by Adam Browne
Nodding, Nurka looked around again; the centipede could be anywhere in this ashen fog. “Where’s Themba?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Madou growled painfully. “I lost him in the f-fff-fog. It all happened so fast.”
Nurka looked to where Howler Uther should be. The pipe was broken and the Howler was missing. Had the centipede taken him? Had it killed everyone?
“It’s m-mmm-mad, chief,” Madou stammered, as if reading Nurka’s mind. “It’s… mad from… imperium poisoning. It kills for the sake of killing. It was horrible.”
There came distant shouting, screams and the clashing of swords from elsewhere in the refinery.
“The Politzi!” Madou spluttered. “Chief, you must go!”
Nurka hushed him, “Rest easy, Chakaa. I have to find Themba-”
“But, Chief!”
“Don’t, Madou! And don’t you dare swallow your black-imperium capsule. I’ll not forgive you if you abandon me, do you hear? Swear to me you won’t!”
Madou, eventually, nodded, “I swear.”
Nurka patted his neck, “Hold on. I’ll be back.”
Notching an arrow to his bow, Nurka explored the choking atmosphere of the refinery like a hunter in a forest. He checked the bodies of his fallen comrades, searching for a hyena bigger than the rest. Themba stood out in a crowd to say the least, a mere glance was all Nurka needed – he was not amongst the dead, not here.
“Themba!” Nurka growled, as loud as he dared. He waited for a response, either from Themba or, if the Wind willed it, the centipede lurking somewhere. “Themba, where are you? It’s me, Nurka.”
A metallic footstep crunched on the gritty ground.
With a snort of alarm Nurka whipped round, bow taught. His purple eyes met the hazy figure of a Howler, no doubt about it. Nurka waited, heart pounding, tail flicking, expecting the attack, but none came.
The wolf stepped a little closer, emerging from the unnatural fog, rapier held loosely by his side. He was pure white, but dressed in black. “Your ally is in our custody,” he declared insipidly.
Nurka gasped back, “Themba?”
A nod.
“Where is he?” Nurka demanded, bowstring creaking.
“Safe,” the white wolf replied. “He surrendered to put a stop to this madness, as should you.”
“You lie!”
“Tell your comrades to stand down and we’ll deal with the sewer centipede. The survivors will receive medical care, you’ve my word-”
“And be tortured afterwards?” Nurka spat. “Sent to the mines? Executed? Hah!”
“That’s beyond my control, but deals can be made,” the Howler reasoned calmly. “You can strike an agreement with my superiors, I’m sure. Give yourself up for the sake of your followers. I’ll put in a good word.”
“Your words are as hollow and rotten as Lupa, Howler. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll kill you and as many of your corrupt kind as I can!”
“Then shoot.”
Nurka waited.
The Howler huffed, “How old are you, sixteen, seventeen?”
Nurka’s purple eyes narrowed. “Old enough,” he claimed.
“Old enough for the purple venom you’re taking to drive you round the bend yet? How clearly do you think Chakaa? How well do you sleep?”
“I’m ready to end it all, believe me-”
“By choking on your black-imperium capsule? Or will you rot with the black-imperium bomb you plan to set off somewhere?”
“You know nothing of THORN’s plans.”
“I know they’re despicable.”
Nurka flared up, “Do not speak to me of what’s despicable, you who oppress my whole race!”
There was a silence, but for distant battle.
“Every second we talk hyenas are dying,” the Howler went on. “You sound educated. You must realise that even a black-imperium bomb will hardly dent Lupa. You’ll perhaps pollute a district, make it uninhabitable. Big deal, the city will hardly notice. All you will do is blacken your people beyond redemption. You want change? So do I. Prove yourselves trustworthy and able, as Prince Noss tried to do before-”
“Don’t speak of him! You’ve not the right!”
“I’ve every right!” the wolf growled, adding, “We served together for years. I’m Ivan Donskoy. Perchance Noss mentioned me?”
Nurka’s eyes widened a little, “The Blade-dancer?”
“A daft epithet,” Ivan excused.
“But, you’re… a… a great warrior.”
“I’m just another Chakaa, brother, albeit in a different body to yours. I know your pain. Surrender, and I’ll do what I can for your followers; on my honour.”
