Return of the Ancients (29 page)

‘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 Arnold 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.

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.

Anticipating Arn’s next question, Balthazar pointed to where the water flowed into the tunnel. ‘The river travels underground, and we have placed a gate across the tunnel. Have no fear: no Panterran will be sneaking up on us. Besides, they can’t stand water.’

Arn nodded, watching the river as it swirled away into the darkness.

*****

Once again Arn found himself seated before the sealed doors of the king’s main hall. He and Eilif sat together on a polished wooden bench, and Arn rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. He looked across at Eilif’s face – she seemed calm, but her breathing was rapid.

‘Are you afraid?’

The silver blue eyes turned to him. ‘Afraid?’ She seemed to think for a moment. ‘Of dying? No. Of living, yes, if it meant a lifetime of Panterran oppression.’

Arn starred at her for a few seconds, wondering at the depths of her people’s desire for freedom. He knew there were always things worth fighting for . . . and dying for – his own heritage had taught him that. He rubbed his face and then ran his fingers up through his long hair.

She put her hand on his shoulder, and shrugged. ‘Perhaps the Panterran were created to provide some sort of balance in the world – light against dark, good to bad, peace and war. She sighed and sat back. ‘Perhaps we are not supposed to know peace. Perhaps, from time to time, we Wolfen need war to remind us of where it was we came from – born of pain and fire. I think that ruling a land is not a right, and it must be fought for every single day. My father taught me that.’ She turned to him. ‘Did your people know peace, Arn?’