by Ste Sharp
‘I’m sure we can work together,’ Olan said to Jakan-tar, ‘to save John and your soldiers.’
‘If we can get in, we will save all the trapped soldiers,’ Samas added.
Jakan-tar replied. ‘I only care for my soldiers.’
‘Maybe a trade would be in order?’ Olan looked ahead to Lavalle. ‘I’m sure some armour would come in useful.’
Lavalle ignored the comment and crouched down by a bush at the town’s perimeter.
After a wary glance at his golden chest plate, which had grown to cover his back and abdomen, Olan peered through. ‘It’s changed!’ he whispered.
‘No, the castle is still there,’ Lavalle gestured.
Samas shrugged. ‘I see more people in the fields.’
‘The burrows look the same,’ Jakan-tar added.
Olan swallowed and rubbed his forehead, ‘But the fishing village has gone.’
Am I already trapped and fooled by this ruse? Olan asked himself. Is this Loki’s work?
‘What do you see?’ Jakan-tar’s eyes grew large.
‘I see,’ Olan looked around, finding the best way to explain it, ‘nothing special.’
‘Explain.’
‘It’s just a clearing in the forest. A few ramshackle huts over there.’ He pointed. ‘And a strip of grass where creatures of different shapes and sizes are miming out tasks… a hunchbacked ogre is casting a net, a large blue-shelled lobster is digging a hole next to a group of small black squirrels who are lying stretched out.’
‘You must be seeing it in its true form,’ Jakan-tar said.
‘Can you see John?’ Samas asked.
‘No. There are so many people, I… there are the Sorean!’
‘Where?’ Jakan-tar was by Olan’s side.
‘A group are lying together behind that tall white creature.’
‘All I see is the hill of the barrow.’
‘They must think they are underground.’ Olan watched as the thin white humanoid sprinkled dust over the sleeping Sorean with its elongated fingers. ‘And I think I know which ones are the Frarex.’
‘So we know who to attack?’ said Lavalle.
‘But we will still be trapped,’ Samas replied.
‘Over there.’ Olan pointed. ‘Randeep. He’s walking to one of the huts. He’s too quick.’ As Olan stared, Randeep’s clothes changed. ‘Odin’s eye! He just changed into Mihran… and now he’s you, Lavalle.’
‘What?’ Lavalle squinted.
‘I thought he smelt peculiar,’ Jakan-tar said with a shrug. ‘But you all do.’
‘What do you mean?’ Samas asked as Olan kept his eyes on Randeep as he finally fixed his shape and entered the hut.
‘He is a shape-shifter,’ Jakan-tar answered.
‘And he’s had us all fooled?’ Lavalle whispered.
Olan felt his heart sink as he watched on, unable to do anything. ‘Not just us.’
The shape of Crossley left the hut and with him, smiling and chatting, walked John Greene.
***
Olan edged forward tentatively.
‘How do you feel now?’ Jakan-tar whispered from ten strides behind, hidden in the undergrowth.
How do I feel? Olan asked himself. Scared would be one word. He kept his gaze fixed on the open grassland ahead, where a wide variety of alien soldiers slept or carried baskets of food. Interspersed among them, the tall ghostly shapes of the Frarex wove their enslaving magic.
‘I’m fine,’ Olan replied. ‘It still looks the same.’
He had grown fond of the shore-side fishing village, and seeing the encampment in its true form made him feel sick. All these deluded creatures playing in mud.
‘I’ll take it five steps at a time.’
What he saw now had to be influenced by the chest plate, Olan thought, even though he couldn’t see how such a thing was possible. More magic of the gods, he supposed. When Randeep – or the shape-shifter who had taken his place – shot that red flame at him, the energy must have been absorbed by the chest plate. Like the lightning in Thor’s hammer.
Olan heard a soft padding sound and turned to see Jakan-tar running up to him with bounding strides.
‘What are you doing?’
Jakan-tar swayed with a paw on its head as the effects of the charmed village grew strong. ‘They left… cut Randeep off… had an idea.’ The Sorean held out a short dagger and stumbled.