Time passed. Slowly, imperceptibly, Nurka’s tense bow arm lowered somewhat.
“Drop it, Spotty,” someone growled from behind, as something cold and sharp tickled Nurka’s shoulder blades.
It was Uther, armed with Themba’s sword.
Ivan grumbled at him, “Uther, don’t.”
“I got him, sir,” Uther maintained, tapping Nurka’s back with the sword. “Drop the bow, scum. Nice n’ easy like.”
“Treacherous wolves,” Nurka spat, glaring at Ivan and keeping a firm hold of his bow. “You’ve not a shred of honour between you.”
Uther snarled more firmly, “Drop iiiit!”
Crack!
Amidst a bright flash and spurt of vapour from somewhere down low, Uther bent double. Without so much as a yelp the Howler fell on his side and rolled into a ball.
“Uther!” Ivan barked.
Down on the concrete ground, awash in his own blood, Madou let an imperium pistol fall from a trembling paw. With a final laugh he collapsed on his front.
Chakaa Nurka charged his arrow with a blast of plasma from his fingers and let it fly at Ivan – a bolt of shimmering blue. In the instant he had, Blade-dancer both jerked to one side and raised a paw. Nurka’s shining, plasmatic arrow veered unnaturally off into the fog, deflected by Ivan’s corona.
Quietly amazed, Nurka lowered his bow, letting it clatter to the floor along with his quiver. Pulling a short sword from a scabbard built into his thigh plate, he lunged to the attack, thrusting and swinging at Ivan. The Howler dodged nimbly aside and nicked Nurka on the arm with his delicate imperium rapier.
They parted, circled one another.
Stopping still and spacing his armoured legs, Nurka readied himself for another attempt.
“Grrraagh!”
Swinging high, then low, he tried to break Ivan’s defences with sheer force, but the wolf was too swift, his seemingly fragile rapier deflecting the hefty blows whilst his lithe, cloaked body weaved aside. His feet shuffled swiftly, lightly repositioning his weight with the skill of gymnast, a dancer.
Again they parted.
“You’re aptly named!” Nurka rasped, with a mad, wide-eyed cackle.
Ivan said nothing.
Another lunge, and, as his weapon met Ivan’s, Nurka summoned all his strength, every thought, every fibre of his being, as he had been taught. The imperious fire leapt down his arm and up his sword, exploding in a flash of light. Ivan was punched back by the force and tumbled head over tail. He rolled aside as Nurka followed and tried to stab him where he lay. Still on the ground, Ivan raised a paw at Nurka. The air bent and warped as his corona reached out and pushed Nurka stumbling against a tangle of pipes.
Ivan righted himself, as did Nurka, both breathing hard in the foggy silence.
No, not silent.
There came a clicking noise, echoing overhead.
Ivan moved in the nick of time, jumping back as a many-legged, segmented column of iridescent blue swooped down from the foggy ceiling like the bejewelled whip of some gaudy sky giant.
The centipede!
It was so long that its great body disappeared into the foggy ether above, but its rear-end was no doubt clinging to the refinery roof. It twisted and arced towards Ivan, its orange antennae flailing at him as he backed off.
Sl
owly the centipede lowered to the floor and started to trundle across the refinery. Once enough of its front legs were on terra firma, it released its hold on the ceiling and the rest of its mammoth body arced neatly down, legs clacking on the concrete like spears, almost stabbing Nurka, who had to scrabble away to one side.
With his bluish kristahl rapier held forth, Ivan reversed, paw over armoured paw, silent, waiting. The centipede crept after him as quickly as he backed away, its body undulating, poison barbs twitching either side of its head.
It lunged at Ivan, barbs agape! In the same breath, Blade-dancer thrust his sword forth, stabbing the centipede in the mandibles, right up to the hilt. The beast arced and twisted, flinging Ivan’s sword away, before sweeping down and around, barging him aside.
Ivan slammed into a wall of vertical pipes. Thinking fast, he slipped between them as the maddened centipede bore down on him. Its head smashed into the pipes, bending them like cardboard tubes and bumping Ivan forward. Stumbling into the wall opposite, Blade-dancer looked around; a machine to the right, a vat to the left and a sewer centipede behind.
He was trapped!
