by Unknown
10
Down the slope they went with Rip scampering ahead of them. Rip had his nose to the floor and was following a trail only he could make out. Mark and Amy walked in silence with Mark aiming the shotgun at every shadow – imagined or otherwise.
Mark’s theory that the world of Skathalos sat outside that of the real world was beginning to take on some shape. Not only did Skathalos exist in a different time scale than Mark’s world was measured by, but also this realm where Skathalos lived wasn’t hemmed in by the restrictions put on it by his Earth’s geography. They were in some alternate reality, a world every bit as real as their own, but as fantastical as Narnia or Oz.
What he saw next confirmed that.
They stepped out of the cavern and on to a ledge in the side of a massive mountain. The mountain was as black and slick as coal, with massive peaks like jagged teeth. The sky above was the colour of blood and it flowed. Clouds the colour of bruises didn’t drift on breezes, they bobbed and swirled as though caught in a fast current. The sun was like a tarnished coin that radiated tendrils of smoke. No heat could be felt from the sky, but all around them it was warm and damp, like the ground itself sweated.
‘Where do we go now?’
Mark looked at Amy and saw that her eyes reflected the red sky. It reminded him of the look Skathalos had given him just before spiriting Shax away. He shivered. Then pointed down.
‘There is only one way, I guess.’
‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’
Below them stretched a jungle. But it was like nothing of the earth. Not unless a firestorm raged through the Amazon and charred everything to ashes. The trees had no foliage and were twisted sticks that looked brittle and burnt. Weird animal calls sounded, and from the distance a deep throated boom, boom, boom, like the sound of drums, resonated in the air.
They searched for the source of the sound, both staring off across the horizon.
‘There.’ Amy pointed.
From out of the distant trees towered three huge peaks. Unlike the mountain they stood on, these peaks were smooth and came to sharp points. The two to either side were smaller, but the one in the middle seemed to tower high in the sky, as if trying to jab its tip into the sun.
“Are they pyramids?’ Amy asked.
Mark glanced at Rip. The dog licked his chops. If Rip was indeed the son of an Egyptian goddess, then why shouldn’t they find pyramids here?
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Mark said.
Rip scampered away, head close to the ground. He disappeared over the ledge and Amy cried out, thinking the dog had fallen.
Mark leaned over the edge of the shelf and saw a set of steps leading down. The steps were narrow and very steep and had never been fashioned for human feet.
‘Come on, Amy, but be very careful.’ Mark slung the shotgun over his shoulder.
‘Good job I changed out of my boots,’ she said looking down.
Rip went down the steps as nimble as a goat, but for his human friends it was different. They elected to go down like they were descending a ladder. Mark went first – not as if he could catch and hold Amy if she fell – but it seemed the right thing to do.
Mark looked over his shoulder and wished that he hadn’t. The ground looked so far away it would take them a day just to climb down. If he fell, though, it would take less than a minute before he reached the dirt.
The climb down proved almost as frightening as being in the cavern with the scatters. Almost, but not quite. One time Mark slipped and almost fell and only Amy grabbing the collar of his shirt saved him. Once Amy slipped, but she only bumped down two steps before Mark threw his weight against her and held her tightly.
‘OK, you can let go now,’ Amy said with a relieved smile when Mark had clung to her for ten seconds or more.
‘Eh, uh, eh...’ Mark spluttered. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, almost slipped and then grabbed at the rock face. Amy laughed at him, but it was in good humour and it made Mark smile. Still, his face was as red as the sky.
Mark found that the further he descended, the easier it got. The steps were wider and not as slick and he found a few shelves where they could rest and catch their breath. Rip bounded down the steps like they were nothing to him. He waited at the bottom while the less agile humans picked their way down.
As they finally reached the ground, Amy stared at Rip. The dog watched her with its molten chocolate eyes.
‘It’s hard to believe that he’s such a monster,’ she said.
