The Blackhawks Impossible Quest

by Michael Siddall

  ‘What... in the name of all that’s sacred to the man-gods... is that?’ asked Julia, fear in her eyes.

  ‘It's a warning! It’s the image of Beghalla. An immense thing, spawned from the depths of the Netherworld,’ whispered Jabna. The words had hardly left his lips when another sharp frightening hiss ripped through the still air and a giant black shadow loomed over them all. Beghalla, appeared from out of the sun, snatched up Rogan and carried him off. He yelped for help.

  Suddenly, there was a dreadful ear-shattering roar and something the size of a small hill plucked Beghalla from the sky. It released Rogan immediately. He fell through the treetops; back down onto the hard ground with a bump, while the newcomer devoured Beghalla in two great bites. The thing spat out the skeleton with a rich burp.

  *

  Rogan awoke several hours later. He was laid on his face on the floor, inside a crudely built wooden cage, lashed together with strips of dried animal hide, bound tightly at the corners, top and bottom. The cage was beside of a mound of mud. A bird chirped merrily in his ear.

  He rolled to one knee and climbed to his feet, placing his head between the bars, craning his neck to the limit, fixing his gaze upon the terrifying sight of at least a dozen severed heads impaled on wooden stakes. He stared in utter horror. Their mouths were hanging open as if screaming. The painful expression on their terrified faces said it all. Something had skinned them alive and eaten them, leaving just the heads for trophies. He was paralysed with fear. This is turning out to be a very bad day. Please be a nightmare and let me wake up in a moment, he thought, backing away from the bars. He closed his eyes trying to rid his mind of the dreadful sight.

  He had absolutely no idea where he was, or who had imprisoned him. All he knew for sure was that whoever had captured him, probably had every intention of eating him too, using his head as some sort of trophy like the others.

  Meanwhile, Oliviana and her friends were searching the undergrowth looking for Rogan. They had fled to safety while Zuel was making a meal out of Beghalla. ‘Rogan, where are you?’ shouted Oliviana, forcing her way through the tall grass. There was no reply, but they kept on searching and calling to him, hoping that he had survived his long fall. Last, ran around in a frenzy, zipping here and skipping there, and he was moving so fast that he was just a noisy blur. The others could hardly see him as he cut a wide swath through the windswept grass.

  ‘Slow down, you’re making me dizzy,’ demanded Jabna. ‘You’ll never find him that way. You’re just destroying everything. Including any clues to his whereabouts.’

  Last didn’t slow down. If anything he speeded up, laughing loudly.

  ‘This is impossible,’ said Julia, furiously searching the undergrowth. ‘We’ll never find him.’

  ‘Maybe he’s hurt and can’t answer us,’ said Sama, prodding the surrounding hedges and bushes vigorously with a long stick. ‘Falling from a height like that he could even be dead.’

  ‘Be quiet,’ said Oliviana, putting a finger to her lips. Then she gazed through the fabric of the forest wilderness as if in a trace. ‘He’s not dead. I can see him in my minds-eye. Zuel’s got him locked up in a wooden cage.’

  ‘Can we help him?’ asked Sama.

  ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ she replied, stalwartly. ‘Just follow me and keep close. And no matter what happens, be quiet when we get to within sight of Zuel’s camp. That goes for you too Last. This is going to be dangerous enough without any of your silly thoughtless antics.’

  Last’s strange face twisted as if caught in a vice and his bottom lip came up and covered his rosy cheeks and sparking black eyes. It was his way of ignoring her. And she knew it.

  ‘Oh, this is wonderful! We’re going on a rescue mission! How exciting is that?’ said Julia eagerly. However, fear still shone in her eyes.

  ‘Shut up you soppy thing,’ cried Jabna, looking scared. ‘We could all end up dead. That’s not exactly an inspiring thought.’

  Julia thumbed her nose, turned and buzzed her wings at him.

  Oliviana beckoned for her friends to follow her. And off they went in search of Rogan, knowing that if the giant Mud Troll caught them, they would suffer a terrible end to their short lives. A fate worse than death.