The silent centipede’s weighty feelers tore around Ivan’s cramped industrial cell, painfully whipping his cloaked body and clinking against his armour. The Howler backed into a corner to protect himself.
Drawing his pistol he fired. The pellet pinged off the centipede’s armoured brow and served only to madden it further. It pushed against the pipes, buckling them inwards, legs scraping over the metal.
Turning his helmeted head to one side to avoid being slapped by the whipping feelers, Ivan calmly tore open another cartridge to reload.
Outside in the refinery, Nurka left the centipede to its devices; bad luck for Ivan, good for him. Sheathing his sword he hurried over to Madou and rolled the hyena onto his back. Had he gone? He was lying motionless, dead if not heading that way. His lips had turned blue, poisoned by the centipede’s fangs no doubt.
“Madou,” Nurka seethed. “Madou!”
Nothing.
With a snarl of rage, Nurka found Uther amidst the carnage and dived on the wolf.
“Grrrrffffgh!” the Howler groaned.
He was shot and bleeding, a paw holding his raw ribs, but he was still alive.
The massive Nurka sat astride the lighter wolf, pinning his dark arms with his armoured knees, and grabbed his throat with one paw. Uther squirmed, unable to do anything, save choke.
“Gaaagh!”
“Where’s Themba?” Nurka demanded, shaking him.
Uther just ground his teeth.
With a mad-eyed snarl, Nurka used his free paw to thump the wolf’s wound. “Where is he? Speak!”
“Gaaaahhaaaagh!!” Uther snarled, spluttering, “Go… thump… yourself!”
Another punch, but Uther held out. He was strong. Time was short; there was no time for a lengthy interrogation. Nurka contemplated what to do, how to break him – a mad idea took hold. Taking a pouch from his belt the hyena produced a small tin. Inside the padded tin was a tiny glass capsule, like a crystal bean, with a miniscule glob of black fluid inside.
Nurka held the capsule over Uther’s pale face. “Black-imperium, Howler,” he almost whispered.
Uther’s yellow eyes locked onto the capsule and his whole body jolted in fear, Nurka felt him trembling beneath him already.
Better.
“Speak,” Nurka said, his purple eyes as wide and mad as Uther had ever seen them, “or I break this between your teeth and you rot. Have you ever seen a beast die from the rot in ten seconds flat? It is not a handsome death, but you leave a spectacular corpse.”
“You… you w-www-wouldn’t dare!” Uther stammered.
Grabbing Uther’s snout in one vast paw, Nurka forced his dark fingers between the wolf’s clenched lips and slipped the capsule down beside his teeth. As the cold glass touched his gums Uther let out a muffled scream.
“Mmmmmphgh!”
Whilst Uther squirmed, Nurka made a fist and drew it back with overblown drama, threatening to punch the wolf’s jaw and break the capsule.
Uther shook his head, “Mmm, mmmph!”
Of course, Nurka waited. “Last chance,” he said, cocking his head to one side and lessening his grip on Uther’s muzzle, just enough for him to talk.
“Take it out!” Uther begged, through his teeth. “Please!”
“Speak first!”
“He’s over there! He’s over there!”
“Where? Tell me!”
Uther gently flicked his muzzle to the left, worried too violent a motion would break the deadly capsule. “In with all the pipes!”
Nurka released him and stood up. Uther rolled over and spat the capsule into a shaking paw, putting it gently on the ground. No sooner had he than Nurka administered him a final, brutal, plasmatic stomp to the back, sending the Howler down for the count.
“Unffgh!”
Rolling his shoulders and composing himself after that uncomfortable deed, Nurka hurried into the foggy, industrial maze of pipes and machines. He felt a familiar presence growing, even amidst the ambient imperium.
“Themba!”
Nurka’s comrade sat crossed-legged by a pipe, bound and gagged. Nurka fell upon him and pulled the dirty cloth from around his thick, black hyena snout.
“Chief!” Themba grunted at once. “Did you kill the Howlers?”
“No, but the centipede might,” Nurka replied, setting about unravelling the wire that bound Themba’s paws to the piping behind him. “It’s killed Madou.”
Themba winced in shame and pain.
Suddenly he banged the back of his helmeted head on the pipe and laughed, “By the Wind, I’m a disgrace. Hahahaaaaahaha!”
“Themba!” Nurka barked.