Mark shook his head. Monsters weren’t defined by their looks but by their thoughts and actions. Rip – or Ammut – had become a ferocious beast, but only to save them from the scatters. There was nothing monstrous in that.
Mark chuckled.
‘What’s so funny?’ Amy asked.
‘Earlier you called him “a mutt”. You don’t know how right you are.’
Amy didn’t get it. She looked at him with her mouth pinched tight.
Mark explained to her about the Egyptian demi-god.
Amy tapped her head. ‘And to think people call me weird.’
Mark pointed to the distant pyramids just visible over the petrified trees.
Amy fisted her hands on her hips. ‘OK, so there are similarities here to ancient Egypt. But there are more differences than likenesses. When did you ever see a jet black pyramid in Egypt?’
‘I’m not saying these are Egyptian. I think we’re in a different dimension here. Maybe history took a turn and things progressed differently. Maybe people here discovered how to build pyramids and stuck to them.’
‘History definitely took a turn here. A weird and scary turn,’ Amy said. She pointed to the sky. ‘Take a look at those.’
Mark followed her gesture and blinked behind his glasses. She was right: there was never anything like these things in Egypt, ancient or otherwise.
There were three of them, black dots growing larger by the second as they flew towards them.
‘What kind of bird are they? Are they crows?’
‘They’re not crows,’ Mark said.
They were as black as pitch and were covered in feathers, but there the resemblance to a crow ended. They were as big as a fully-grown bull and as muscular. Wings like the sails of a ship flapped lazily, but sent the things rocketing forward at the speed of a fighter plane. On serpentine necks, their heads swept back and forth as though searching for something.
‘Oh, my God!’ Amy said.
Mark had seen what had caused her reaction and a cold shiver wormed its way up his spine.
‘They have human heads,’ he croaked.
Just as he said it, one of the heads snapped his way. The creature’s eyes opened wide and it let out a shrill screech. A thin tongue wormed in its mouth, caressing teeth as sharp as needles.
‘Harpies!’ Amy cried out.
Mark had no better description for the creatures. A harpy was a monster out of Greek mythology; part woman, part bird, all evil.
Rip took the lead, charging immediately in amongst the charred trees. Mark’s first thought was to climb back up the cliff and into the cavern where the harpies couldn’t get at them, but he knew he’d only be a short way up before the screeching things plucked him off the rock face. He nudged Amy towards the trees. There was no leaf cover, but at least the ragged branches would stop the flying things from dropping on them from above.
Through the trees ran a path, twisting and turning but leading unerringly toward the now hidden pyramids. The trees were close to the path and the branches above knitted a shield over their heads. Mark and Amy searched for the harpies, but all they saw was an occasional streak of black against the red sky as the harpies flapped by. The screeching of the beasts sounded part frustration and part laughter.
‘Why aren’t they attacking, Mark? The trees don’t look strong enough to stop them.’
‘The only thing I can think of,’ Mark said, ‘is that Skathalos knows we’re here. He’s sent the harpies to
keep an eye on us. Their job is to push us towards those pyramids.’
‘I wish they’d stop screaming,’ Amy said. ‘It’s hurting my ears. Can’t they tell we’re heading for the pyramids anyway?’
‘At least they aren’t trying to stop us,’ Mark said.
Not that he was about to let them. He was determined that nothing - scatters, harpies or Skathalos - was going to stop him.
11
Amy had got over her initial fear of Rip. The fact that lurking beneath his doggie exterior was a huge beast of clashing teeth and rending claws had been forgotten and she now sought comfort in his presence. The dog also seemed to be warming a little to her. He allowed her to pat him on his shoulders and to rub the hair between his ears. Then he’d shoot ahead again, and stand grinning while they caught up.
Mark felt a little jealous.
