Mark Newton: Nights of Villjamur

'Don't worry.' He returned back to join them. 'They won't get past that for at least an hour.'

'Where did you set the limits?' Tuung said.

'I didn't,' Dartun said, and from someone there came a gasp.

Dartun put on his gloves and waited.

The army approached at a rapid pace, flaunting no banners – this was nothing graceful. The rumel rode horses, their heads clear above the level of the armoured alien race who travelled just as quickly by foot. They could soon see that this wasn't armour, but a kind of shell. Shell-creatures with claws, black and fearsome, but Dartun eyed them with a casual regard, as if watching an experiment.

The thick ice vibrated beneath their feet, responding to the bass thunder of animal and warrior. Some from his order beside him gave a mumble of concern. There must have been over a hundred soldiers now approaching them in two columns, and at thirty paces away the skjaldborg was all that lay between them.

Approaching troops and horses collapsed on impact when hitting the invisible wall cast up by the relic, the others colliding straight into the back of them.

Seeing how it was saving them, this relic didn't seem so much a piece of cultist technology as a makeshift prayer.

There were gasps of agony from behind it as the oncomers still desperately piled in to the shield. Horses lurched sideways. Metal armour pinged against the resisting emptiness.

Such power gave Dartun a cheap thrill at times, but he maintained his composure.

The shell-creatures seemed totally unable to comprehend what they faced. Fallen companions looked up from the ground with bulging eyes as the horses trampled them. At least they're not invincible, Dartun thought, seeing black blood spit against the flat nothingness and ooze down it as if on glass. To the rumel, at least, it soon became apparent that there was no way through, and some began shouting urgent commands to those at the rear. Their language was none that Dartun recognized.

Eventually the turmoil ceased and the rumel stood observing Dartun quite calmly, militant voyeurs. He turned to beckon to his entourage. 'Come on – don't be shy.'

The other cultists joined him.

'They look just like the rumels you find in the Archipelago, don't they?' Todi remarked.

'They do indeed,' Dartun replied. 'Which is interesting, don't you think?'

'How so?' Verain enquired.

'Because those ones have red skins, unlike any of ours. Otherwise they seem anatomically identical. Even those shell-creatures aren't all that far removed from what we find in our world. They're bipeds, for one thing. Yet if they stepped out of that Realm Gate,' he indicated the glow to the north, 'then why would there be any similarities at all?'

'That suggests some evolutionary link to our own world,' Todi said. 'Or maybe we derive from them in some way.'

'Excellent reasoning,' Dartun said. His mind was buzzing with theories. 'One might go so far as to say our ancestors might have shared origins, then?'

Someone on the other side tried firing an arrow, which struck the shield, stopped in midair, and fell uselessly to the ice. Others scraped the invisible wall with their swords. They weren't going anywhere.

Dartun walked in front of them, his arms folded, scrutinizing them. The armour of the rumel was sophisticated, he noted – intricate designs which had their roots in some of the ancient traditions of the Mathema civilization. They clutched swords, bows, small round shields, which meant interestingly that their technology seemed no more advanced than that of the Boreal Archipelago. Dartun wondered how this race might have evolved totally independently of his own world.

Gasps.

Dartun looked round to see a group of shell-creatures begin advancing upwards, digging their claws into the wall generated by the relic. He laughed at this absurd vision, but for a moment he wondered just how high the relic's range would offer sanctuary. He certainly didn't want to take any chances.

One of the creatures finally reached the top of the invisible barrier, then fell some distance to the ground, not far from his feet. Within moments, as if perceiving his own thoughts, the undead soldiers approached it.

'Make sure they kill it properly.' Dartun gestured for the undead to move. They shambled numbly forwards, inert, eyes focused at a vague distance. Fifty or so had gathered around their intended victim when another creature dropped from the summit of the unseen wall. As it collapsed on top of the undead, there was not a single sound of protest or alarm.

'Enough now,' Dartun decided, turning towards his sled. 'We head for the Realm Gate.'

*

Dawn broke with ferocious speed, shadows chased off the ice in the blink of an eye. The sled ride was uncomfortable, the entire company remaining silent. It was as if no one even wanted to mention having just encountered things from another world.

Eventually the sleds came to a halt and everyone stepped off and stood in the same flat landscape they had been travelling through for days.

They watched, still in silence, as Dartun sauntered towards the glow of an immensely high doorway, which seemed to hover just above the ice, fifty paces away. A group of the red-skinned rumel stood by it, armed with swords, but showed no sign yet of having seen either the cultists or the undead. Their armour caught the rays of the new day's sun, and their presence made Verain wonder just how many waited beyond.

She watched Dartun produce an aldartal, a narrow brass tube employed to pause time. As he approached, Todi and Tuung put their two arms around each other, and-

– suddenly were some way off, now taking a few belongings from their sled. She looked up to realize that Dartun had just unfrozen her in time, having the aldartal still in his grasp.

'You OK?' Dartun enquired of her.

'Yes,' Verain said, pulling her hood up and pushing the loose strands of her black hair under it. Dartun gave her a loving glance.

'We're finally here. This is it,' he said with a smile.

'I'm a little scared.'

'It's the unknown, that's all. It's all we're ever scared of. I'll look after you, I promise.'

She looked behind them and saw that everyone else was now motionless. Even the undead stood with precision stillness. Up ahead, the rumel soldiers, too, were perfectly still. In the snowy haze, the Realm Gate glowed invitingly.

'I'll just get this lot undone and then we're off,' he said cheerfully. Dartun headed back to free the rest of his order from the bonds of time.

He left the dogs in a state of suspension though, as they wouldn't be required for the next stage of the journey.

As he marched back to join her, everyone else plodded after him. It was a surreal sight, these few dozen men and women, all cloaked in black, tramping across an ice sheet.

They continued towards the red-skinned rumels, Dartun pressing ahead alone, clearly the most eager. There were twenty rumels in total, but that showed no indication of their numbers beyond. Were these ones just as wary about being here in another world as Verain was to be stepping into one? A bitter wind forced her head down, but she continued walking in the footsteps of the cultist in front. When she looked up again she noted how the light from the Realm Gate didn't cast any shadows. Just how ancient was the technology that had created this thing? It loomed higher and higher, and the nearer she got to it, the more impossibly tall it seemed.

Above the howl of the wind, Dartun was saying something. '… we must now remain cautious, because of our lack of knowledge of what lies beyond. Whatever relics you carry, make sure you have them at the ready.'

His form was now almost just a silhouette against the bright light. She sensed him glance back to her and smile, and couldn't help but be infected by his keenness. The man knew what he was doing. For a moment she forgot about their immediate situation, remembered that they were lovers. Just what exactly did he hope to find here? That was another thing about him, the constant air of mystery. Always playing with secrets.