The Valley of Despair Read online

smashing of otherworldly gears and the shattering of strange crystals and metals who’s fashioning had been made complete before mankind had risen to the status of troglodytes. Instantly he noticed a fading of the glaring, orange emanations coming from the other world, as of a long tunnel collapsing into darkness in slow motion.

  “It is done,” cried Peenemünde, exuberantly, triumphantly.

  “Is that it then?” he asked, out of breath. “Will they be able to repair it?”

  “I doubt it. No, I do not think so. And anyway, they will not live long enough to complete any repairs. Even now the influence of time from the distant star is fading with the closing of the intergalactic passage; I can feel it. They will die now,” she said confidently.

  But a sudden realization came over the girl, and she burst into tears. Turning to the man, she collapsed into his arms.

  “Why - Peenemünde! What is it – what’s wrong?” he asked in alarm. Supporting her light frame with one muscled arm, the man gently brushed her hair back from a sweat and tear streaked face as if they had all the time in the world.

  “My Father! I always knew I would never see him again – but I have now helped seal his fate beyond any shred of hope. He is exiled from Earth forever – on Deneb!”

  She wiped her eyes with determination, and grabbing him by the hand she led the man toward the exit. When they had climbed the wide halls back to the throne room she paused. Bidding him await her there, without a word she rushed into an anteroom, returning in a trice with his haversack, tunic and the web belt containing his automatic.

  Erik was thrilled to have the pistol, a gift from his father, once more in his possession. This he quickly buckled about his lean waist, and they left that place to continue their way toward the outer edge of the city.

  11: Flight

  The man grasped the girl by the hand and together they rushed from the room, out into what now were swarms of confused slaves and the gaunt, gray beasts of Deneb.

  At the top of the steps at the front of the palace he came face to face with a mob of Denebians, all fleeing toward up the steps toward them, most likely seeking Garmakalok in the throne room. As soon as they noticed him he had to fight to defend himself and the girl. Being armed with both the sword of Garmakalok and his automatic he easily vanquished many of them until the remaining gray-backs, seeing his martial form with both pistol and sword, fled away from him.

  “Let’s find Argos!” he cried to Peenemünde over the clamor of fright and cries of rage filling the air. “Head for the gate.”

  The slaves were a pitiable sight in their panic stricken state; desperate to save them Erik and the girl shouted for them to follow, people who were from all walks of life and time from the last two thousand years and from every nationality imaginable. At last making themselves heard they were able to make their way toward the outer columns of the city with many of these now following in their wake.

  There were many they sought to bring away with them who instead fled in fright and confusion back into the ancient city, back to the only life they’d ever known. Erik’s voice became hoarse with remonstrations and from urging them to follow until at last he gave them up to a reprobate mind – they made their own decision in regards to their fates.

  But the gray ones, not yet understanding the calamity that had befallen them, sought to prevent their escape. These the desperate slaves revolted against, at last finding the courage and passion to fight for their freedom. Seeing one of their own in the form of Erik von Mendelsöhn, armed and hewing their hated taskmasters down to size, they were emboldened to do likewise.

  One and all they fought, the men, the women - even many of the children who had been born into this hideous servitude catching the scent of freedom. The ones who lacked any form of make-shift weapon used what they were endowed with by nature. Many a gray-back found himself dragged down and pulled apart by the hands of an enraged mob and left rent and unrecognizable on the stone flags of the city streets. The tall, gaunt gray-backs were no match for them; they were greatly outnumbered and the multitude was Hell-bent for revenge.

  Those were awful scenes of carnage that night and yet no slaughter in history had ever been so honestly earned nor so anxiously anticipated. The wrath the humans unleashed on their alien masters had steeped two thousand years beneath a merciless yoke and the day of accounting had finally arrived.

  Behind them toward the center of the city could be heard a crushing sound as of a maelström, sucking the earth and stone into the hungry vacuum of its maw as the time and gravity of the far star filling the tunnel-like passage began collapsing, creating a miniature black hole that physics had, as of yet, little understanding.