Amy was sticking close to the dog because she thought that Rip would protect her. Mark didn’t doubt that Rip – or Ammut – was a more capable protector, but he couldn’t help wishing that she’d have faith in him, too. Normally Mark was the quiet kid who nobody took any notice of. Not unless it was a bully who wanted to pound his head. Coming on this trip to save Shax had changed Mark. Never again would he run from a bully. Harpies and scatters were a different thing all together, but he didn’t think a bully would ever frighten him again. He just thought that it might be some time before girls saw any change in him.
He watched the girl walk alongside the dog. Rip wasn’t the only one whose outward image hid something else. When he’d first laid eyes on Amy Gray, she’d frightened him a little. All the black clothing and hair dye and piercings made her look tough and unapproachable. He’d been wrong there. She was a nice girl underneath the disguise. He only wished that people would look beyond his own exterior and see that underneath the ragged haircut and NHS spectacles he wasn’t as weak as he looked. Not many people would have held it together after losing a brother the way he had. Being strong wasn’t about being able to beat someone up. Though, in this strange place, it might prove an asset.
‘Stop dragging your feet.’
Mark pushed back his glasses. Amy was twenty feet ahead of him, looking back at him with her hands fisted on her hips.
‘What are you doing all the way back there, any way? Playing soldiers?’
Mark looked down at the gun in his hands. He couldn’t even remember slipping the gun off his shoulder and into his hands. For the briefest time he felt like dropping it. Jake had gone off to fight in a war he didn’t understand. Jake hadn’t came back. Guns were despicable things, especially in the hands of the young and untrained. But instead he clutched it tighter. The gun was loaded only with rock salt but it was their only weapon against the creatures of this horrible place.
‘I’m not playing.’
Amy snorted. ‘No need to get angry.’
‘I’m not angry. I just wish people would stop treating me like a little kid.’
Amy walked back to him. She put an arm around his shoulder. ‘You’re not a little kid anymore. You’re my hero.’
Mark shook her arm off him.
‘There’s no need to poke fun at me.’
‘I’m not,’ she said. Then she folded her arms round her chest and walked briskly away. ‘And if that’s what you think, well, you can suit yourself.’
Mark felt like kicking himself. If he could do it with both feet he would so. Amy had just treated him exactly as he had wished and yet he’d pushed her away. Idiot!
He opened his mouth to say so.
In the next second his words came out as a shout. ‘Ameeeeee...’
Through the trees came one of the harpies. The branches were no barriers at all. The beast’s swoop shattered them like they were made of sugar, and even broke the trunk of one tree. The tree toppled and fell, smashing on the ground like glass. The harpy wasn’t slowed in the least. It merely stretched out its legs, huge claws snatching at Amy’s jacket, and then it was heading upward again. From its feet dangled Amy and her screams were as loud as the harpy’s screech.
Mark set off running. Not that there was anything his run could achieve, because however fast he went he would never take flight. The harpy flapped upward, Amy kicking and squirming in its grip. The other two harpies swept in, then hovered over Mark, laughing and cackling at his ineptitude.
Shouting wordlessly, Mark brought up the shotgun.
Rip darted in like a black and white missile, snatching his hand from the trigger just before he could fire.
Both harpies flapped away, still laughing, following the one carrying Amy.
‘What are you doing?’ Mark shouted at the dog. ‘I could have got them.’
Rip sat on his haunches, peering intently into his eyes. If he could speak it would have been easier, so the dog had to make do with imparting its meaning in the look in its face. Mark got it. The rock salt in the gun was no good against the harpies, so he’d have been wasting his time shooting at them.
‘I have to do something,’ Mark cried.
Rip snorted.
He stared at Mark again.
‘OK. I get you. I have to save the rock salt for Skathalos,’ Mark said.
Rip licked his lips. Then he turned and walked away.
Mark searched the sky, but the harpies and Amy were gone. He had a good idea where they were going, though. The pyramids lay in the same direction that they had flown. Mark slung the shotgun over his shoulder. It was pointless wasting his strength carrying the gun if he couldn’t use it yet. He followed Rip.
