Return of the Ancients

Chapter 35 What Happened to My People?

After returning to the castle, Arn was led to his room, and found it filled with food. He suddenly remembered he hadn’t eaten in days, and gorged himself until his stomach felt like it was going to split. Then he undid his belt and lay on the bed.

He breathed deeply. Safe… again, he thought. Then his thoughts turned to home, and he wondered about his parents, Edward and, of course, Becky. He imagined her long hair, and as she turned and smiled at him, he saw her eyes were silver blue, and her face was covered in fur…

Arn shook the image from his head and rubbed his face, feeling the dirt and grease on his skin. His clothes itched, and looking across to a low bench near the window, he saw that there was a cloth and a large bowl of water.

I should at least wash my face, and under my arms, he thought. He closed his eyes for a second. Maybe, I’ll just wash my face…

He slept for nearly a day.

He awoke to find Morag removing the remains of his meal, and wishing him a good day. The sun was already high in the sky and Arn reckoned it must have been close to noon. He sat up and eyed the cold leftovers as they were taken away, feeling hungry once again.

Morag returned with a pile of towels. ‘And now, sir… Bath.’ She dropped a sack onto the ground. ‘And please put all your clothes into this bag.’

Arn laughed. ‘Do I smell that bad? Are you going to burn them?’

Morag laughed in return. ‘Yes, and yes.’

He stopped laughing, suddenly feeling a little awkward. He had no idea how he really smelled to the Wolfen. They had an undoubtedly excellent sense of smell, so for all he knew, his odour was totally repulsive. He started peeling off layers and dropping them into the open sack.

Morag watched him carefully, seeming to sense his embarrassment. ‘It’s the Slinker smell. We can’t stand it.’

Of course, he thought. Just as the Slink… Panterran couldn’t stand the smell of the Wolfen.

‘Can I ask you something? Have the Wolfen and the Slinkers ever been friends? Have you ever tried to make peace with them?’ Arn wrapped a small towel around his waist.

Morag’s face grew dark and she stared for a moment as if thinking carefully. She nodded slowly.

‘Yes, we have tried. We have tried treaties, sent emissaries, entire peace delegations; for many centuries we have tried, but nothing has worked. Nothing ever works with them.’

‘What happened?’

‘Wolfen die. Always the Wolfen die.’ She hefted the bag and straightened. ‘Their hatred runs deep. They do not want peace; they want only one thing — a world without us.’

‘I’m not so sure. I think there may be some…’ Arn closed his mouth. He saw the sadness in her eyes, and wondered whether she had lost someone in their eternal war. And we thought we had differences, Arn thought.

Morag pushed open the door and held it for him, waiting to lead him to the bath chamber.

Arn raised his hand. ‘I know the way. Thank you.’

She smiled, then headed in the opposite direction down the stone corridor. Arn passed a few other Canite females in the corridor, who stopped to stare, or held hands up over their faces to titter at his hairless body.

The bath chamber was once again filled with steam, and a large tub filled with soapy water. New clothes were laid out once again — he noticed this time there was a dagger already hanging in the scabbard.

Someone cleared their throat from within the cloud of mist, and Arn’s eyes were drawn to the other side of the chamber. Balthazar emerged from the steam like an apparition made solid. He bowed to Arn, then smiled and stepped to one side, gesturing to another figure standing mute behind him.

Arn gasped — it was him — moulded from clay. Just like the mould of the Lygon, Balthazar had crafted a likeness of him in fantastic detail. Arn winced.

The likeness was naked.

‘What do you think, Man-kind? Is it not like an image in a looking glass?’

Arn bobbed his head from side to side. ‘It’s really good — the best I’ve ever seen. But where are my clothes?’

Balthazar looked confused for a second, then pointed to the pile laid out for Arn nearby.

‘No, I mean on the likeness?’

The court counsellor shrugged. ‘It is as you are, and as I observed you. Is it not correct in its anatomical detail?’

Arn pointed to the model’s middle. ‘Yeah sure, but I don’t really like that everything about me is on display. Can you… Uh, can you put some clothes on it?’

