled himself higher.

Hours passed, sometimes fast, sometimes agonizingly slow. If he was lucky he’d find a slight jutting bulge of stone that supported his entire weight, and he’d gratefully rest for a few minutes.

He missed his headband, as rivulets of sweat ran down his face and into his eyes, and more worryingly, coated his fingers and palms. Grimson hung on tight, and gave a running commentary on where next to place his hands, or which angle to start moving across. It all helped, and he tried hard not to think about the dizzying heights right behind them.

So far, they had made it just halfway across the raw scar on the rock face. Soon they would be able to ease down the fifty or more feet back to their path. Arn leaned in against the stone and relaxed slightly. He turned his face so the sunshine and breeze could dry some of the perspiration running into his eyes.

Arn sucked in air and blew it out. Right now he needed to focus. They were at the most dangerous point of the climb. The stone above the rock fall, where they clung, might also slide away, and as the rock face below them was gouged smooth, there was nothing to cling onto. It would be one long fall on their way down to the ground.

Arn stopped again and sucked in more air. His arms and shoulders screamed with pain from the exertion. He wished it was night, so the glow of the moon would fill him with the strange unnatural strength he felt every time it rose. He leaned his head against the rock, and inhaled its clean dry scent of sand, earth, and the hundred different minerals that had come
from miles below the surface of the Earth.

Whispered words came to him.

[Give up]

‘Huh?’ He opened his eyes.

[It’s all only a dream. Let go]

It was the sly voice in his head again – the creeping demon of doubt that had first appeared when he had crossed the wasteland, and obviously still lurked in the dark corner of his mind, hoping to undermine him when he was at his most vulnerable.

[You can make it if you let go… of the child]

He gritted his teeth. ‘Never!’

‘What? What is it? Grimson brought his face around close to Arn’s, his nose cold and pressing into his cheek.

‘It’s nothing. Just, nothing.’ Arn closed his eyes again, and licked dry lips. His arms now vibrated from the strain. ‘It’s just… I’m stuck. I can’t…’

Grimson leaned back an inch and lifted his head. ‘Odin, father of us all, give the great Arnoddr Sigarr your mighty strength so we may cross the mountain.’

[He’s too heavy. Cut him loose or he’ll kill you both]

Arn felt one of his hands slip just as Grimson shifted his weight, the youth leaning back even further as he yelled more prayers to the sky.

[Who will know? Who will care?]

This time the voice ended with a small, cruel laugh.

No, please, no.
Arn squeezed his stinging eyes shut after the silent plea. His eyes burned, either from the sweat or from tears that were starting to form. Help me!

Tuweni Iyayekiy.

Arn opened his eyes.

TUWENI IYAYEKIY!

The furious words pulled Arn’s face back from the rock. It was his grandfather’s voice, deep, confident, angry. The old man’s words were in the ancient tongue.

Tuweni Iyayekiy
– never surrender.

‘I will never surrender.’ Arn tensed, then sprang, leaping across five feet of space to the next handhold. His teeth were gritted and his lips pulled back. He roared as he willed a bolt of aggressive energy into his fatiguing muscles. His body slammed hard and he clung to the rock, his fingers digging into the tiniest of cracks.

‘There.’ Grimson pointed with his long nose to the next small shelf. Arn swung again while he had the will and a few ounces of strength. He could feel his overworked heart slamming against his ribs, but he dare not stop now. He looked along the rock face, and waited while Grimson searched out the next foot or handhold he could use.

They’d make it; he knew in his soul now that the worst was over. While he clung, waiting, a shadow passed over him.

Arn frowned. It had moved far too quickly for it to be a cloud – a bird maybe? He pulled his head back, and as he half turned, the youth clinging to his back screamed. The darkness flicked by him again, this time catching an impression of something dark and leathery soaring past.

‘What was that?’

Grimson clung to him even tighter. ‘I don’t know, but it’s big and it’s coming back.’

‘Hang on.’ Arn scrabbled up a few feet to another fissure in the stone, but resisted the temptation to rush. He couldn’t afford to get jittery now – one small slip, and it’d be all over for both of them. ‘Keep watching it.’

‘I need my blade.’ Grimson was becoming frantic on his back.