  Chapter 13

  It was now dusk. Rogan was still busying himself trying to escape the cage. He could smell roasting flesh and was imagining himself as the next unfortunate victim. He tried everything he could to escape from his incarceration, but to no avail. Sometime earlier, he had noticed his belongings at a distance of only a few paces away, but the giant had obviously relieved him of his property, just in case he could make a getaway by using any of it.

  Now what, he thought, staring up at the rock perched on top of the trap door of the cage. There’s no way out. I’m going to die painfully and horribly with my skin torn from my body and my head hacked off.

  ‘Loden, if there’s a solution to my predicament, please let me find it,’ he whispered, ‘for surely my journey will end this very day if there isn't one.’

  At that precise moment – as if in answer to his prayer – Oliviana and the others came into view. They crept stealthily towards him from a nearby gully. He couldn’t believe his good luck. He began rattling the bars of the cage. ‘I’m trapped over here. Can you get me out?’ he shouted, searching for a weak spot in the cage.

  Slowly and carefully they climbed the steep slope, moving warily among the rocks and bones littering the camp-site, making their way over to Rogan. He looked decidedly worried.

  Oliviana was the first to reach the cage. Taking his hand she squeezed it gently. ‘How can we help,’ she asked, her eyes firmly fixed on the leather bindings of the cage.

  Suddenly, a dreadful blood-curdling roar came from somewhere not too far away and the ground trembled. Rogan could see vibrations in the small pools of blood scattered around on the ground and could feel the earth shake beneath his feet. Something gigantic was approaching. He swallowed hard. ‘It’s… it’s too late the giant’s coming back,’ he stammered. The fear in his eyes turned to pure terror. ‘Give me the longbow quickly, it’s my only chance.’

  ‘There’s no time for that,’ said Oliviana. ‘The giant will be here in a heartbeat. I have an idea that might just work.’

  ‘Oh, I do hope it’s a good idea,’ Rogan whispered back. He watched them all join hands, forming a circle.

  ‘Keep quiet and don’t move. And no matter what happens in the next few moments, don’t do anything. Even if you think you’re going to die!’ she demanded. They all closed their eyes and began to hum quietly.

  Rogan stared in puzzlement. ‘This is a fine time for party tricks,’ he whimpered. ‘We’re all going to die and you five want to play ‘ring of roses’.

  ‘Silence!’ she scolded. ‘I need to concentrate. This is our only hope!’

  Rogan didn’t have a clue what they were doing. He said nothing more, knowing he didn’t have too many choices. ‘Oh, ye of little faith,’ he whispered, pressing himself up against the back of the cage. He closed his eyes and began to hum in unison with the others. And just as Zuel came lumbering awkwardly into view. They all disappeared.

  Rogan felt strange. Light headed. As if his body was floating somewhere else, not of their world. He opened his eyes fleetingly, and stared wide eyed at Zuel thundering his way. This is it, he thought. I’m going to die! He closed his eyes again, humming quietly. There was an angry roar and Zuel's hot breath rocked the cage. Rogan didn’t move or make a sound.

  The giant sniffed the air constantly and his red albino eyes widened. Leaning forward he peered inside the cage and roared louder. Unable to see Rogan, Zuel rolled the rock from the trapdoor and shook the cage violently. He turned it on its side, shaking it again. Sniffing the air, he could smell the bowman but couldn’t see him. He threw the cage across his encampment and it landed amongst the fierce-burning wood at the heart of his campfire. The bars of the cage began to glow red and then yellow as the resinous wood
immediately caught alight.

  Zuel lumbered awkwardly over to the cage. Picking it up, he opened the trap door and placed his clawed hand inside, missing Rogan by inches. When he couldn’t find him, he crushed the cage.

  Throwing it to the ground in frustration, Zuel lumbered off in search of his next victim, leaving the cage in tatters. Oliviana and her friends reappeared. They were still holding hands and humming. They let go of each other, breaking the circle. Rogan reappeared moments later. He was halfway out of the trap door of the crushed cage, cradling his head in his hands and groaning. His eyes had the troubled look of a hunted animal. ‘When the giant was glaring into the cage, it never occurred to me that I was invisible and he couldn’t see me. I just thought he wanted to kill and eat me.’

  ‘We were lucky this time. The cloak of invisibility concealed us all,’ said Oliviana.

