by Greig Beck
‘Very wise, sire. It will allow the Wolfen to focus on the battle.’
Vulpernix stayed bowed until the king had left the room. When he stood, a small smile played on his lips.
Chapter 20
A Girl – And What Is That?
Days passed, and Arn spent most of his time out in the field in front of the main gate of Valkeryn, practising his sword skills, the techniques that Sorenson had shown him. His Wolfen instructor and mentor had been urging him on without actually telling him why. It was as if there was a test coming, and Arn was being forced to cram for it.
Eilif had joined him this particular morning, carrying with her an enormous cloth bag, which Arn assumed was food for a small picnic. She sat on a low stone wall, keeping up a running commentary on his footwork, his length of thrust, or any tiny fault she spotted in his style.
Today, Sorenson had kitted him out in some armour to get him used to moving with the extra weight, and after working for over an hour, he was feeling the heat of the steel across his back and shoulders. Even though Eilif laughed from time to time when he seemed about to lose his balance, he felt that he was improving quickly.
‘Keep it up, mighty warrior. The next time the jormungandr strikes, it won’t be a sword of bone he’ll have to face. He should tremble in fear, when the Arnoddr approaches.’ She clapped as he thrust his wooden sword at the air.
Arn danced lightly with the blade, leaping up onto the wall, and then back down. He spun one way then the other, and finally brought his blade down on the thin branches of a tree, cutting away a good several feet of wood.
‘Ooh, once again the Arnoddr-Sigarr makes war on the peaceful plant folk of Valkeryn. No tree stump, twig or leaf is safe from his wrath.’ She laughed and clapped again as his face reddened.
Arn pointed his sword playfully at her throat. ‘Better than a girl could do.’
Eilif reached up slowly and pushed the wooden tip of the sword away, smiling as she did. There was a mischievous gleam in her eye.
‘A girl – and what is that?’
‘A female.’
She laughed. ‘And the female warriors are inferior in the land of Man-kind?
‘No, but—’
She cut him off. ‘All Wolfen, male or female, fight in the Valkeryn kingdom. I have been personally trained by the mighty Strom himself.’ She knelt beside the cloth bag she had brought, smiling at him as she reached into it and pulled forth two steel swords and two small shields.
It seemed to Arn that she had come prepared . . . for more than just a picnic.
‘Let’s see what you can really do, son of Man-kind.’ She handed him one of the swords, and he watched as she threaded her arm through the handle on one of the shields. ‘My weapon of choice is the longbow – I’m one of the best archers in all of Valkeryn, but . . .’ Eilif swung the sword in a loop, familiarising her arm with its weight, and then keeping her back to him, went through some practised moves, thrusts and blocks. ‘. . . This will do.’
She turned to him and bowed. ‘Time to take the training up to the next level, mighty Arnoddr.’
Arn swung the sword in his hand. It was only slightly heavier than the wooden practice weapon, but the blade’s edge was as sharp as a razor. He was immediately worried – he might really hurt her if he accidentally . . .
‘Ha!’ She lunged at him, and he only just managed to parry her thrust with his sword. ‘Keep your shield up. It’s used as much as a weapon as it is for defence.’
Arn was amazed; she was at least as fast as Sorenson, but with a lightness on her feet that was half dancer, half sword master. Suddenly his worrying about hurting her seemed just plain stupid.
He tried to apply the manoeuvres Sorenson had taught him, even managing to force her back a few steps.
‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘One day, you may even make a good Wolfen warrior.’
She came at him again, raising her sword high above her head, but when he lifted his own sword to parry her attack, she had already danced away, ducking under his guard and sweeping her blade, back-handed, lightly across his throat. It nicked him, and it hurt.
‘Ow!’
‘Pay attention,’ she scolded him. ‘I could have taken your leg if I wished. Don’t watch my blade; watch my shoulder and my eyes. Anticipate my moves. Come on, you’re better than this. I’ve been watching you practise.’
‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ Arn protested.