‘I suppose so. But the King and his family approve of it. They want it in their private gallery.’

‘The king?’

Balthazar nodded. ‘And the Queen.’

Arn screwed up his face as if in pain, and spoke the next words slowly. ‘And… Eilif?’

Balthazar nodded again, this time more vigorously. ‘Of course — she liked it the most. She said it was…’ He searched his memory for her exact words. ‘… Exciting.’

Arn groaned. ‘Just put some clothes on it… please. We Man-kind have a thing called modesty, and don’t like to walk around naked.’

Balthazar shrugged again, and gave a small surprised laugh. ‘And I thought that was just to stay warm without fur. Well, as you wish, young sir.’ He threw a sheet up over the statue, and sat down. ‘But until you arrived, we only had legends, and some old artefacts from the caves in the dark zones.’

Arn climbed into the bath, keeping his towel wrapped around his waist until the last moment. He wasn’t keen to give the counsellor any further glimpses of his anatomy, which might make for future art or science exhibitions.

He relaxed into the hot water, closing his eyes and sighing as his knotted muscles unwound. His eyes flicked open.

‘Caves, artefacts?’ He turned to look at Balthazar. ‘You mentioned those before, and… Vidarr, the archivist. I need to speak to him — find out what really happened.’

Balthazar had the sheet off the model again, and was making some adjustments to Arn’s… bits. He spoke over his shoulder while he sculpted.

‘I can take you to him — or at least I can take you to where he should be. Actually finding him is another matter.’ Balthazar laughed and stood up. ‘Bathe, rest, and then eat. After that, if you still wish it, we shall try our luck.’ He nodded a farewell, and then left.

Arn sank lower in the water, and looked again at the clay model. ‘And you put some pants on as well.’ He closed his eyes.

Arn pushed his long hair back off his face and took a deep breath. Washed, clothed and fed, he felt human again. Human — I’m probably the only one in the world who feels that way now, he thought.

As he strode down the stone corridor looking for Balthazar, Eilif silently fell in beside him.

‘You smell nice again.’

‘Not a Slinker stinker anymore?’ He raised his eyebrows.

She laughed lightly at his words. ‘No, just the Arnoddr-Sigarr smell — nice.’

Arn looked her up and down. She wasn’t wearing any of the clothing she normally wore around the castle — no heavy velvets, satins or embroidered silks. Instead, she had on a similar outfit to that which she had worn when she had rescued him from the Slinkers — pants, leather vest, and a fine chain mail — light but formidable. Her outfit was finished off with a sword strapped to her belt.

‘You going out again?’ He reached out and pinched the material of her vest.

Eilif looked from his hand to his face. ‘Valkeryn is on a war footing now. All must be ready to fight at short notice.’

‘You’re seriously going to go into battle?’

‘Of course.’ She frowned, not understanding his question.

‘But you’re a princess.’

She knocked his hand away. ‘And just a female — is that it? I don’t know what females were like in—’

‘No, I mean that you’re royal. It is important for you to be safe, for the good of the Canite population’s morale. Will the king go into battle as well?’

‘Yes. The king is a great warrior. It would be a waste of his skill for him not to fight… and bad for the population’s morale.’

‘But what if he falls?’

She shook her head slowly. ‘The king may fall — but Valkeryn will not, must not. All know what to do. All must fight.’

Her eyes bore into his like chips of silver blue ice. He could see that she didn’t just believe she had to fight; she wanted to fight. After another few seconds, he nodded. She folded her arms and looked him up and down.

‘And where do you go in such a hurry, son of Man?’

Arn motioned down the corridor with his head. ‘Looking for Balthazar. He’s going to take me to the archives, where we hope to find Vidarr.’

‘Why?’

‘Looking for clues.’

She stepped closer to him. ‘What sort of clues?’

‘I’m looking for something—’

‘Like treasure, weapons or food?’ Her eyes lit up with excitement.

‘Something far more valuable than that, at least to me. I’m on the trail of what happened to my people.’ He started walking again.