‘Stay still!’ Arn remembered he had tied the Wolfen’s hands together so he could not let go and fall, but the kid obviously felt he needed his silver blade to protect himself against whatever was taking an interest in them.

With a thump something landed on the rock face beside Arn. He sucked in his breath, and his overworked heart felt like it missed a few very vital beats.

Long claws dug into the stone, and glistening obsidian eyes were fixed on them from within a gargoyle face. Greasy dark fur surrounded a leaf-shaped nose, and a mouth filled with needle-like teeth. As big as a man, it clung to the rock beside Arn. Its enormous arms were cloaked with membranous wings, now hanging beneath its body.  Arn saw it lift its head in their direction and he heard it sniff the air, taking in more of their scent. It scrabbled a few inches closer.

‘Get outta here! Shoo!’ Arn worked his mouth and spat at the creature. The giant bat-thing just dipped its head, and flicked out a thin black tongue to lick at the spittle. It edged closer.

Arn half turned his head. ‘What the hell is it?

Grimson was shivering on his back. ‘I don’t know, but it has the smell of a meat eater. It’s going to attack us, I need my arms free.’

Arn’s whipped his head back the way they’d come. His brain whirled; he couldn’t move back, and the creature blocked their path. He couldn’t use his arms to fight the thing, as he was barely hanging on as it was. He was loath to untie the youth’s arms. One slip, and he’d lose him.

There was scrabbling on the rock face again, as the creature edged closer. Arn was out of options. He doubted the thing would be able to lift them from the rock face, but judging by its teeth, he reckoned it could probably rip a good-sized piece of meat from Grimson. He made a decision.

‘Okay, put your hands in front of my face and get ready.’ Grimson did as he was instructed, and Arn reached forward to pull at the knot with his front teeth.

‘Hurry,’ Grimson said.

The thing edged sideways and craned its neck to within a few feet of them. Arn could hear the sniffing again. Perhaps, like a true bat, it was better adjusted to darkness, and its eyes were near useless during the daytime hours. He might be able to use that weakness… if he got the chance.

Another thump from above, and loose rock rained down on them.

‘Great Odin; it’s another one.’

Arn remembered the dark holes in the rock face. They had probably been climbing right into the creatures’ hunting ground. Arn ripped with his teeth and the cloth headband pulled loose. He used his mouth to reposition the knot and tugged again. This time the ball of material pulled apart, and he felt one of Grimson’s clawed hands grab a length of his hair to hang on. The other he dropped to his scabbard, to pull free his short silver blade.

Arn watched as the cloth headband fell away and then soared up past them as the updraft caught the material, and like a frightened bird it sailed up and up towards the rim of the cliffs.

Arn was momentarily distracted as he envied its freedom. Grimson swung hard against his back as he slashed at the creature. ‘Ha!’

It ducked out of the way and made an unsettling chittering sound, snapping its needle-filled mouth at the youth. But at least the thing backed up a fraction. More debris rained down on them as the one above inched closer while they were preoccupied.

The first creature reached out a leathery wing with a long dark talon at the end, trying to hook the youth from Arn’s back; he leaned away, and the young Wolfen continued to swing his arm and the blade back and forth. The bat thing merely pulled back a fraction, watching the blade, and waiting.

‘Keep your arm away from it. Those claws will rip you to pieces. We need to move; hang on!’ Arn swing towards the thing, causing it to release its grip on the wall, and peel away. It
glided backwards for a second or two and then looped around, landing another twenty feet further along from them. It titled its head, watching Arn and Grimson as they edged across the sheer rock face for another few seconds, and then launched itself off the wall again.

When the thing took off, Arn lost sight of it. He concentrated on moving quickly but carefully. Grimson had repositioned himself, scissoring his legs even tighter around Arn’s waist, and holding tight to a lock of his long hair, almost riding his back, as he bounced and waved his blade at the giant bat-like thing hanging above them.

Light and dark, light and dark – the sun was being blocked and then revealed as the thing circled them. Arn tried to move a little quicker, and wished he could wipe the streaming sweat from his face, when a smashing thump to his back crushed him to the rock face. The light was completely blotted out, and he was enveloped in a revolting acrid smell that was a mix of raw meat and feces. His arms were pinned and enfolded as what looked like long black fingers wrapped around his arms.