She scoffed, ‘Hurt me? I’ll have you in pieces, small nose.’ She spun and caught him again on the cheek.
After another five minutes, Arn could feel blood running down both his legs, both cheeks and his throat, into his armour. It made him feel sticky and even hotter. He wished it was evening, so he could feel the surge of energy brought about by the moon. Here and now, she was making him feel and look like a slow, stupid child.
Her angry words started to become taunts.
‘Pathetic. Maybe it would have been better if a female warrior had come to visit us from your time.’
He gritted his teeth.
‘Or maybe if you were older, more a full-grown?’
Defeated, Arn dropped his sword and stared at the ground between them. Then he tilted his head, as if catching sight of something. Eilif followed the line of his gaze for only a moment – but it was enough. Lunging forward, he smashed his shield into hers, knocking her onto her back. He leapt and landed on top of her.
‘I could have taken your leg off, young Wolfen. You’re better than that.’
Touché, he thought.
She was breathing hard, and looked deeply into his eyes. ‘Like two dark, mysterious pools.’ She smiled and raised an eyebrow. ‘Feel that?’
He did. Arn looked down slowly; in her hand she held a small dagger, pressed into his groin.
She laughed and licked his nose.
Blerk. He stuck out his tongue and rolled away, also laughing.
Eilif sat up. ‘You have potential, Arn. And your strength and cunning will give you an advantage. Are all Man-kind like you?’
Arn started stripping off his armour. ‘We’re all the same, and we’re all different, I guess.’ He used his undershirt to wipe his brow, and then stared off into the distance.
Eilif watched his face for a moment. ‘You miss someone?’
He shrugged. ‘Sure, I miss my family. I miss my home. I miss . . .’
She moved a little closer, and nudged him with her foot. ‘Miss . . . who? Do you have someone back home? Someone special who . . . cares for you? Who you care for?’
Arn continued to stare into the distance. He shrugged again. ‘Not really. Well, I’m sure she cares about me, but I don’t think she cares for me.’
She nudged him again with her toe, and he grabbed her foot and lifted it, tipping her onto her back. She laughed and rolled onto her stomach, coyly fiddling with a blade of grass. She spoke without looking back at him. ‘I would care about you – and for you, Arnoddr-Sigarr.’
Arn smiled at her. ‘Thanks. You’re a good friend, Eilif.’
She turned her head for a moment, and he saw what he thought was a look of disappointment on her face. He also saw that her ears had gone pink again. It suddenly occurred to him that this might be the Wolfen version of a blush. She looked back at the grass, continuing to examine it as if it was the most interesting thing she had ever seen.
‘I saw you in a vision many years ago,’ she murmured. ‘I knew you would come for me.’
‘What was that?’
She sat up. ‘I said, I brought some food for you. Remember how you told Morag and Birna that you liked sam-widges? Well, we made you some. We could only find grass seeds, but . . .’ She reached into her bag and lifted out what looked to be a small plate wrapped in cloth. She unwrapped it and handed it to him.
‘Heey, not bad.’ The bread looked to be the flat, unleavened kind – a little hard and overcooked, but when he lifted it to his nose, it smelled wonderful.
‘Don’t worry, it’s okay to eat. I
tested it on one of the servants, and they’re still fine. I also tasted it myself . . . but I didn’t really like the brett.’ She waved both her hands at him, as though she was trying to shoo it into his mouth. ‘But you try it.’
‘It’s bread . . . and it looks great. But no more taste tests on the servants, okay?’ She nodded and watched him carefully as he raised the sandwich to his lips.
Arn bit down, hard. The bread was as tough as it looked, and had a slight acidic taste to it. Eilif had filled the sandwich with thin slices of beef, which was salty and tender. He chewed and swallowed and closed his eyes, and then sat still for a moment.
‘What’s the matter? Is it okay?’ Eilif placed her hand on his forearm.
Arn opened his eyes and smiled. ‘It’s good . . . No. No, it’s better than that – it’s great.’