She skipped a few steps to catch up with him. ‘I’m going to help. I think I’ll like looking for clues, and finding out what happened to your pack.’

Bergborr stepped back into the shadows.

Neither Arn nor Eilif paid any attention to the dark corridor as they passed it — both were too engrossed in each other’s company.

He stepped out again, knowing they wouldn’t see him. Why would they? he thought. She doesn’t even know I exist anymore — I might as well be vapour rising from a dying fire. His bitterness boiled inside him.

He peered around the corner. His mouth turned down in distaste, and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

The Slinkers should have finished him. The Man-kind needed to disappear, one way or another. Until then, Bergborr knew that he would be no more than an annoyance to the princess.

He shook his head. When the Man-kind first arrived, he had taken Eilif’s infatuation with the hairless creature as being one of simple curiosity. He shuddered. It was turning out to be much more. Moving back into the shadows, he leaned his head against the cold stone wall.

One way or another, he thought.

Arn and Eilif met Balthazar in the courtyard and he walked them to the castle keep — the most ancient structure within Valkeryn’s walls.

Arn was taken aback by the age-old building. While the walls, towers and castle of Valkeryn were old, it was still formidable and obviously well maintained. But this smaller structure reminded him of the old castles or temples that sit abandoned in unexplored jungles or on miserable hilltops in Scotland. The hard granite was weathered to a melted smoothness, and where once there were probably sharp spires and ornate carving it was now crumbled and degraded.

Arn imagined it had been a grand hall and set of rooms for the king and his family and perhaps that was about all. Maybe long ago there had been other buildings surrounding it for guards or servants, but now they were either long disintegrated or their bones had been incorporated into the massive edifice that Valkeryn had become.

Balthazaar turned to Arn.

‘In the first days of our empire, this was all that Valkeryn was. The main halls were built over a natural maze of tunnels and caverns that were further excavated down many levels. The lower we descend, the older the artefacts we find.’ He smiled. ‘The problem is, the tunnels are near endless, and the only lighting is what we carry. Without the archivist’s knowledge, a Wolfen could search for a lifetime… as Vidarr already has.’

Arn turned to Eilif. ‘Have you met this Vidarr?’

Eilif shrugged. ‘Maybe when I was younger, but I can’t recall him.’

Balthazar chuckled. ‘Not many have. He was old, even when I was a youth. And that was many, many years ago. Some say he is as old as Valkeryn itself, but that can’t be true, can it?’ He turned and winked at Arn.

Balthazar stopped at a huge wooden door, with a ring for a handle and heavy brass rivets, giving it a solid, armoured appearance. He raised his fist and knocked. A deep echo could be heard from within. The echo died away, and they waited. Nothing.

Balthazar looked at Arn, shrugged and then banged his fist once more. He leaned forward until his ear was against the wood. As before, there was no response, other than the lonely echo bouncing around the cavernous interior.

Balthazar took hold of the ring, first with one hand, then with both. The ancient metal mechanism grated and squealed, but eventually turned. He put his shoulder to the door. ‘Give me some assistance; this weighs more than a veldoxer.’

Arn had no idea what a veldoxer was, but guessed it was something heavy. He nodded to Eilif, and the three of them pushed on the door. There was a popping sound as the time-welded seals gave up their hold on the wood, and then the massive door swung slowly inwards, releasing a wave of odours — mouldy paper and mushrooms, or something else long dead.

‘Phew.’ Arn had his hand up over his nose. ‘When was the last time anyone saw Vidarr alive?’

Balthazar looked around slowly. ‘Ten years, maybe more — he never leaves. But wait, he’s here. Look.’

He pointed to a torch that was burning at the far end of the entrance hallway, its flame looking tiny in the enormous chamber.

Everywhere Arn looked, there were stacks of papers, books and scrolls, and bottles of things dried or floating in fluids. It resembled a cross between a magician’s workshop and a very disorganised library. He felt a cold draught; the chamber had arched doorways leading away in all directions.

‘Vidarr.’ Balthazar looked around, smiling, but tapped his foot impatiently. He raised his voice. ‘Vidarr, it’s Balthazar; I’ve brought someone interesting for you to meet.’