  He pulled himself free of the cage and climbed back to his feet, dusting himself down. ‘Well, that certainly could have turned out a lot worse than it did,’ he said, having suffered minor cuts and bruises for his troubles.

  With Zuel gone, all was calm and quiet now. It was a fine night and stars were twinkling overhead. Oliviana seized Rogan’s hand and wrung it cordially. ‘You’re a fine warrior and a true blue-blood,’ she said. ‘There’s not many who would share our danger and put their own lives at risk.’

  He looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean? You saved me. I was the one about to die!’

  Oliviana smiled knowingly. ‘You were merely the bait to catch us,’ she announced. ‘That’s why Zuel beat a hasty retreat when he couldn’t find you in the cage. The heads on the sticks were our sisters and brothers. We five are the last of our kind. We couldn’t let you suffer in our stead.’

  He wiped the sweat from his brow and laughed. ‘Well, I’ll be damned.'

  Oliviana and her friends laughed too. ‘We’re just glad you’re safe and well,’ they said with one voice, ‘and now we must go. However, should you pass this way again on your travels; we would hope that you would make yourself known to us.

  Rogan nodded and strode over to where his belongings lay. Picking them up, he slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder, placed the lamp into his waistband, shook each of their hands and bid them farewell. He marched briskly off toward the towers and spires at the centre of the island, leaving Oliviana and her friends behind him. They waved until he was out of sight and then disappeared into the depths of the dark forest, whistling merrily and laughing heartily because they had done a good deed.

  Now Rogan made rapid progress through the night with an unerring instinct, over the rugged, narrow footpaths, leading toward the jagged battlements, even though it was a bewildering route for anyone who was not accustomed to the island wilderness. Towers and spires loomed over him through the darkness, one of which soared a thousand feet high or more. Black, stern and menacing against the bright triple-moons there stood a solitary sentinel. Rogan could see the lonely watcher fingering his spear as he peered out across the horizon. He decided to sleep beneath one of the spires. And when morning finally broke and the giant sun climbed high in the sky, a scene of spectacular and savage beauty lay before him. Now he realised that this was the infamous Black Tower of Kolosso he had been told stories of as a young blue-blood. He had listened intently to, and remembered every word spoken of, Emperor Kliest and his rituals of cruelty. And of his infamous protector, the half-creature, half-man-god known as the Taurious.

  It was common knowledge in Kolosso that Kliest had scored a great victory over his enemy, Emperor Athon of Falco, the latter then made to send ninety young males and ninety young females each year as a sacrifice to Taurious, dwelling in the notorious Dark Maze at the base of the Black Tower. It was also said that the great warrior Sethus had killed the original Protector some years earlier, but its offspring now lurked murderously in the great halls and secret passageways of the giant tower – growing bigger, stronger and more deadly with each passing year.

  Rogan had a strong feeling that his first objective was to locate the hidden maze and kill the fearsome Protector, so that there would be no more sacrifices. His next task, he suspected, would be to find Emperor Kliest's throne and one of the sacred Firestars, thus signalling to the man-gods that he had begun his quest in earnest.

  It was early morning now. And as Rogan entered the city gates, there was hardly a soul to be seen on the streets, except for a few Nathiran beggars. Not a bird twittered, nor a cat meowed and there were no oxen, no sheep, nor any sign of a single trader who might want to buy or sell his wares. This is very strange, he thought. For when he had last visited Kolosso, the streets had been bustling with traders and visitors. Now the whole place seemed deserted. Dead.

  Ponderously he marched up the extravagantly built colonnade towards the Black Tower. Small fragrant saplings lined his route under a bright red sun. He headed towards a vast courtyard at a distance of some eight hundred paces or more, and could see bronze statuettes erected everywhere in a square parade. Then he strolled up a lengthy footpath, past row upon row of towering pillars and tall bean trees, where he halted beneath the colossal bronze sculpture of the once mighty, but long dead Sethus. It was turning mildew from a lack of care. He stared up at the face within the war-helmet and thought of the many legends surrounding the great hero.

