Spectacular Tales III Read online

  *****

  Eight Years Later, on Tarak, Ufburk's Homeworld

  "Peculiar," says Rydal, "what slew them?"

  Ufburk regards his friend with haggard eyes. Not issuing a response, but there is no need for words. They silently survey Danno's dead flock of sheep, and to Ufburk the animals appear as if something turned them inside out.

  "Devilry slew them, and I've no doubt this is Fel's doing. Come, let's check the surroundings, perhaps Danno hid away. He had a place, where he avoided the scorn of the husbands if the women he often kept."

  Ufburk feels alien to his homeworld. This world was one of many, hollowness, yes, being here make him feel empty. Tarak is a broken world now, torn by war. Is this dystopia the work of Lord Fel, who has managed time and time again to elude Ufburk and Rydal? The foul manner, whatever weird thing it was that killed the sheep does remain the once barbarian's chief worry. Fel's ambitions have come clearer to Ufburk in the eight years that he and Rydal pursued the Commander.

  Coming around the lushly green fields edge, Ufburk heads for a small hill some distance from Danno's farm. The thick dew has preserved a trail of bent grass headed to Ufburk's destination. Not allowing himself to hope is the hardest part, though he knows only one man made the marks he follows.

  "Wait," Rydal's voice is gruff, anticipatory.

  Ufburk glances to his side, where Rydal is standing tall, sniffing the air. The once-barbarian stands motionless, though he is full of adrenaline, and he sees that something has irked his companion.

  "Dirvak Vul, more than fifty. They have made camp over the rise."

  Ufburk frowns, thinking the news Rydal has given him is terrible and impossible, the Dirvaks are extinct.

  "Impossible."

  Rydal continues to speak, hearing his friend's dismay, but putting it aside for practicalities sake.

  "They are not alone, and this troubles me. I do not understand what my senses are telling me."

  "What of the Taraks, do you smell others of my ilk?"

  "Many and one, there, and, there," Rydal's massive hand rises and with one significant digit, he points toward the village where Ufburk spent his childhood. Next Rydal points to their original destination.

  Ufburk looks again toward the place he is headed and is stunned to see Danno, recklessly fragile and wearing thin black clothing reduced to tattered black rags that are so faded they appear almost grey, strolling towards them.

  "Danno!

  The stunning figure sways as he stares apparently frightened at the man standing before him, holding a laser gun. The once-barbarian, possibly a Tarakanian, is older now. His knotted muscles are bulkier than Danno recalls, the man looks meaner than ever before and has more scars than his younger cousin once had but it is Ufburk, and he is home!

  "Ufburk? Cousin!"

  Ufburk calls his cousin's name and rushes to greet Danno, who is already doing the same despite his apparent weakness.

  They embrace, and Ufburk smothers his shorter cousin's forehead with kisses, and he cries, not caring if tears break a man or not. He takes Danno's haggard and darkly bearded face in his hands and looks the man directly in his eye.

  "You must tell me what you know, for I have come to vanquish our enemies."

  But Danno is not listening; he stares wide-eyed past Ufburk to Rydal, a mythical beast that defies Danno's sheepherder's brain.

  "Have I died?" says Danno dreamily.

  "No, but if any of your folk are alive, you must hear your cousin and give him whatever counsel you can. I am Rydal, of Evan Moore. My world is far from yours. Prince Ufburk and I are allies. Do not fear, hear your cousin. Forgive my bluntness; there is cause for hastiness."

  For a moment there is a palpable unease, and to Ufburk Danno looks half-mad. Then, Danno falls to the once barbarian's feet, and sobbing tells them all:

  "It was more than two years ago that they came, killing everyone they could, but Tiber smote many. I joined the fight, and we had many wins until Lord Fel came. Now, Tiber uses the last of a significant relic's power to seal himself and five others who I last saw alive within his home inside a magical barrier. The obstruction angers Fel greatly. I fear that besides your father and those five men that none live on, but I hope I am wrong. Oh cousin, say I am wrong."

  "Rydal senses that many of us Taraks are yet alive, if they are, we shall rescue them. Do not worry cousin; I will free our world."

  Ufburk turns away, staring hard at the dirty floor. Rydal and Danno both know the once-barbarian is brooding. They hold their tongues, knowing Ufburk becomes equally edgy when he is moody. If he wants to speak, he will.