‘Yes!’ She threw both her arms around his neck – then quickly let go, and looked over either shoulder as if to make sure no one had seen them. She leaned in close to him. ‘I knew you’d like it.’
Arn broke the sandwich in half. ‘It’s too much for me; here, you have some too.’
‘No, Arn. This is your private meal.’
‘I insist.’ He saw she was about to object again. ‘Where I come from, being asked to share someone’s lunch is a great honour.’ He looked at her solemnly.
Eilif looked at him, then the sandwich, and nodded. ‘Then I would be truly honoured to share your sam-widge.’ He handed her one of the halves, and noticed that she pulled out the meat, leaving the bread on the grass beside her. She nibbled at it daintily, obviously trying to mimic his slower style of eating.
He turned to her. ‘I’ve been asked to attend a meeting with the king tonight. Will you be there?’
She stopped chewing and frowned at him. ‘I know nothing of it. My father is very busy at the moment, as is my mother. Even Grimson I haven’t seen for days. I have heard that my father sent runners out to the far corners of the kingdom, to bring in all the scattered warrior tribes . . .’ She frowned and looked off into the distance, then turned back quickly, smiling. ‘Maybe he has a special task for you?’
Arn ignored her flattering, and thought instead of the Wolfen tribes being summoned back to Valkeryn. ‘Do you think there’ll be a war?’
She jumped to her feet. ‘I hope so. It’ll be my first chance to fight in battle, now that I’m old enough. We Wolfen are good fighters . . . and have never lost a war.’ She offered him her hand. ‘And with the mighty Arnoddr-Sigarr by our side, we’ll be victorious yet again.’
From a window of the castle, a dark-furred Wolfen watched, his lips curling back in disgust at their familiarity with each other.
Chapter 21
It Must Be Fun To Play God
Jim Takada paced the floor of the command room, his arms folded and his face pulled into a frown. He stopped and turned. ‘But if it’s still open, then what’s to stop more . . . objects falling through?’
Albert Harper shrugged. ‘What’s to stop them falling back? Might be a revolving door, rather than a one-way exit only.’
‘Do you think the boy could return with the diamond, or at least be retrieved?
‘Good question. I hope so, but from where? He might be as close as tomorrow, but in a different dimensional slice of the universe. He could also be standing in a Cretaceous swamp – we can’t know from here. But I think we should try and find out, don’t you?’
Takada nodded. ‘Gets my vote.’
There was a buzz from the communication panel beside Harper’s hand, and he looked down at the flashing light. ‘Front gate,’ he grunted, flicking a switch. ‘Harper here.’
‘Dr. Harper, it’s the girl, Rebecca Matthews. I guess she’s come to check on our progress again.’
Harper sighed and looked at the security monitor for the front gate, where the girl stood beside a car, in which sat a middle-aged man and woman – probably her parents.
‘Tell her I’m not . . .’ He thought for a moment. If we’re going to find Singer, we first need to understand him . . . and she could help. He shrugged. Couldn’t do any more harm, he thought.
A news blackout, and a selective misinformation leak had thrown the press off for now. Most of the scientists and technicians required on the emergency project were flown in and out by helicopter, and stayed on the Fermilab grounds.
‘Sure, Bob, let her through. I’ll send a cart to pick her up. Just make sure one of the guards checks to make sure she doesn’t have a pocket camera . . . And get her to turn her phone off immediately.’
Harper flicked off the communication feed, but continued to watch as the gates slid back and the girl was waved through. Bob Menzies leaned in through the car window and spoke to the parents for a minute, then stood back to wave as the car backed away.
The gate slid closed, and Bob chatted with the girl until another guard appeared, walking beside a dog that was unleashed. He spoke a few words to the animal and it immediately circled the girl, sniffing intently, and then froze to stare into her face. It held that position, simply starring into the girl’s eyes.
What do they see when they do that? Harper wondered.
After a few seconds more, the animal returned to sit by the guard.
The guard and the dog wandered away, leaving Bob to chat with the girl for a few more moments until a golf cart pulled up beside them. She climbed in for the several mile trip to the head office, where the rescue attempt was being coordinated.