The three of them stood in silence, listening as the echo of Balthazar’s voice died away.

Eilif edged closer to Arn in the gloom. He felt her elbow touch his.

Balthazar was about to call again, when a shuffling sound swept through the silence. They turned, trying to find its source, but it seemed to be coming from all around them. Then it stopped.

‘Is it the young Man-kind?’

Balthazar laughed softly. ‘Perhaps. But you will have to come and see.’ He whispered to Arn, ‘Even though he spends his life within these dark and dismal walls, he misses little. Answer him truthfully, young Man-kind, and he may just help you.’

A small cough emanated from one of the arched doorways, and then the most ancient creature Arn had ever seen shuffled into the dim light. He barely came up to Arn’s shoulder, and he wore a robe that swept the floor behind him.

Arn felt Eilif take a small backwards step, and then she spoke softly into his ear. ‘Loki’s beard, he must be a hundred.’

Immediately the ancient creature responded, ‘I was over a hundred when Balthazar was but knee high.’ The words drew out into a wheezing sound that could have been a laugh. Balthazar bowed deeply.

‘Vidarr, I am honoured that you would join us.’ He straightened and motioned to Arn. ‘May I present a youthful representative of the Old Ones, the human race, the last of the Man-kind… Arnoddr-Sigarr.’

Balthazar stood aside, and Arn felt awkward and exposed. He bowed, not knowing what else to do.

‘Arnoddr-Sigarr? Do you know what that name means in our land?’ Vidarr shuffled forward.

Arn nodded. ‘I do now.’

‘And you came to us after falling through a magical doorway?’

Arn remembered what he told Balthazar when they first met. He nodded, and Vidarr grunted softly but didn’t look convinced. He kept his eyes on Arn as he shuffled lightly forward.

‘This door — is it still open now?’

‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. It might be; I mean, I certainly hope it is. And if that’s the case, then I expect my people are looking for me.’

Vidarr nodded. ‘Good. A race that cares when a single one of its kind is missing is a good race.’ He pinched Arn’s cheek, then his arm, then poked his chest — performing a quick examination. ‘And this magic door… How was it opened?’

Arn shrugged, but stayed still as the little Canite prodded and poked. Truthfully, he didn’t really understand all the science behind the technology at Fermilab, and had no idea how he could describe it to a medieval society of creatures. His explanation might end up sounding like sorcery — something attributed more to the Panterran.

‘Ah, it was an accident.’ He looked down at the ground, avoiding Vidarr’s gaze.

Vidarr gripped Arn’s forearm, and turned him sideways. ‘An atomic accident?’

Arn felt his breath lock in his chest, and he stared squarely into the eyes of the ancient creature. ‘How… How do you know about atomic energy?’

Vidarr chuckled softly in his wheezing manner and shuffled away towards the rear of the chamber. ‘Lots to discuss.’

He paused, and looked back at Arn silently for a few moments, then said, ‘Man-kind were a mighty race, or so legend has it.’ He paused again, closing his eyes and intoning softly, as if reciting scripture, ‘Not only will atomic power be released, but some day harness the rise and fall of the tides, and imprison the rays of the sun.’ He opened his eyes and smiled. ‘Do you recognise that, young Man-kind? You may have, because it was a human who said it… so long ago, that even his memory is now dust. Well, except to old things like me who keep all good memories alive.’

When Arn didn’t respond, he seemed to be a little deflated. ‘A Human-kind called Thomas Edison said it — have you heard of that one?’

Arn nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, of course. He was a great scientist and inventor. The father of the light bulb.’

Vidarr clapped his hands together, seemingly satisfied at last. ‘A great scientist from any species, I think. And did you?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Imprison the sun? Harness the tides?’

Arn pictured the enormous power of the machines he had seen at Fermilab. He thought of the energy of nuclear reactors, and laser power. He saw in his mind mighty dams built to hold back a trillion gallons of water, or steep-stepped canals allowing ships to sail across continents. He then remembered Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and Chernobyl. He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, yes I guess we did. But sometimes things didn’t always go to plan.’