Olan leapt to catch the cat-like Captain and held it in his arms. Both its eyes were closed and its head rolled like one of his dogs back home.
‘Wake up!’ He shook Jakan-tar and the knife-bearing arm swung over, tapping against Olan’s chest plate and sticking as though magnetised.
Jakan-tar woke instantly and looked at Olan, then at the village and gave a low sigh. ‘My poor soldiers. This is the truth?’ Olan watched Jakan-tar’s large eyes quiver. ‘This is how they have lived all these months.’
‘Yes,’ Olan whispered.
Jakan-tar looked up. ‘Put me down – I want to walk… but I must be connected to you.’
‘How does this work?’ Olan asked.
‘My theory is your armour has shielded your heart and, more importantly, your stomach from the Frarex weapon.’
‘My stomach?’ Olan asked.
‘You remember the feeling you had when you first saw the village – the tightening… the nostalgia?’
‘Yes.’
‘It was their drug. Somehow your armour gives you immunity,’ Jakan-tar said.
‘And it shares it with you through the metal?’ Olan asked, hoping he was understanding correctly.
‘Most likely it’s connected to my armour and… let’s keep walking, I have another theory I want to test.’
Olan followed the small, furred Sorean, who walked, with its dagger, at Olan’s side. If he wasn’t carrying his war axe, anyone would think Jakan-tar held him captive.
‘Where are we going?’ Olan whispered.
‘Silence,’ Jakan-tar replied.
Olan grumbled and slung his axe over his shoulder. They walked past a group of green-skinned, dolphin-like aliens patting each other with their stumpy appendages. The creatures didn’t react as they passed. Next came three long red worms playing a game with a cube of wood. Jakan-tar avoided the Sorean soldiers and headed straight for the centre of the settlement, where six white Frarex rested in a ramshackle wooden lodge.
‘No!’ Olan whispered, but Jakan-tar pushed on.
Only when they were a few strides from the Frarex did they stop. Olan waited and calmed his breathing. Were these aliens blind? Or asleep? He had to be cautious – one false move could mean spending the rest of his life writhing in the mud.
‘Kar!’ Jakan-tar coughed loudly.
The Frarex didn’t move. Olan spun around to see if anyone else had heard, but the enslaved soldiers frolicked and rolled as before. The furred Sorean were still huddled in their make-believe burrow and the white Frarex scattered their dust as before, like tall wandering monks. In the distance, Olan caught a glimpse of a human in a grey suit he recognised from the obelisk hill.
‘They can’t hear us,’ Jakan-tar said.
‘Or see us,’ Olan added.
Jakan-tar pulled out a new blade. ‘And now we break their spell.’
Olan winced. Could he really do this? Could he kill these peaceful beasts while they slept? Their intentions had been good after all – they only wanted peace.
Jakan-tar looked up at him. ‘Why do you wait? I can’t attack if you don’t move.’
‘I…’ Olan tried to find the words but failed.
‘They are using these soldiers for their own needs.’ The Sorean pointed at the nearest group of sleeping aliens and ghostly Frarex. ‘They farm their energy in return for dreams.’
It was all about power. Images of the men Olan had fought with came back to him: violent men who raped, killed and tortured the weak and unarmed. It was always about power – the power they held over others. These Frarex were no different, Olan though
t. An anger rose in his chest but he fought to control it. No, he thought, this is not my fight.
‘My blade will not be bloodied today,’ he said to Jakan-tar, who stared up but dared not break away from its magnetic link. ‘But justice will be served.’
***
‘We need more!’ Jakan-tar hissed, urging Olan on.
‘There’s another group over here,’ Olan replied and strode around a tiny pond to where a host of Sorean snuggled in a pile, while a ghostly Frarex stood nearby, farming their energy.
Following Olan’s plan, the duo had woken individual Sorean from each group by joining them to their magnetic shield using whatever metal weapon or object they could find. The Frarex hadn’t noticed individual soldiers waking from each spell but, as more soldiers disappeared from their grasp, they grew agitated, sensing the loss of energy. As the web of interconnected soldiers grew around Olan and Jakan-tar though, so did the anger of the freed slaves as they saw how they had been tricked and abused by the Frarex.