  Soon the multitude came to the great doorway through which, with the exception of those born here, they had one and all passed as slaves, and through which they’d long since given up any hope of passing again as freemen. To pass beyond this point before, with the bands of silver still attached about their necks, would have been to invite instant and hideous death. Ahead of them was Argos, the crowd waiting with him the arrival of Erik. To pass through the gate until it was deemed safe would be to invite death.

  It was here Erik’s nemesis and jailer of old, Lafalldor, caught up with him. The first he knew of the beast’s presence was when someone yanked him off his feet from behind by the simple expedient of grasping the chains he had wrapped about his body. The force jerked his head back severely where it attached to the manacle about his neck.

  “It is you who engineered this, German! For this you will die!” The hulking, gray beast was livid.

  The sword of Garmakalok fell from Erik’s hands, dropped during his fall where he’d been forced to let it loose to use his hands to catch himself. He started to rise but Lafalldor jerked the chains again, spinning Erik off his feet again to fall concussively to the stones of the paving. The chains which had been his lot since undergoing the harsh, public flogging unraveled in a cascade to the flagstones.

  “You cannot win, Lafalldor!” Erik grated, assaying once more to come to his feet.

  Lafalldor retrieved the fallen sword of Garmakalok, a sword of fabulous and exotic make coming as it did from another world and time. This he used to menace those who would press him too closely. Nor did he find it difficult to cause their wrath to turn to fear and their courage to fade like a vapor, having at his fingertips thousands of years of combined fear and obedience to bring to bear against them.

  Seeing the crowd hesitate at the appearance of one of their gray tormentors the pilot urged them to flee through the doorway.

  “You are free!” he cried. “The influence of Deneb is fading! Lafalldor knows it – and he knows as well his fate is sealed. Argos and Peenemünde will take you!”

  Whilst distracting Lafalldor with his words he attempted to drag his pistol from its holster but the latch defied his efforts.

  “You lie!” Lafalldor cried, seeming to be unable to admit what he deemed inadmissible.

  “Erik, I won’t leave you.” The German lass took a two-handed grip on her iron pry bar.

  “Nor I,” roared Argos. “It’s over, Lafalldor. You’d best lower the sword. Look around you, you gray fiend. You’re alone.”

  Something unbidden, an inspiration from a training bout in his past perhaps, sprang to Erik’s mind. Abandoning his efforts to retrieve his pistol he instead leaned over and grabbed a handful of the chain to which Lafalldor still held. Thinking the human was going to attempt to wrench himself free Lafalldor tightened his grip with a snarl, not yet realizing Erik’s intentions.

  A quick flick of Erik’s wrist sent a wave dancing down the length of the chain – a wave that ended in a loop over Lafalldor’s wrist. This time it was the Denebian who found himself jerked from his feet when Erik gave the chain a sudden tug. The Denebian crashed thunderously and painfully to the stone paving. The sword clattered from his numbed fingers.

  “Peenemünde - help me!” he cried.

>   The girl ran to his side and together they grabbed the chain and began dragging the Denebian along behind them, his flailing gaining him naught as those he’d persecuted for lifetimes assailed him simultaneously with kicks and curses. Inspired, others grasped Erik’s chains and aided him in dragging the struggling body of Lafalldor while the chains dug into their jailer’s gray flesh, preventing him from escaping its steely and ever-tightening embrace.

  Fighting the instinct to turn back against the vibration of the ring about his neck, Erik grit his teeth and continued forward. He knew the collapsing tunnel would shut off all influence of the distant star; but would it occur in time? The vibrations in his collar as he neared the lintel stone of the doorway were diminishing but still distinguishable.

  With himself and Peenemünde leading the way they passed through the portal. He felt a pulsing in his neck collar, felt the silver ring pulling backward against his throat… but becoming became weaker and weaker. He flashed the girl a grin which she returned; they now knew their pathway to freedom to be free and clear. They could safely leave the city without the dread of being beheaded in the gruesome manner engineered by the fiends from another world. One and all, as they passed the giant doorway, they beamed in smiles, the smiles of those who’d been prisoners but now were freemen and