  He was the brains behind the Siege of Yonska, and had effectively ended the Shadowland Wars by introducing into their midst – in the guise of a religious offering – a giant bronze statue of himself, filled with his own warriors, thereby capturing the great city. And although it took him two long years to return home, he had many bizarre adventures and visited many strange lands. Rogan stared at the platform on which the statue was stood. There was no visible inscription other than the name. But then the name spoke volumes.

  He walked on, entering a vast courtyard, scanning the whole area, listening for any sound no matter how slight it might be. However, there wasn’t a soul to be seen. He made his way swiftly across the courtyard, past the many sculptures of legendary heroes with sightless eyes that seemed to watch him, until the moment when he stood silently beneath the shadowy entrance of the Black Tower, residence of Emperor Kliest – a malignant cancer to the region and an unprincipled tyrant. The great doors lay wide open as if to invite him in.

  A cold wind whispered into the tower and a draught chilled his neck as he entered. Passing through dimly lit chambers he climbed awkward staircases, navigated winding passages, slipped silently through twisting corridors and hallways, until finally he realised he was completely lost. Exhausted, he leaned his back against a pillar, watching a heavy bead curtain blowing in the wind, and he could hear songbirds singing from cages of gold filigree, further down the hallway, lined by pots of rare pink orchids.

  ‘Hello! Is there anyone here?’ he called. His voice echoed eerily throughout the halls of the great tower and faded into silence.

  ‘Hello!’ he shouted again, watching the flame shadows of the brightly burning torches dancing on the walls.

  Then, it suddenly dawned on him where everybody would be at this time of day, at this time of year. Everyone would be in the market square giving thanks to the man-god Nepheria, because tomorrow the whole fishing fleet would go out for the first summer haul. It made him feel calmer. However, what he didn’t know as he began searching for the throne room was that behind each door he opened was a dark secret. One door in particular was deadly.

  Unaware of the danger, he strode down each corridor, opening each door. Until finally he stopped. He turned to face the last one. There was a small sign on the door, which read: EVIL LURKS WHERE YOU LEAST EXPECT IT. He put an ear to the door and listened. There was a knocking sound like that of a frightened heartbeat. And it was growing louder and louder. There were whispered words that quickened in pace. Trembling and breathless, he drew his sword. He grasped the handle and turned it. His heart raced and pounded. And the walls of his chest seemed to thrill and quiver.

  He opened the door li
ttle by little. His eyes were wide. His breath caught in his throat. The knocking stopped. The whispered words were silent. Then a huge spike slammed into the door missing him by inches. He nearly fainted. But then he breathed a sigh of relief and was pleasantly surprised at his good fortune, when his eyes lit upon a jewel-encrusted throne.

  Warily, he stepped through the doorway into a gaudily decorated, dimly lit room and marched across the mosaic floor tiles, heading towards the ceremonial seat of power. The throne is huge and worth a king’s ransom, he thought, noting every single Firestar. He climbed the three steps and sat in it. Handsomely crafted and elegant it was. He began to daydream about what it would be like to conquer an empire, or build a colossal monument like the Black Tower – on a whim. What does it feel like to wield such power, he wondered. He couldn’t even imagine.

  Suddenly, the door closed behind him with a bang, jolting him back to reality. He jumped to his feet. Dust and cobwebs filled the air. Now he could feel the ghosts of a thousand centuries flowing about him and hear voices again. The woodwork creaked and the stone walls groaned. Yet there was no one there. He pulled the hidden dagger from the scabbard inside his left boot and carefully prized a plumb-sized jewel from the centre of the throne.

  Suddenly and without any warning, the floor beneath his feet gave way and the world fell from under him. He disappeared into the darkness below, falling with wild cries and prayers for mercy from the man-gods, his voice echoing great shock. He crashed down through eight levels like a great boulder, only escaping a terrible death when he smashed into something with a soft yielding nature. Dizzy and dazed, he lay staring up at the hole in the ceiling with dreamy lack-lustre eyes. He felt his head spin and he lingered where he lay, for now he was hurt, footsore and weary; having snatched only a few hours’ sleep in the last few days. With a grim white face he finally climbed free of the debris, and a vague nameless dread came over him when his eyes fell upon something which made every nerve in his body tingle. ‘Man-gods of truth and goodness… forget not thy servant,’ he whispered.