Now Olan could hold them no longer, the web broke and the Sorean unleashed their bloody revenge.
Olan watched in awe and fear as a bizarre mix of fighting species released their wrath on their enslavers. Caught by surprise, wallowing in their self-indulgence, the Frarex were cut down before they could weave new spells and, with each dead Frarex, a new group of enslaved soldiers rose from their slumber to join in. A small rebellion would have been quashed, Olan had no doubt, but the scores of freed soldiers were systematically isolating the Frarex. And annihilating them.
Olan kept his own axe sheathed. The Frarex might not be innocent, but Olan felt no need to fight them when he had other priorities. As the liberated soldiers swept through the Frarex camp, Olan rushed to the hut where he had seen the shape-shifter who, in Crossley’s form, had led John Greene away into the forest. The crude wooden hut was empty and Olan couldn’t see any sign that John had been there. He ran through the mud, searching for footprints, but was too late. His only hope was that Lavalle and Samas had cut them off on the other side of the forest.
Olan returned to the battle to see the last few Frarex fighting with clouds of invisibility and poisonous gases, but they were vastly outnumbered, and the Sorean fought with a manic intensity that would surely soon overwhelm them.
‘Three Frarex escaped.’ Jakan-tar was panting hard when Olan found it, flanked by two equally tired Sorean soldiers.
‘It’s not worth chasing them down,’ Olan replied and sat on a fallen tree.
Jakan-tar’s fur wrinkled in a way that Olan assumed to be a shrug. ‘Perhaps we should save our energy.’
‘The battle is won,’ Olan answered.
Across the muddy glade, groups of other alien soldiers gravitated to their own and rested in groups. Freed slaves stared into the flames of the burning stack of Frarex bodies with a mix of anger and loss. From what Olan had been told by the survivors, they had been living a life of bliss. The shock of being torn back into the real, dirty world had been severe, and Olan wondered how many could deal with returning to their real lives.
Jakan-tar looked at Olan’s clean blade. ‘I would have enjoyed fighting alongside you, Olan Baardsson.’
‘And I would have been honoured to fight alongside you, Captain Jakan-tar,’ Olan replied.
‘My soldiers wish to repay you for your help,’ Jakan-tar said. ‘Without you, I would still be wandering the perimeter and my army would be in the mud.’ Jakan-tar gestured for the Sorean soldiers to leave them in peace.
‘Thank you but–’
‘All we can offer is armour, but seeing as you have armour enough,’ Jakan-tar gestured at the enchanted chest plate, ‘we offer our assistance in defeating your enemy.’
Olan looked into Jakan-tar’s eyes. ‘Really?’ He had seen the Sorean in battle and knew Mihran would be impressed: they fought like tiny berserkers, with animal ferocity and unending stamina.
Jakan-tar looked out on the Sorean army, who Olan guessed numbered over eighty. ‘We are a proud people and, like you, wish to leave this land. I believe we will make good allies.’
Olan took the offer in. Jakan-tar had respected him for his decision not to fight. But how would these creatures fit into the human army? Olan sighed. Sometimes you just know when it’s the right thing to do.
‘Your enemies are our enemies,’ Olan replied. ‘And we will make good allies.’
Chapter 12
Delta-Six twitched a finger, ready to press a button on his wrist , but r emembered he could activate his systems through thought now. He selected his medical systems and gave himself a boost of painkiller for his leg. Within two seconds, he was wa lking normally again and sped up his journey a cross the great plain. As he walked, Delta-Six ran through any recordings he had made over th e past few days as he struggled to make sense of what had happened to him. His memory records had been compromised, either by the pois on from the creature in the lake or by the beings who had captured him.
‘What if the hallucinations were a ruse to distract me while the VR prison was reset?’ he asked, adding to his vocal notes. ‘ I still can’t accept this place is real. ’
Delta-Six was unsure how he had been tricked into believing he was in Elysium, with his future wife and… it was just like his dream. He wanted to go back but knew it had been an illu sion. All video recordings from his time in the forest village proved that. Now he needed to f ocus and survive.