The vermin-ridden thing was blanketing him and Grimson with its wings. From under the membranous cloak there was frantic movement, a mad chittering from the creature and snarling from the Wolfen. Arn yelled Grimson’s name, bucking and wriggling as much as he could to try and dislodge the thing using him as a perch before it could lift Grimson free from his back. He could already feel the tugging of the youth’s legs at his waist.

The small Wolfen snarled and slashed, and he heard two sets of jaws snapping closed in a fight to the death. Grimson must have slashed his blade upwards as a jet of black blood sprayed the wall next to him, but was quickly followed by a chilling scream of Wolfen pain.

Grimson whined into his ear, and instead of struggling, he wrapped his other arm around Arn’s neck, the fight gone
from him.

Arn cursed and tried to launch his head backwards to strike the thing, but already it had lowered its gargoyle face to the Wolfen’s exposed neck and back. Arn had sworn to the king he would protect his son, and he would be damned if he lost him so soon. He sucked in another deep breath, and dug one of his hands as far into a near crack in the rock face as he could. He then balled his hand into a fist creating a lock that would only be free if he opened his hand, or lost most of the skin on his fist. With his other hand he reached down to his own blade, like Grimson’s, but longer and more formidable.

Grimson’s long face was now buried at Arn’s neck, as he tried to shut out the pain and fear of an attack from behind. His fight was over, and like an injured animal facing an approaching predator he waited meekly for his death.

Arn felt an explosive anger boil up inside him. He pulled his blade free, holding it pointed backwards, and then swung it in a single thrust up behind him, judging as best he could where the young Wolfen ended, and the belly of the beast began.

There was a satisfying feeling of resistance and penetration, and then a hot spray onto his knife-hand and an accompanying cough of pain. The creature stopped moving and peeled away from his back, dragging the long blade from his hand.

Arn whipped his empty hand around to secure Grimson and looked over his shoulder, seeing the thing fall to the ground, many hundreds of feet below. The creature’s companion hung above them, watched it plummet for a minute, and then launched itself after the wounded beast. Arn doubted it followed out of any sense of kinship, but was instead tracking an easier meal.

‘Are you okay?’ Arn waited for a response, and only after he asked the question a second time, there came a feeble answer.

‘I hurt.’

Arn nodded to himself, as the youth still had his face buried at Arn’s neck. He carefully unlocked his fist, removing his bleeding hand from the crevice, and laid his forehead against the cool stone of the rock face for a few seconds. He exhaled and licked his dry lips.

‘It’s okay, Grim; we’re safe now.’ Arn didn’t believe it for a second.

Chapter 3

Come the Valkeryies

Sorenson tried to open his eyes. One was stuck closed, the lid glued with drying blood. The stench of opened bodies filled his nostrils; under him, on top of him, all around him.  He was still on his battlefield, now piled high with corpses – many of them his enemies, but mostly his own brother and sister Wolfen.

He tensed his muscles, trying to sit up, but the weight of the dead kept him flat to the ground. He blinked some more and breathed in deeply, trying to regain some strength. He knew he was also wounded, but the damage to his own body was nothing compared to the hacked limbs of those around him.

Am I all that is left?
he wondered in despair. As the rest of his senses slowly returned to him, his spirits lifted as he heard voices. Wolfen! Then he froze. There was also the Panterran tongue – the vile Slinkers were near. He drew up one arm, and carefully pushed some broken limbs away so he could see. His spirits sunk low when he saw the Lygon – like massive orange and black tree trunks – standing guard over a line of his kin kneeling before them. Chains bound them together, and their arms were lashed behind their backs. All were stripped of their armor, their battered evidence of a valiant fight, but he now realised, one that had been in vain.

His warrior pack was forced to kneel before the Panterran, while the ogrish Lygon ensured the torture and torment progressed uninterrupted. Sorenson felt a knot in his gut; as captives of the Panterran and Lygon, they could expect no mercy. But despite their injuries, all kept their heads high, their unblinking, defiant gaze on the massed creatures before them. In return, the Panterran cowards, the vile, spitting, and whining assassins with yellow eyes and small goblin faces full of needle sharp teeth permanently pulled into a sneer, fought with each other for a turn to humiliate, taunt or torture their Wolfen prisoners.