  Ufburk's voice is smaller, grainier than normal, "Where is my dog?"

  Danno's eyes glisten, full of wet-around tears, "Dead Cousin, naturally, and of old age. He was a good pup, but lucky for you, a better sire. Rugsin, Bevold!"

  Two large dogs appear. The dogs must have slept in the dark alcove near the end of Danno's cave because Ufburk is startled by the canines suddenly appearing. Their shadows stretch out in the ebbing glow of a nearby fire. The Big Man's grip tightens on the Raygun, then as he sees the animals he chuckles, and drops to his knees and is greeted by wet kisses.

  "Aye, these are wonderful pups. Aren't you?" He jokes, ruffing up Rugsin's shaggy silver mane. The animal greets him with a playful bark. "One can plainly tell Sefer was their sire."

  Ufburk's attention turns to the other pup, "Bevold eh? Well. You have a godly chest at that fellow. Come and see Ufburk, I only bite my enemies. It's okay boy, come."

  The dark-haired animal advances cautiously moving with the ease of a panther. Ufburk greets Bevold with an upwards-facing palm, held flat for the dog to investigate. Soon, Ufburk is rubbing the dog's ears.

  "They like you. Go figure, those mutts hate me, cousin, even though I put Sefer with the bitch that bore them. Ungrateful too."

  "That does not matter now; I am pleased to meet Sefer's pups. I missed that animal when I was away."

  "They can track."

  Ufburk feels a long scar on Bevold's side; he glances up at Danno expectantly. His fingers trace the thing.

  Danno sighs, "It was the Mindless, so I call them. Those are the larger things, with reddish-white skin and eyes that remind me of that thing you carry, the thing that made you leave our world. The Greys caught us, those black-eyed grey ones, and those things set the Mindless on us. They are terrible, those walking brutes. Many carry long-heavy blades. They killed Shanti, the lone female from Sefer's litter. I carried Bevold home bleeding, and we ran Rugsin and me. I felt afraid for weeks, thinking the Greys would follow the blood trail and execute the dogs and me. It has been over a year; I should think that they'd have come knocking by now.

  "Aye. Maybe the Scala know you are here but see you as a non-threat?"

  By the look on Danno's face, Ufburk knew Rydal's remark stung his Cousin's nerves.

  "I'm plenty threatening," Danno sneers.

  "Says you," says a dark voice from beyond them. The dogs begin to growl. Ufburk feels that same crawling sensation and knows Fel has found them.

  "Yet I think you make for better bait than a man."

  Danno leaps forward, enraged, and Ufburk attempts to stop his cousin, but somehow lets him pass. Danno's life is over in seconds, His Cousin's body is soon writhing in a spreading crimson pool, and Ufburk has grabbed Sefer's pups, wild-eyed with their duty, to protect. His eyes leave Fel, falling away to track the lighter dog.

  All at once Fel's piercing cry comes and Ufburk jerks his head around to see the source of the Deceit God's agony. It is Rydal, stained with blood. In his off-hand, the Merrigan clutches Fel's gauntleted arm, torn free of Fel from the forearm to the fingertips.

  "I recall you saying that as long as you wore Antar's Brace that you would stay invulnerable. Well, that's out Fel. Your plan has failed you. But let's see, no, I do not think they designed this trinket for my kind. I tell you, once cleaned it should look smashing on my friend here. Don't you say?"

&nbs
p; Fel still screams, as his astonished eyes plead for mercy. Blood sprays outward in pulsing arcs. The God weakens, slumping further into the muck.

  "The detail you missed Commander Fel was me. I am a guardian of sorts you see, of light and greys, of disorder, of balance. You had the audacity to underestimate me, my race. Funny, I have sought you for so long. Now you are done," Rydal grins horrifically in the flicking firelight.

  Ufburk says nothing; his friend has already spoken. He knows Rydal's story; he knows everything.

  Fel slumps farther but manages a few sentences "Fools. My master will destroy you both. No one, nay-nothing can stop Seljuk. He is no god or guardian but infinity. You will-"

  Commander Fel drops face-first in his pooling blood and Rydal indifferently tosses the arm after him, liberated of Antar's Brace. The Brace he hands to the bewildered Ufburk, who is unused to Rydal acting as he just did.

