butterflies between its rubbery lips.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’
On hearing him, the fish started to move a little faster towards the water. Arn leapt, spear held high.
Arn threw the remains of the fish onto the ground and went to wash his hands.
He caught sight of himself at the water’s edge. ‘Like fishy, bony pork, and very nice.’ He finished with a belch at his reflection.
The sun was climbing towards its zenith, and he decided to set off again — he’d climb the hill and then hopefully be able to pick up the stream when it reemerged on the other side. He felt better after his small meal, and now he knew that at least there was some food he could eat… and more importantly, catch.
He looked back at the remains of the fish. It was already covered in the yellow butterflies. He shook his head. Carnivorous butterflies… What next — acid-spitting squirrels? He laughed at the thought, and set off.
Arn climbed to the top of the hill — a tough climb, as it turned out to be a lot higher and steeper than he expected. As he neared its summit, he smelled a coppery odour and something else unpleasant that he couldn’t identify.
Once at the top, he stood and looked down into a bowl-shaped valley, and recoiled in disgust. Bodies were strewn everywhere; blood still oozed from vicious wounds.
He struggled to believe it was real. The dress of the fallen combatants made it seem more like some sort of dorky medieval battlefield recreation. But then the smell, blood and broken bodies, and what looked like large crows circling overhead — these proved otherwise.
He stared hard into the valley. Armoured warriors — like a cross between knights and Vikings — lay everywhere. But there was something about them that wasn’t… right.
And not all of them were dead. Other knights knelt among the bodies, and Arn crouched for cover before they caught sight of him. Further up the other side of the valley, a knight on horseback emerged from the shade of a tree, his armour shining silver in the sunlight. Upon his head was a mighty helmet in the shape of a snarling dog or wolf — all silver rivets, wild eyes and fangs.
Arn felt a sudden urge to yell to them — let them know he was there. Perhaps he might even get some answers. But something in their shape held him back. At that moment, the mounted warrior lifted his hands to his head and removed his helmet.
Arn’s breath caught in his chest. The shape of the helmet was no simple design of fancy. Instead, it looked as if it had been moulded to its owner’s actual features; a silver grey wolf’s head looked up to the sky, and the knight lifted one hand and ran it across his fur from snout to forehead. He opened his mouth in an anguished grimace, long teeth gleaming whitely in his long face.
Arn was frozen with fear and indecision. Given the dangers he had encountered to date, he fully expected these creatures to be carnivorous. The knight turned his head, and eyes like twin gun barrels fixed on Arn. Even from that great distance, Arn saw them momentarily widen in surprise. Those long teeth flashed again as the knight spoke to another, now standing at his shoulder. He pointed, and then the other armoured wolf also looked to where Arn was standing.
Arn wasn’t going to wait for these creatures to come and fetch him for dinner, but as he turned to run back down the hill, he found himself face-to-face with a sinister, robed figure.
It was no more than four feet in height. From under the hood of its robe, eyes that were yellow slits embedded in night-dark orbs stared unblinkingly. Beneath a small, flattened snout, a wedge-shaped mouth hung open to reveal rows of needle-like teeth in black gums.
Arn thought he saw it smile as its furred hand, which was little more than a clump of wickedly curved hooks, snagged his shirt and dragged him forward. As he struggled to free himself, something hit him on the side of his head, and mercifully everything went black.
Chapter 8
I Come in Peace
Arn woke to feel a chill across his belly and chest, and pain across most of his upper body.
He tried to sit up but couldn’t, and realised he was roped, spread-eagled, to a wooden frame. Worse still, he was naked. He leaned forward and saw that his clothes had been ripped to shreds and dumped in a pile. His wallet lay open, its contents also shredded, his sticks of gum scattered on the grass. Another piece lay chewed up in a small puddle of slimy goo, as though someone had tasted it and then spat it out.
Arn saw that his pocketknife lay unopened on a bench nearby, its stiff hinges obviously proving too much for the creature’s clawed hands. But there was no diamond. A small sound made him whip his head around, and the frame squeaked underneath him.
Several more robed creatures, squatting nearby, heard the movement and got to their feet. All moved to stand beside the frame, staring for a moment, before talking in a whining singsong language to each other. One pointed to several bits of Arn’s anatomy, this followed by more hissing and whining that grated on his already stretched nerves.
A hooked claw was pointed at his groin. The look of disgust on their flat features was plain to see — he was obviously as repugnant to them as they were to him.
There came a noise from behind the strange group that immediately quietened them, and then the frame was lowered until it lay at about his captives’ chest level. Feels like an operating table, Arn thought as he watched the creatures, and teased the ropes at his wrists.
With their robed heads bowed, they parted to allow a grey-faced creature to approach. It moved immediately up to his head, and bent closer to examine him with an unblinking stare, its yellow slitted eyes never straying from his own. The gaze was so intense, Arn felt it was stripping him down to the bone.
Arn tried to return the stare, but found it hard to look into the hypnotic gaze for very long. Instead, he looked into its mouth, which hung open to reveal the same needle-like teeth the others had, but these were grey and decayed with age. The vile smell of its hot breath on his face made him turn away, gagging.
The creature held up its hand and between two claws sat the magnificent diamond from the laboratory.
Arn nodded. ‘You can have it.’
The thing kept its eyes on Arn’s face and motioned with one arm, hissing something to the small group behind it. They immediately carried over a wooden bench, on which they then placed a heavy stone jug and bowl.
The creature looked Arn up and down, as though deciding where he would begin. Arn felt his nerves were about to break.
‘Can you understand me?’
The creature stopped and stared for few seconds, and then went back to pouring a stream of water from the jug into the bowl.
‘I’m your friend,’ Arn persisted. ‘I mean you no harm.’
The creature ignored him. Instead, he dipped his small, clawed hands into the water and rubbed them together, holding them up and inspecting them as Arn had seen surgeons do before commencing an operation.
‘Oh God, no. Listen, I come in peace.’ He knew it was pointless, but fear was doing the talking now.
It reached up to his face, and Arn felt the sharp talons raking his skin for a second, before circling around his temple as if searching for the tenderest places to start.
‘Please don’t…’
Then it began. The pain was excruciating as all five of the sharp talons entered the soft skin of his temple. The face leaned forward to stare again, the breath reeking of carrion, rotting teeth, and a foulness that was both nauseating and frightening.
The hissing and whining commenced, and then stopped. Then came more probing and whining. Arn gritted his teeth. It made no difference — the hissing and whining became ever more forceful, insistent, like an endlessly repeated question.