Harper looked at his watch. He had a few minutes until she arrived, so he turned to the bank of screens, now focused permanently on the sealed acceleration chamber. The small dot of instability hovered in the air like a smudge on each monitor – like something that needed no more than a quick wipe with a damp cloth to make it disappear. But it was much more than that; it was a continuing distortion in their universe – not opening any further, but not closing either. A distortion that one young person had already fallen through, taking with him the only thing that may be able to close it.
That the distortion refused to evaporate and disappear worried the lead scientist immensely. He was right to call the work now being undertaken a rescue attempt. And though he had said it was for Arnold Singer, secretly he knew the young man was insignificant – that the actual rescue might be for the laboratory and its grounds, or perhaps even the entire world.
Dark matter and black holes were insatiably hungry creatures, and the Tevatron continued to suck power at a geometrically increasing rate. They had to succeed.
*****
Becky sat in the cart as it passed under the huge three-legged, metal structure on their way towards the administration building – ‘an optical illusion’, Arn had said to her only a few weeks ago. She smiled at his dumb humour. Already talking to him seemed like a distant dream.
She couldn’t stop accusing herself, and still didn’t know if she was feeling guilty about her treatment of him, or whether she really cared for the nerd. Arn’s parents had suddenly left town, which seemed strange to her, and the college acted like he was not even enrolled there anymore. Mr. Beescomb had asked her to leave it up to the powers that be, but she and Edward had refused to drop it, and while he banged away searching the internet for clues, she kept an eye on Dr. Harper. She felt she needed to know every day what they were doing to bring Arn home.
She tried to relax her face – once again, it had pulled into a frown without her realising. She reached up and touched the skin between her eyes, feeling the crease that was beginning to form there. Damn you, Arnold Singer, you’re giving me wrinkles.
Becky looked across to where the dogs were housed. The white-domed buildings looked more like landed spaceships than regular kennels. The huge animals sat silently and watched her as she passed. From within the domes came the sound of barking – sort of. She saw that the dogs outside the kennels swung their heads at the weird noise. It was like a dog barking, but the cadences were different, almost like . . .
The driver, who noticed her conf
usion, chuckled. ‘Sounds like talking, doesn’t it? The lab boys have been genetically engineering the animals for size and intelligence. Even strengthened their cell structures to deal with high doses of ionising radiation. I think it’s some sort of sponsored military sub-project.’
Becky frowned at him, and he chuckled again. He took her look of distaste to be a sign to carry on talking.
‘Hey, you think they’re smart? You should see the new dog, Fen. That’s him you can hear making all the racket. The keepers say he can actually understand them.’ He looked at her, taking his eyes off the narrow road. ‘I mean really understand them. It’s true! Weird, huh?’
The driver slowed as they neared the entrance to the Administration Centre.
‘Okay miss, here we are, and right there waiting is Dr. Harper. I’ll be back to take you to the front gates when you’re ready.’
Becky craned her neck to look back to the kennels. The dogs were ruturning to the kennels by themselves as if they’d all been summoned. She turned to the driver. ‘Why did you do it? Train them to try and talk, I mean.’
The driver looked quickly over to the kennels, and then back to her. He hesitated.
‘But we didn’t. They taught themselves to do that all on their own.’
It must be fun to play God, she thought, now feeling even more unsettled by the weird animals.
Climbing out of the cart, Becky headed over to the waiting scientist. She noticed that in the last few weeks he had aged considerably – he looked more beaten down and weary. Things cannot be going well, she thought, and felt immediately depressed.
‘Hello Dr. Harper. I’m sorry to bother you again, but I had a dream . . .’ She let her voice trail off, not really wanting to go into any more details.
Harper grabbed her hand and shook it. ‘You’re welcome any time, Rebecca. As long as you understand that anything you see or hear must be kept confidential.’ He smiled and kept shaking her hand, pressing it for emphasis. Then he turned and waved her inside.
