More probing, and then the voices lowered, punctuated by pauses and different inflections. The pain that he felt at his temple moved to the centre of his skull, and then…
‘Ugly hairless creature; your shape disgusts me. All apes are long dead. From where do you come?’
Arn’s first thought was that the pain had caused him to pass out and he was just dreaming. Or worse — that it had sent him insane. Perhaps that was it? Whatever happened in the acceleration room at Fermilab had rendered him insane, and this wasn’t happening at all? He giggled deliriously at the creature’s flattened face.
The thing started talking again, but this time its eyes were closed, and the words didn’t seem meant for him.
‘This one has travelled far. Strange mind, complex mind, toolmaker, war maker. Not fully grown yet — almost, but not yet.’ It opened its eyes and leaned in close. ‘Are you ape?’ The claws sunk deeper. ‘Where do you come from, ape? What do they call you?’
The pain in the centre of Arn’s head turned to fire, and he felt blood stream from his nostrils.
The claws dug deeper, the questions repeated.
Arn screamed out his answer, ‘I hear you, I hear you!’ He grimaced and spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Not an ape; I’m a man.’
‘No!’ The creature spat this into his face, and then turned and hissed the words, ‘This ape is a liar’. It spun back and growled into Arn’s face with such hatred, that he tried to shrink back into the frame that held him.
‘Man is gone. Man is long dead.’
The creature once again held the diamond in front of Arn’s face. ‘What is the blood stone for?’
Arn nodded, summoning as much warmth as he could. ‘It’s for you… a gift.’
The creature snorted derisively, turned to drop the stone and snatched up Arn’s pocketknife and held it in front of him, while keeping its other claws embedded in his temple. ‘And what is this? Is this a weapon?’
Arn tried to shake his head. ‘No, just a sort of… tool.’
‘More lies. Make it work for us, ape.’ The old creature pushed the knife into one of Arn’s hands. Then he frowned and leaned forward to sniff him. ‘I sense a kinship with the Wolfen on him.’ The thing growled, and dug deeper with its claws — this time it seemed, just to inflict pain.
Arn cried out and tried to pull away. Tears were rolling down his face. ‘Not lying… I don’t know what a Wolfen is. I’m not an ape; my name is Arnold Singer, and I’m…’
The creature jerked upright. Arn suddenly felt like a door had been opened, and he was suddenly able to see back into the dark corridors of the creature’s mind.
Arn flexed his thoughts, and saw the creature wince. The doorway to its mind had been opened a crack — he now kicked it wide. He saw an army of the small yellow-eyed creatures who had captured him; behind them were other terrifying beasts, similar in shape to the creatures, but many times larger. There were thousands of them — brutish and powerful, and thirsty for blood and war.
Shock was written momentarily on his interrogator’s furred features, and Arn felt its claws withdraw, sliding out from beneath his skin. The slitted eyes were now wide, but not with hatred. Arn sensed something far more primal in them — perhaps even fear.
‘Impossible. Not Sigarr. Not the Arnoddr-Sigarr.’
Arn felt blood trickle down the side of his face, and watched numbly as the other hooded creatures joined the old sorcerer. All were now highly animated by the mention of this name. Strangely, Arn could still understand them all. Whatever the vile thing had done to him, its effects seemed permanent.
One of the hooded creatures pointed at Arn. ‘Make the link again — ask it when the war will come. If there be victory, will it be ours? If it truly is the Arnoddr, it will know.’
Arn closed his eyes. So they didn’t know that somehow the link remained. A complex mind, the thing had said of him. Perhaps more complex than you realise, Arn thought.
He listened. They called themselves Panterran. And they had a hatred and distrust for almost everything — but none more so than for a race they called the Wolfen.
The old Panterran looked at Arn, its goblin-like features twisted into slyness.
‘No more link; it hurts with this one. Not like Panterran or Wolfen mind. I will open the ape and read our future from its entrails.’ It gave a small whining chuckle. ‘We will save the extra meat for our giant friends.’
Arn gulped, and gripped the pocketknife in his fist, praying the pain from the last link had caused the old Panterran to overlook it.
Another Panterran burst in among the group, and after looking scornfully at Arn for a second while it caught its breath, spoke a single word: ‘Wolfen.’
The old Panterran hissed. At its orders, the small, deformed-looking creatures began grabbing bows and arrows, and curved swords like scimitars.
‘Take the Lygon, but be sure to bring me one of the Wolfen alive — all others are to be killed. Information and secrecy are our weapons now.’ The old Panterran turned briefly to Arn and looked him up and down, its mouth twisting in disgust. It picked up some of Arn’s shredded clothing and threw it across his face.
‘Your hairless form is repulsive… but your face truly sickens me.’
You should talk, you ugly freak! Arn screamed the retort in his mind, but kept still and silent as he heard the old creature rush to join the others.
He fiddled with the knife in his hand, his sweaty palm making it difficult, but he needed to hurry. He didn’t think digging around in his entrails sounded like something he wanted to hang around for. He tested his bonds. Gotta get out of here. Now!
Chapter 9
Fenrir Watches Us All
The four Wolfen, three adults and one youth, moved silently through the deeper parts of the forest, pausing from time to time to lift their heads in the air, or get down close to the ground to examine some minor disturbance to the soil or grass.
Isingarr, their senior warrior, held up one hand and remained stock-still. His ears were erect and pointing forward. The tip of one of them was missing, and a long scar ran down the side of his face, the result of a previous battle. The others held their ground and waited.
His eyes were unblinking as they scanned the forest ahead, and a low, almost imperceptible rumble came from deep in his chest. Immediately, his two adult companions joined him, drawing long silver blades that glinted in the shaded gloom.
Isingarr spoke over his shoulder. ‘I fear we may be late in rejoining the Valkeryn pack this eve.’ He drew his own blade as the stillness of the dense forest was broken. Their ears twitched at the soft hissing and whining that echoed both low to the ground and high in the trees — all around them.
Isingarr turned to one of the warriors. ‘Ussen, you will escort our ward back to Valkeryn. Turok and I will give you some time — use it well.’
Ussen stared hard at Isingarr for a second, looking like he wanted to disobey the command to leave his leader, before nodding once. Behind him, the young Wolfen began to protest, and Ussen sheathed his sword, just as an arrow took him in the neck. He coughed hard and went to his knees, then fell forward to the ground and lay still.
Isingarr noted the accuracy of the fatal bolt, bared his teeth and roared his anger. Then he pulled the small warrior back behind himself and raised his sword. ‘Slinkers. Visors down.’
With a clank, the warriors lowered their visors and raised their swords. More arrows flew out of the dark, bouncing off their armour. There was movement at the forest’s edge, and more hissing and whining, then a roar that shook the trees all around them.
‘Something else comes.’ Isingarr gripped his sword so hard his hand began to shake.
The smaller Wolfen whimpered. Isingarr grabbed his forearm. ‘Steady yourself, young one; it will be over soon. Remember who you are.’
He looked down and held the young Wolfen’s gaze with his own. Then he banged one of his gauntleted fists against the raised wolf crest on the smaller warrior’s chest. ‘Fenrir watches us all.’ After a moment, the smaller