  "Take it. We must go and hope Fel did not arrange an ambush. At any rate, be ready to fire. We must slay those Dirvaks and whatever governs them.

  "If we act swiftly do you think we stand a chance of destroying Seljuk?"

  Rydal considers Ufburk's question, answering promptly and with care, "We must first acquire your father's advice. By his knowledge, we might find the armour we have several times spoke of and with it, along with Antar's Brace, you can withstand Seljuk's many minds and eyes. As you know, his powers will control minds and often make slaves from the many. But yes, yes. Let us run and loose those dogs! Let us bring war!"

  "Fine by me. But, where is the Armour of Enthily that you have said I must obtain?"

  "Not far Ufburk, come, we will bury your cousin later. Come, Warrior! It is time to free a land."

  So Ufburk, Son of Tiber and Rydal of Evan Moore run toward certain doom, theirs, or the for ends of others yet determined.

  © 2016 Donny Swords

  The Quarantine Zone

  By Ray Foster

  The Thames flowed sedately past the hospital. The waters dappled in green, grey and gold slashes that reflected both the sky and the Houses of Parliament opposite. Somehow the building seemed impervious to the burning buildings that blossomed behind it forming a macabre backdrop as dense black smoke floated downstream.

  The hospital had been set up as a quarantine area but, now, it was a place where the dead outnumbered the living. Every floor was lined with body bags that contained patients, their friends and relatives and it wasn’t long before the nurses, doctors and those sent to secure the hospital in the quarantine zone fell victim to an unnamed disease.

  Katya Jenova took a deep drag on her cigarette eyes narrowed against the smoke as she looked across the river to the Houses of Parliament. Where were all the decision makers now? Were the corridors of the powerhouse lined with body bags? Death had become commonplace to the point that she did not really care anymore.

  The only thing that bothered her was whether her family back in Poland were still alive. Truth to tell she probably would never know – maybe, better not knowing. Her grandparents had been Russian but they moved to Gdansk to work in the shipyards. Their son had married a local girl and had just the one daughter, Katya, who had rejected her Russian heritage in favour of her Polish nationality. After training as a nurse she had been amongst the first to take advantage of the freedom to travel through the European Union to find work in a UK hospital.

  There had been encounters with prejudice; cursed as an immigrant on the scrounge for benefits – none of which she received. But though the accusations stung she was happy with her well paid job and a lifestyle that she would never have enjoyed had she have remained in Poland.

  Here in the shade of the shrubs set in raised concrete beds she could find solace. It was her sanctuary now – a place to hide from the small crowd that milled, aimlessly, outside the main entrance. None could leave for the quarantine zone had been sealed within the confines of a steel cage, topped with forbidding rolls of razor wire that stretched from Westminster Bridge all the way down to Lambeth Bridge and encompassed the hospital and grounds. Guardhouses had been constructed in front of the Florence Nightingale Museum and opposite the main entrance in Lambeth Palace Gardens.

  A figure emerged from behind a tree to turn away from the embankment wall and stroll up the path towards her. As she was about to wave he saw her and turned away looking left and right like a man looking for an escape route. Their paths had crossed several times, with him being a security guard, but any attempt to talk to him had the same result. So now she either waved or just said ‘Hi’ and left it at that. Maybe, she reasoned, he was just not interested in women.

  Then from the other side of the foliage she heard a burst of grumbling anger.

  “There has to be someone about,” the statement came from what sounded to be a frightened, nervous woman. “They can’t just disappear, surely.”

  “They can do whatever the fuck they want,” was the angry response. “They gotta have a way outta here – and I’m not havin’ it. They can’t leave us here to die.”

  As those last words were being spat out, so the speaker came around the corner and spotted the nurse.

  The burly, brutish looking man – all shaven-headed with thick tattooed arms – halted for a moment which allowed the small mob to close up around him.

  “Hey, babe,” the rough voice called out breaking through her thoughts. “You wanna open up this gate, huh?”

  As she looked up as the tall, heavily built man took a step closer while the gathering crowd behind shuffled forward in his wake. The leaders face was scrunched up in an angry scowl; fists bunched ready to strike out.

  “There are no keys,” a male voice said, softly, as the owner stepped out from the cover of a tree opposite.

  “Watchya mean you ain’t got keys?” the man demanded shifting his attention to the newcomer. “How’d you get in and out then?”