Now that the harpies were gone he watched the trail more than the sky, and he walked much faster now.
From up on the mountainside the ground had looked pretty flat, but now that he marched along the path he found that it raised and fell, almost as if the ground was made of a swelling tide and the waves of earth grew higher as they progressed. Coming down each wave in the earth was OK, but each rise got taller and the going more difficult. Mark began to feel out of breath and sweat began to build on his face and in the small of his back. By comparison Rip did not seem troubled by the effort. He had boundless energy, much the same as ordinary collie dogs in the real world.
Mark tried not to think about what was happening to Amy – or to Shax – while he trudged along. It was enough that they were in great danger without him visualising the terror they must be going through. He tried not to think about it, but it was pretty pointless. It was all that went through his mind. He saw images of horrible torture and could hear their screaming voices in his ears. His breathing began to grow quicker and not all of it was down to the effort. Pretty soon he was gasping and he was scuttling along in a mild panic.
He felt a tug on his shirt. He jumped; swinging round ready to defend himself from God knew what.
All he found was Rip staring up at him.
‘What?’
The dog nodded its head wordlessly, then panted. Then it shook its head side to side.
‘What are you going on about?’ Mark set off walking again.
Rip grabbed the tail of his shirt and pulled him to a halt. Mark pulled his shirt away, scowling at the drool on it, then walked away once more.
Woof!
Mark spun angrily.
‘What are you trying to tell me?’
The dog exaggerated the panting, allowing his tongue to loll almost to the floor. Then he shook his head once again.
‘You’re tired?’ Mark asked.
Rip rolled his eyes. Then he bobbed his head at Mark.
‘I’m Ok. I can keep going.’
Rip shook his head. He again mimed being out of breath then collapsed suddenly on his side and lay there as if dead.
Flippin’ heck! Mark thought. Amy had said that Rip was no Lassie the wonder dog. She was right. Rip was even more intelligent than the canine super star ever was. Rip was telling him that he was exhausting himself, and that if he ever did find his friends he’d be too tired to do anything about it.
Rip raised his head and looke
d at him.
‘You’re right. I have to save my energy.’ Mark ran a hand through his hair, feeling the strands stiff and matted with perspiration and trail dust. He thought back to when he’d last eaten something. The cheese on toast he’d had for supper last night seemed so long ago now that even his stomach had lost its memory. ‘I need something to eat. And I’m thirsty.’
Rip rolled to his feet. He lifted his head and sniffed.
Yip!
That meant ‘Follow me’, Mark guessed.
Rip led him from the trail and under the trees. Off the trail the ground was rocky and stiff thorny tufts of grass were the only living thing apparent, although ‘living thing’ didn’t really describe the grass: it was grey and mottled, as though diseased. Everything else looked like ashes and cinders. Where would they ever find food and water here?
Rip paused amongst some rocks. He sniffed the ground between two boulders, then began pawing at one of the rocks. As Ammut he could have easily pushed the rock aside, but in his collie form he did not have the strength. Mark moved to his side and laid his hands on the rock and shoved. Rip grinned at him. Then he pushed his nose under the rock. Mark placed his fingers under it and together they heaved the rock over. On its underside were a group of slug-like creatures. They were bright yellow with green bands on their gelatinous bodies.
‘Ugh. Gross!’
Rip didn’t pay attention to Mark’s words. He licked one of the slug-things off the rock and held it between his teeth as though offering it to Mark.
‘You have got to be joking? There’s no way I’m going to eat that thing.’
Rip lifted his shoulders and it looked almost like a human shrug. Then he bit down on the slug and juice popped out the sides of his mouth. Rip chewed, making satisfied grunts. Mark shook with revulsion.
Rip reached for another slug. He enjoyed the second as much as the first. Mark watched the saliva drool from Rip’s munching jaws. Suddenly he felt intensely thirsty. But there was no way he could bring himself to eat one of the creatures.