Chakaa Themba banged his head on the pipe a second time, harder than before. “They all died with honour, whilst I surrendered like a coward! Hahahahaaha! How is it… how is it everyone around me dies, yet I continue to suffer? Hahahaaahahaa!”
As he went to bang his head for a third time in self-punishment, Nurka cupped a paw to Themba’s thick neck and shook him. “Stop it!” he snarled, then quietly, “Stop it.”
Swallowing his grief, Themba asked hopefully, “Did he die well?”
Nurka said simply, “Yes.”
Retrieving Themba’s hammer and Nurka’s bow, the two Chakaa stole across the refinery towards the sewer, sneaking by the centipede’s long, undulating rear and passing the bodies of their fallen comrades on the way. There was no point trying to avenge their deaths; there could be no retribution against a centipede, it was an arm of Mother Nature, above morality and justice. It simply was what it was and did what it did; every hyena knew that.
With a last, pensive look at Madou, Themba lowered himself into the sewer. Nurka followed, hanging on and letting go to lessen the fall. Upon landing he fetched his imperium lamp bubbling steadily beneath the ashen water.
The Chakaa splashed along the gloomy tunnel, not getting far before a group of fellow THORN members came the other way, one with a lamp.
“Chief!” the one with the lamp barked in relief. “We were getting worried.”
Nurka growled, “You were told not to come back.”
“Sorry chief, but… we’re lost without you,” was the reply.
“We have all the imperium we need. If we die now you must carry on without us.”
“Yes, chief. W-w-where is everyone?”
Nurka grunted poetically, “Striding the Eternal Plains. They died well.”
The hyenas dipped their heads respectfully.
“Grieve later,” Nurka said, sloshing through them. “Our brothers are fighting to the last so we can escape. Honour their brave sacrifice.”
Back on the surface, the giant centipede squeezed through the pipes, invading Ivan’s hiding space. Slipping its head inside, followed by the first segment of its body and the accompanying legs, the whole writhing, armoured ensemble rattled and scraped against the metal walls, its
jaws coming within a few feet of Ivan’s face. The feelers snaked all over him, ruffling his fur, tasting him.
Blade-dancer could taste the centipede too. His nostrils flared and throat burnt as the bitter, acidic reek of ammonia penetrated even his helmet’s purifying filter. He knew centipedes extruded ammonia through their skin, adding to their already deadly arsenal of speed, strength and venomous fangs.
Desperate, Ivan raised his pistol, aiming at the beast’s mouth.
Crack!
The pellet pinged off a rock-hard mandible and ricocheted around the enclosed space, sparking off the walls and pipes and inches from Ivan’s head.
Useless.
The centipede suddenly pulled back, writhing and twisting between the pipes. Ivan looked down at his silver pistol in amazement; had it done the trick after all?
No, the Howler saw the beast’s back end was flailing about outside like a gargantuan, unattended fire hose as arcs of blue imperious plasma licked along its segmented body, illuminating the foggy factory in harsh light. Eventually, the beast could stand no more punishment and pulled its head from between the pipes altogether.
It began trundling up the walls, retreating to the smoggy ceiling from whence it had come, like a god ascending to the heavens.
Ivan stood astonished. What Howler was powerful enough to imperiously torment a giant centipede into retreat?
“Rufus?” Ivan realised happily, laughing a little and calling louder, “Rufus! In here!”
Once the centipede’s thirty-foot body had passed, someone looked in through the mangled pipes, a big, grey-looking beast in a black cloak. He was very heavily built and stood taller than Ivan by the looks.
Definitely not Rufus.
“ALL RIGHT, MATE?” the fellow enquired.
Ivan’s ears pricked at the tinny voice that was clearly augmented by a speaker. The stranger was indeed heavily built, but the look was accentuated by the fact he was armoured from head to toe in a hefty suit of plain-looking iron.
“Yes,” Ivan said at length – it wasn’t often someone asked the great Blade-dancer if he was ‘all right’.
“I THINK WE SCARED IT OFF BETWEEN US,” the newcomer said magnanimously.
With that he clanked away, taking his potent imperious presence with him; Ivan hadn’t even noticed the fellow’s overpowering corona until its crackling warmth had moved out of range, leaving Ivan feeling cold.
