Tales of the Horns: Part 1 The Berserk Beast

by R Mountebank

“So how do we do this?” asked Mary, turning to Laedwynn when the men left the room. The elf placed her baby down on the bed, gently tucking it under the sheets. Rounding on Mary, she unsheathed her belt knife.

  “That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?” asked Mary backing away.

  “You hair. I must cut like Remy.” replied Laedwynn.

  Before Mary could answer, Laedwynn was slicing away handfuls of her untamed locks. Mary closed her eyes as the blade flashed dangerously around the edges of her vision. Laedwynn gripped Mary’s jaw tightly and swivelled it left and right, inspecting her work. “Is not so bad,” she remarked. “Now make face.”

  Mary opened her eyes warily. “How will you do that? Prosthetics?”

  Laedwynn shook her head. “I not know word.”

  “Rubber noses and such,” replied Mary pinching her nose.

  “I still not know word. Listen den-sister. I will conjure shadow. You look like man, talk like man, but night only. When day, all shadows die.”

  “Shadows?” asked Mary scratching her head. “That won’t help. What if they use a flashlight or something?”

  Laedwynn scowled down at her. “I show you, child. Shadow is formidable magic.”

  Hearing the scraping of hooves on tiles, Mary looked up. Another creature was peering through the hole in the roof at them, lamplight gleaming off its pale horns and curved sword. Laedwynn raised her arm and pointed it at the beast. Darkness streamed from her outstretched hand, twisting and writhing towards the beast. Mary thought she briefly saw snarling faces of agony biting and clawing in the spiralling form, their teeth foaming with inky blood. She turned away as the force struck; the unearthly screams testament to the savagery of the attack. Shivering with unnatural cold, Mary hugged herself.

  Laedwynn smiled at her knowingly. “See? Powerful magic.”

  “You’re going to do that to my face?” asked Mary nervously, the horrible sound still vivid in her memory.

  “With no blood and screaming,” replied Laedwynn. “Now come. We hurry.”

  Taking Mary by the elbow, she guided her to the bed and sat her down on the edge. Mary caught a quick glimpse of the baby looking back at her impassively. It wasn’t cute anymore; how calm and inhuman it seemed to her now.

  Not that I can judge.

  Laedwynn dragged a chair over and sat in front of Mary.

  “Be still. I work. You no want mistake.”

  Mary nodded and closed her eyes. Laedwynn ran her hands back and forth over Mary’s face, kneading and stroking her skin. After several minutes her skin grew cold then numb. Outside she could hear somebody howling a fierce war cry and the walls rattled and echoed with impact. Mary flinched at each sound until Laedwynn slapped her hand slightly.

  “You make this hard den-sister.”

  Mary’s face was now completely numb, and Laedwynn moved on to her neck, shoulders and chest. The feeling was unbearable. It felt as though she were slowly being caught in an avalanche, slipping under the frozen torrent an inch at a time, head first. She was trapped there, crushed and pinned, unable to move in the shadow’s icy embrace. The cold crept over her body, beginning at her head and working down her neck, shoulders and torso. Just when Mary thought she would scream if forced to endure any more torture, a tingling warmth crept into her hands. It spread up her arms and into her chest, expelling the bitter cold and reinvigorating her. Mary opened her eyes slowly. Laedwynn’s pale face swam into focus, her hands clasping Mary’s.

  “It is done.” Laedwynn leaned forwards and gently kissed Mary’s cheek. “I never forget what you do for family.”

  Mary stood shakily and crossed to the dressing cabinet. She gasped at her reflection in the mirror. Remy stared back at her, though slightly shorter and with a messier haircut. Her baggy grey tracksuit fitted snugly to wider shoulders and biceps.

  “That’s amazing!” shouted a heavier more gravelly voice. It wasn’t exactly Remy’s but it was certainly more masculine.

  “You did it. You couldn’t pick me in a line-up.”

  Laedwynn wiped a stray tear from her eyes. Crossing the room quickly she hugged Mary tightly. “Now be brave. Go, den-sister. Take all luck with you.”

  Mary nodded back, lost for words. Taking a deep breath she opened the door.

  Ugly beasts were stretched out on the floor in twitching piles. Some were slowly pulling themselves up, snarling faces screaming bloody murder. Mary's heart lurched at the thought of being taken by these things. They were grotesque. Abominations. The hosts of hell were probably modelled on these beasts, and she was meant to go with them?

  Mary fought down her rising panic as she surveyed the hall. Remy was a large muscled hurricane hurling bodies this way and that, knocking holes through walls and shattering armour. Stephen was circled by three monsters, desperately blocking and feinting with his flimsy sword. His left arm hung limply by his side. Several large cuts adorned his chest, arms and legs. Sweat beaded his pale skin and he wore a haunted set to his eyes.

  Nobody had noticed the new arrival. The fighting raged on without pause. Remy’s berserk laughter drowned out the clash of steel and stone. Mary hesitated at the unknown future; what would happen once she was taken by these ugly creatures?

  Would she be devoured? Tortured?

  No. They had come this far. They wanted Remy for a reason. But what could it be?

  I’ll just have to find out for myself.

  She took several deep breaths and forcibly calmed herself.

  Before she could change her mind, she shouted at the top of her lungs. “Stop! I'm here! Leave my family alone and take me!”

  Her words came out as a roar, deafeningly loud. The fighting slowed, stopped. Every face turned her way. Mary returned their stares as best she could. “I’m the one you’re after, right? Well, here I am. Just leave my family alone.”