  Thinking this to be a clever point he grinned, knowingly, at the crowd behind him.

  “I don’t,” Pete Quist, the onetime security guard, shrugged. “Those guys out there have them – and I think they are all dead.”

  Almost all the crowd turned to look beyond the chain-linked security fence to the camp opposite.

  To where the Archbishop’s Palace Gardens had been turned into a mass burial site; body bags shifted from the temporary mortuary that had been set up on the tennis courts. All this screened behind the scenic woodland so as not to disturb those who entered the hospital.

  “How can they be dead?” the man blustered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “I mean look at those two sitting by the gate – all suited and booted. You can’t say they’re dead. They are protected.”

  “Believe me, they are dead,” Katya stated, standing up and stretching. “A week or more and they’ve not moved.”

  “But how?” someone else, the nervous female, demanded to know.

  “Just like everyone else,” this from a youngster who detached himself from the crowd. “Bug gets you – end of. It’s that simple.”

  “Simple?” the belligerent man shouted. “I’ve lost -.”

  “We’ve all lost,” Quist pointed out. “But we are alive. I can’t tell you why and I doubt very much if the nurse there can answer that question. Whatever, an angry confrontation isn’t going to solve anything.”

  “Yeah, right?” the mob leader growled. “Well, let me tell you I’m Danny Griggs and no one – but no-one fobs me off and tells me what I can and can’t do. Now, one of you go find the keys to this place.”

  “Heard of a Danny Griggs,” the youngster mused, as he strolled in Katya’s direction more to show that he was not with or a part of the mob. “Well known loan shark from down Bermondsey way. Broke an eleven-year-old girl’s legs with a baseball bat because her mum couldn’t pay him.”

  This produced some murmurings among the crowd; voices raised in protest while others tried to sooth and reason. The crowd was dividing as the more aggressive faction began to gather behind the heavy set man.


  “So what?” Griggs roared, angrier now that his identity had been revealed. He had been caught up in all this because he had come hunting someone who owed him money only to find out that they had died. “Now if you lot don’t get us out of ‘ere there’ll be more than broken legs dished out.”

  With his confidence boosted by this support he took another step forward only to step back again as he tried to melt into the crowd prompted by the sight of Quist with an assault rifle aimed from his shoulder.

  “Now is a good time to reconsider what you intend,” Quist suggested, pointing the barrel at the man’s mid-section.

  At which point Katya stepped up and whispered in his ear – and, following her advice, quickly located the safety catch.

  “You can’t kill us all,” Griggs blurted out but his show of bravado rang hollow.

  “I know,” Quist agreed with a nonchalant shrug. “But you will be the first to go.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little unfair?” the youngster asked, head cocked to one side as he looked Griggs in the eye. “Like starting a book and never finding out what happens in the end.”

  “If there was a solution, I think it would have been found before now,” Quist added. “That is what we should be doing now.”

  “Like solving one of them locked room mysteries,” the youngster supplied pleasantly. “You know the kind where a man is found hanging in an empty room with just a patch of damp on the floor -.”

  “He stood on a block of ice,” Katya laughed at her own deduction.

  As logic sank in so support for the angry man faded and more people drifted away; defeated, eventually, he followed in their wake.

  The youngster, though, was not quite done. He stepped up to and faced Quist.

  “You lied,” he stated. “You can open the inner gates – no locks there – just the outer gates need a key. And,” he tapped the rifle, “you don’t have a clue what to do with that. You needed her to tell you to switch the safety. Great with the chat - but, well, not much else.”

  “I’m just a hospital security guard,” Quist admitted meekly. “I took this off a dead soldier - more for effect than anything else. Could you have done better?”

  The youngster nodded before looking at Katya then back to Quist.

  “The name’s Kyle,” he said. “And, maybe, I could but it would depend on your plans.”

  “Like everyone else – find a way out,” Quist’s response was automatic. “I just want to get out of London.”

  “Same here,” Katya confirmed, looking at Quist while her mind questioned his leadership.

  Kyle smiled, sadly, as he pointed at the rifle: “You know what the sad part is – the time will come when you will have no choice but to use that gun and fight. Getting out of this place will be a doddle compared with getting out of London.” He paused long enough for what he had said to sink in. “First, we need to take care of Griggs before that little gang of his re-group.”