Vidarr smiled. ‘Do they ever?’

Vidarr led them all to a large round table overflowing with ancient texts. He lit several candles, and shuffled off, returning almost immediately with a jug of liquid and several wooden mugs.

He poured a mug for Eilif first. ‘I was at your birth,’ he said to her. ‘You’ve grown into a strong and beautiful princess. You remind me a little of Queen Freya, and a lot of King Grimvaldr.’

He patted her shoulder. Next he served Balthazar.

‘And the Lygon, young Balt — is it true the Panterran have drawn those stumbling brutes from the dark lands?’

Vidarr was probably the only Canite in all of Valkeryn who was old enough to refer to Balthazar as ‘young’. The counsellor nodded gravely.

‘We fear they are literally at our door. Once again, war bares its teeth at us, old friend.’

Vidarr nodded. ‘Then some things need to be discussed, and some things need to be preserved in the event we are overrun.’

Finally, he came to Arn, who could smell the liquid’s underlying metallic odour, mixed with something sweet, something ripe. Honey, cloves and yeast, maybe, he pondered.

‘And you, Man-kind — you have come with questions, questions about yourself.’

Arn wondered at the perceptiveness of this little old creature that made him feel like an open book. The questions were on his lips, but Balthazar lifted his mug.

‘To Valkeryn, and the king.’

Arn raised his mug and sipped the heady brew — warm, gritty, yeasty-sweet. Not bad… but not good either. There was some underlying flavour he couldn’t quite pick out.

‘It’s called yogunburr,’ Vidarr offered — seemingly reading his thoughts again. ‘I brew it on the rooftops, so the sun can warm the vat. It’s also close to the pidhen roosts; their bodies help in the fermenting process.’

‘Magnificent,’ said Balthazar, smacking his lips. Even Eilif raised her mug in a salute. Vidarr went to pour them a little more.

Arn groaned inwardly; that was the extra ingredient he had detected — decay. He grunted and nodded… and put down his mug.

‘I do have questions,’ he said. ‘I believe my time was long ago, and the accident somehow threw me forward… to your time, this time. But there are no traces of humans having been here at all.’ Arn looked across the table to his friends. ‘Balthazar has told me of the legends, about man somehow rising up to the sky, in body or spirit. But I’d like to know if there is anything more substantial? Some kind of records?’

Vidarr sat down, leaned back and laced his fingers across his stomach. ‘Hmm, and there are other stories that tell of Man being released by a great fire. Perhaps the Great Fire that delivered the very first Wolfen.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I do not know. There are several ancient Man-kind texts and artefacts here, but nothing that provided an insight into the final days of your species.’

Arn sat thinking through Vidarr’s words. ‘Balthazar also mentioned that there are other libraries, other caves.’

The archivist nodded. ‘They are located in a remote and inhospitable region, well beyond the Valkeryn kingdom. Some are still sealed, and strange symbols mark the barriers that cannot be dented by the strongest Wolfen steel. Many generations have tried to enter, but none have succeeded. They must contain great secrets.’

Vidarr rose and leaned across the table, pulling a pile of papers and a stick of charcoal towards himself. He spent several moments scratching, rubbing and shading something on one of the yellowing pages, before holding it up and examining it carefully. Satisfied, he slid it across the table to Arn.

Arn felt a small thrill as he looked at the charcoal image. It was rough, but clear enough — a gauntleted fist holding a thunderbolt.

Could it be? he wondered excitedly. Could it be the military base at what was once North Aurora, where these very symbols were marked on the outside of the blast doors? If anything was going to be preserved, it’d be in underground bunkers like those.

Arn calculated his distances: Fermilab in Batavia was more than an hour’s bus ride from North Aurora. Mr. Jefferson usually pushed the bus at about forty to fifty miles per hour, so… It would be a long and difficult trek through the wild forest, but he had already made it out of the wasteland. He could find it.

He stared into the ancient Wolfen’s eyes, and held up the picture.

‘I know it.’