Legends Upon Myths Upon Tales
Arn shivered in the cold darkness. Vidarr had led the three of them deep below the castle through a number of tunnels that were fast turning from excavated passageways into natural caves. Glistening limestone columns of lilac and mineral green danced and shivered as the tongues of flame from their burning torches flickered in the dark.
From time to time, plate-sized fungi growing from moist grottos intruded across their path, and Vidarr stopped to tear loose a chunk from one of the largest stalks. He took a bite.
‘Like meat,’ he said, holding it out. Arn shook his head, understanding now where the pervasive mushroom smell came from.
The next tunnel opened out into a cavern, and in every nook and cranny there was an overflowing chest or table piled high with debris that was rotting down to sparkling orange dust — small mountains of wood, metal, stone and waxed paper.
Vidarr stopped and shifted uneasily in the darkness. ‘It has been many, many years since I have had reason to venture this far down.’
Arn laughed softly. ‘So much stuff… It’s endless.’
Vidarr hummed his agreement, and held up his torch. ‘Items accumulated since the dawn of Valkeryn. From time to time a traveller will have something strange to trade — and if it is of interest, then it usually finds its way to me.’
Arn noticed that the old archivist kept looking over his shoulder to some of the darker areas of the caves. Arn held out his own flame and squinted, taking a dozen or so steps away from the group. He noticed that this passage ended not with a rock face, but instead with heavy bars set from floor to ceiling.
Vidarr answered his unspoken question. ‘The deeper caves are home to all manner of things.’
‘I’ve met them.’ Arn grunted. ‘The jormungandr.’
‘Yes. And… others.’
Arn recalled his arrival deep below ground, and the glistening thing in the dark that had looked like a giant hairless rat — and most disturbingly, had giggled.
Vidarr shuffled off, and Eilif came over to take Arn by the hand, pulling him along. He looked back once more to the bars sealing off the deeper caves, and thought he heard sniggering away in the darkness.
They followed Vidarr, ducking through various passages, around pillars, and soon entered a cathedral-sized opening that swallowed their torchlight. Even though the ceiling was hidden in the blackness, there was a sense of openness, of hugeness, which staggered Arn. They could hide an army down here, he thought.
Vidarr lit the torches that were protruding from rings embedded in the rock, before finally placing his own into an empty holder. He turned and opened his arms wide, and walked out towards the centre of the cavern.
‘And now…’ He turned to them, his breath steaming in the chill air. He motioned to the mountains of artefacts piled, stacked and bundled everywhere. ‘… Now it would help if you knew what it was you sought, young Man-kind — a thing, a word, or even just a thought — down here, I can help.’
‘We’re looking for clues.’ Eilif nudged Arn, and winked at him as if sharing a secret. He realised she was still holding his hand, and he gently extricated his fingers from her warm grip. Once free, she immediately began pulling things from among the piles of artefacts. She stopped, frowned and held something up to sniff.
‘What’s this?’ She held up something that might once have been metal. Now it was an L-shaped lump of rust and verdigris that weighed heavily in her hand.
Arn took it from her, and rubbed away some of the corroded crust. He snorted softly. ‘It is… It was a gun. A small weapon of sorts.’
Vidarr took the gun and held it out, sighting along the barrel. ‘Ah yes — the pistol. I believe it expels a metallic pellet faster than the eye can see, which could penetrate any armour known to Wolfen-kind. A small weapon, but one with formidable power.’ He registered Arn’s surprise. ‘As I said, Arnoddr-Sigarr, I have studied these objects and scraps of history my entire life. I know what they are, and where they are, but unfortunately how they could ever work is still a mystery to me.’ He held the gun out to Arn. ‘Perhaps that is where we can help each other?’
Eilif snatched the pistol and brandished it like a club. ‘Imagine if we had some of these — the Lygon would be sent straight to Hellheim in a blink!’
‘Does it help you?’ Vidarr folded his bony arms into his robe.
Arn looked around. ‘Sort of. It tells me that my people were here, but at a different time. And now they’re gone — at least, from this part of the world, as far as we know…’
Vidarr nodded slowly. ‘It’s true that the dark lands hold their own secrets, and adventurers who have entered those realms tell of all manner of strange beasts living there, but…’
Arn stepped closer. ‘But?’
‘But nothing. Legends upon myths upon tales. You must realise that you are the last of your kind, Arnoddr- Sigarr.’
Arn turned away, feeling deflated. Balthazar placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Arn, but we’re glad you’re here. Tell us what we’re looking for.’
Arn realised that he didn’t really know. He’d probably recognise it if he saw it, but he needed their help as well if he was going to make any headway.
‘Something with writing on it, I guess. If it looks interesting, set it aside in a pile, and I can look it over.’ He picked up what appeared to be the handle of a cutlass, its blade long since disintegrated. ‘Are the artefacts organised in any way?’ It didn’t look to Arn as though they were.
‘Yes. This room contains all the most modern pieces. Everything you see here comes from the periods you call the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. After that, there is nothing. But for before that…’ He pointed down a dark tunnel. ‘… We will need to go to another chamber to look at the eighteenth and nineteenth century items. And then—’
‘Wait.’ Arn stared in alarm at the old archivist. ‘The twenty-first century is the last era of my kind that you’ve come across? But that’s my era! Is that when we were wiped out?’
Balthazar shrugged. ‘Or departed. Remember the legends, Arnoddr.’
Arn frowned. A memory was surfacing — Edward, or was it Beescomb or Dr. Harper, talking about the possible dangers of using the accelerator… A disquieting thought bubbled up in his brain, but he tried to push it down, squeezing his eyes shut. Once again, he heard the mocking whisper that had tormented him on his trek through the wastelands. Was it you? Was it your fault? Did you kill them all when you fell through the wormhole?
‘Here.’ Balthazar pulled back some dusty oilskins to reveal several wooden chests that were as large as bathtubs. He grabbed the metal lock of one of them, but it fell to red dust in his hands. Wiping the residue from his fingers, he grabbed the lid and swung it back — instead of opening smoothly, the lid crashed to the floor as its hinges broke apart. ‘Oops.’
‘Don’t know your own strength, counsellor,’ Eilif laughed, kneeling beside the chest.
Inside were individually wrapped packages, all of varying shapes and sizes. Balthazar picked one up and unwrapped it, revealing a book with a cover made of simple boards. Arn leaned over him holding the torch.
Balthazar’s hands shook slightly as he opened the book, which immediately began to disintegrate. He cursed under his breath.
Vidarr grabbed his wrist. ‘Take care; the air in the archives preserves most things for many millennium. But as soon as light, heat or shaking hands touch them, they immediately show their age.’ He pulled a blade from its sheath on his belt and used it to lift several of the pages at once.
Arn and Eilif crowded in to look over his shoulder. Arn lifted his torch a little higher. ‘Looks like a diary.’
Tight cursive writing filled the page. Arn read what he could make out.
‘Something, something… Okay, here we go. The town has been sealed off. No one knows anything, not even Daddy. The government has stopped anyone saying anything on the news, and I can see soldiers on every corner.’ Arn skipped a few faded lines. ‘The sky is all wrong. I’m scared.’
‘I’m scared,’ Eilif repeated. ‘Scared of what — the sky?’
Arn looked at the numbers in the upper right-hand corner of the page. It was dated just a few months after he had left. If the book was found close by, then something happened right in his old neighborhood — maybe even