He had grown used to drinking his mineral supplements, which his suit was using as it morphed with his body. But he didn’t understand why he was changing. And why were the other soldiers mutating? Was there a conscious mind behind it, making up for deficiencies or enhancing strong features? Or was it random?
He scanned the plain, where he had found scores of victory obelisks and battle debris. The sheer range of technologies and bodies at each site was overwhelming: so many forms of life and even more methods of destroying it.
‘I don’t know if it’s the removal of my mental filters or the scale of war here, but I feel… insignificant,’ Delta-Six said. ‘My entire life has been a futile gesture which has done little but cause destruction. What have I achieved? Have I built anything or created anything new? After my death, how would anyone know I existed?’
Delta-Six focused on his body – he could feel a tingling sensation down his right side, which meant his sensors had picked up movement in that direction. He swung around but nothing could be seen. His senses tingled again: he was being surrounded. Various options ran through his mind as he switched to combat mode. A shot of adrenaline sped his heart up, followed by streams of lines on his screen, predicting escape routes. But before he could select one, clouds of soil exploded and five blue armoured beasts burst out of the ground, firing darts.
Delta-Six’s defence system kicked in, creating a sub-sonic sound shield as he rapidly shot back with his wrist cannon, killing one attacker with a single shot that left a steaming hole through its carapace. Darts were deflected and bolts of energy absorbed by Delta-Six’s shield as he rolled for cover, fired again and moved, repeating over and over until a gap appeared in the ring around him and he ran through it. His shield was losing energy and he felt barbs glance off his metallic skin. He turned and fired again, killing one more. Then, in a cloud of dust, the two remaining creatures disappeared down their tunnels.
***
Dakaniha woke from a fitful dream. He sat up, stared at the bodies scattered along the coast of the lake and rubbed the itchy scabs on his temple s as visions haunted him: mouths; razor-sharp teeth; scaly bodies. He recalled the rough feel of the skin of a beast gliding beneath his legs and shivered.
The tocka had abandoned them in the water, leaving Gal-qadan’s men gripping their floating purple bladders. Losing energy, Dakaniha had slipped underwater and seen the tocka swimming in formation to attack the submarine beasts. Black blood spread through the water before the tocka returned.
A noise made Dakaniha turn.
‘I said, are you okay?�
�� Kastor was standing over him.
‘Yes,’ Dakaniha replied and surveyed the beach.
Bodies of men lay scattered like stones. The tocka slept in a circle some fifty paces away with their heads towards the bodies o f the two who hadn’t survived.
What will this day bring? Dakaniha thought . He searched the clouds for the sun and cursed the land. Why did it seem brighter today?
‘Well, we’re alive then . ’ Ethan sat up and rubbed his grey face.
Dakaniha felt a pang of pity for the man who , back home , would have been his enemy. He wondered if the American was suffering from the skin disease he had seen in the Southern tribes. From what he could remember it would be a painful death.
‘We survived when many fell,’ Dakaniha answered. ‘We are lucky to see today’s light.’
‘Amen to that,’ replied Ethan.
Tode joined the group. ‘How many did we lose?’
‘Four,’ Kastor rep l ied, ‘and two tocka.’
Dakaniha sighed and spent a moment in silence for their lost comrades.
***
‘This one remembers me,’ Dakaniha heard Osayimwese say as the men rode the tocka up the beach ridge, with Kastor’s steed taking the lead.
The ground flattened out at the top, presenting them with a long and featureless horizon.
‘What’s your plan, G reat L eader?’ Dakaniha asked Gal-qadan, whose face remained ever emotionless, like carved stone.
The Mong ol surveyed the land ahead and pointed . ‘We are cut off by this river. ’ Dakaniha could just make out a faint grey line to the right. ‘And this river . ’ Another curved line snaked on the left flank. ‘So we continue straight, through the mire.’ Gal-qadan gave his tocka a sharp kick with his heels but it stayed still. Gal-qadan growled and reluctantly turned to Kastor.
‘Right . ’ The Spartan held back a smile. He patted his tocka and the band of archers, riflemen and swordsmen let their carnivorous steeds pick out the driest path through the meandering streams and bogs that peppered the sodden lowland.
