Read Online Return of the Ancients by Greig Beck - Free Book Online
Authors: Greig Beck
Tags: Fantasy
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among the rocks at the side of the hill. He hoped that it reappeared on the other side of the hill, so he could continue to follow it.
While he sat musing, his stomach growled again and this time actually hurt a little. Small yellow butterflies danced around his face and he blew air at one that looked to be contemplating a quick landing on his nose.
‘Shouldn’t get too close to my mouth when I’m this hungry, little guy.’
While he continued to watch them, one alighted on his hand. He smiled, until he felt a sharp pain; he slapped at the butterfly, cursing, and flicked it into the water, where its small yellow body circled in a little eddy at the shoreline. He looked down at his hand and saw a puncture mark with a dot of blood welling up from it.
‘Jeez, does anything not bite, sting or peck in this weird land?’ He lifted his hand to his mouth to suck at the wound and ease the sting. There was a splash from the stream and he looked up in time to see a good-sized fish come in close to the shore to snatch the butterfly from the water’s surface. His stomach rumbled again, and he lowered his hand, wondering at the possibility.
Arn swatted another couple of the large yellow butterflies. From a large bush, he dragged down a branch about four feet in length, broke it off and stripped away the smaller branches. Taking out his pocketknife, he sharpened one end of his makeshift spear.
Once finished, he admired his handiwork. He lifted the spear, weighed it in his hands, and looked down along its length as though checking a pool cue. Satisfied, he returned to the rocks by the stream.
He had only been gone a few minutes, but on returning he saw his butterfly bait was gone, and some of the fish from the stream were waddling back towards the water, propped up on stiff forefins. One still held one of the 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 –
While he sat musing, his stomach growled again and this time actually hurt a little. Small yellow butterflies danced around his face and he blew air at one that looked to be contemplating a quick landing on his nose.
‘Shouldn’t get too close to my mouth when I’m this hungry, little guy.’
While he continued to watch them, one alighted on his hand. He smiled, until he felt a sharp pain; he slapped at the butterfly, cursing, and flicked it into the water, where its small yellow body circled in a little eddy at the shoreline. He looked down at his hand and saw a puncture mark with a dot of blood welling up from it.
‘Jeez, does anything not bite, sting or peck in this weird land?’ He lifted his hand to his mouth to suck at the wound and ease the sting. There was a splash from the stream and he looked up in time to see a good-sized fish come in close to the shore to snatch the butterfly from the water’s surface. His stomach rumbled again, and he lowered his hand, wondering at the possibility.
Arn swatted another couple of the large yellow butterflies. From a large bush, he dragged down a branch about four feet in length, broke it off and stripped away the smaller branches. Taking out his pocketknife, he sharpened one end of his makeshift spear.
Once finished, he admired his handiwork. He lifted the spear, weighed it in his hands, and looked down along its length as though checking a pool cue. Satisfied, he returned to the rocks by the stream.
He had only been gone a few minutes, but on returning he saw his butterfly bait was gone, and some of the fish from the stream were waddling back towards the water, propped up on stiff forefins. One still held one of the 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 –
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