  Stephen collapsed to his knees, his strength utterly spent. Remy backed away from the press of enemies, his mutated form covered in shallow cuts and grazes.

  "Say it one more time," wheezed Stephen. "It's easier for them if you say it three times."

  "Um...” It had taken all of Mary’s courage to gain the beasts attention. Now it was on her she felt her voice waver. “You can take me if you leave my family alone, please?"

  Her tongue felt electric as she uttered the words. She couldn’t place it, but something had changed.

  A larger creature wearing Romanesque armour shouldered his way through the throng. He growled at Remy as he passed, one hand hovering close to an oversized pistol on his belt, the other dragging a vicious cat-of-nine-tails whip after him. He stopped in front of Mary and looked her up and down, hands on his hips, a disapproving sneer on his face. Leaning forward, he sniffed her, his hideous muzzle dripping saliva on Mary’s shoulder. Turning to his men he barked, “The blood of Remus, Nuada and Bran. This is the one we want.”

  He looked back at Mary, his sunken eyes calculating. Finally he spat in his hand and offered it to Mary. "Shake on it. Do you agree to come quietly and henceforth be bound to my employer, forsaking all previous ties, be they blood or otherwise?

  Mary looked at the clawed hand. It looked cleaner where he had spat. Grimacing, she spat on her own hand and closing her eyes, shook hands with a demon.

  The monster snarled. “It’s a good thing you gave yourself up when you did, lad. We was about to bring out the big guns. You'd be scraping these boys off the walls by the time we was done with 'em."

  He gave Remy a dirty look as he spoke. He turned his squat head, taking in the bodies of the fallen on the floor. His hand went to his hip. Mary froze as she expected him to take out a pistol and mete out revenge. Instead, he grabbed an innocuous looking tin mug from a pouch. He tipped the mug upside down. At first nothing came out. Then a sickly light began to grow. The light was made up of all colours yet none at the same time. Putrid green, bruised purple, diseased orange… the colours shifted. A trickle of the disturbing light poured out of the mug and onto
the floor. It quickly spread, too far and fast for what seemed so little. The eerie light washed over the broken and twisted bodies on the floor, seeping into their wounds and clinging to their skin. Immediately the creatures began to stir.

  “Get up, you lot! We’re shipping out!”

  The broken and bloody creatures jerked back to life, shaking out injuries and laughing menacingly.

  “I thought they were dead," whispered Mary aghast.

  “They were. Some of them at least. Nothing a little spoonful of The Old Man's sugar can't fix," said the leader winking.

  The great winged beast that had fallen through the roof stumbled his way out of Remy’s room, rubbing the freshly healed hole in his chest. “What kind of crazed lunatic bottles lightning? There are children in the house," it grumbled. Its deep craggy eyes fell on Mary, burning hot and full of malice.

  “This him?” He peered closer, his stinking breath warm on Mary’s face. “You look slightly different.”

  Mary flinched under the heavy gaze. “I changed clothes,” she murmured back.

  The beast rubbed his chin thoughtfully before pointing at Remy. “Who’s that guy then?”

  Mary looked at her brother, unrecognisable with his wolfish snout and enlarged body.

  “That guy? He’s my uncle. He’s a fairy.”

  “Bleeding fairies… I hate ‘em,” said the beast cracking his knuckles.

  “This is no time to be settling old scores, Mac," growled the leader. "Grab the lad and get your Fomorian butt back, yeah?"

  The winged brute shrugged his leathery wings. “Suppose.” Looking down at Mary he growled, “What’s it to be? You come quietly or I carry you in a sack?”

  Mary looked at the beast’s wings, wondering if he meant to fly with her. But anything would be better than being hefted around in a stinking bag.

  “No sack, please,” she replied meekly.

  “Alright. On you get.” The beast spun around and kneeled. Mary looked for a hand hold or something similar to find purchase on. There didn’t seem to be anything.

  “I’m not a bloody horse! Get on!” roared the beast.

  "I don't understand what's happening..."

  "I'm bleeding taking you back to Olde London! Now get on my bleeding back!"

  Mary jumped and wrapped her arms tightly around the creature’s thick neck. She looked at Stephen, who was still sagging against his sword for support. “Um... Take care of the family won’t you? Um… Especially Mary. I think she could use a little help, sooner rather than later," said Mary, hoping he would fix this mess.

  Stephen nodded glumly and rapped his knuckles over his heart.

  “You’d better get a move on if you want to be home by sunup,” barked the leader. The winged beast grunted and without further ado, coiled its massive legs and leapt, knocking a hole through the ceiling and tiled roof.

  “What are you doing?!” spluttered Mary as she hung on for dear life, plaster dust and dirt cloying the air.

  The beast landed on the roof, cracking a dozen tiles underfoot. “I need a run-up with all the extra weight.”

  “I am not that fat!” retorted Mary.

  The beast just shrugged his shoulders and shook out his massive wings, sending out a shower of dust and splinters. Before Mary could ask another question it was running full tilt over the roof. As the edge grew closer Mary couldn’t help but scream. They hurtled off the side of the building and fell several meters before the Fomorian’s wings unfurled and caught the air. The ground rushed past below them in a blur. Mary’s terrified scream became a joyous shout. The powerful wings began to pump slowly. By increments they ascended until they were well above the treetops. The sky was still inky black with silver-chased clouds. Below them was a rushing scene of indistinguishable shadow. Remy’s storm spell was running out of steam but the wind still blew cold and hard, buffeting the pair as they flew towards the Northern boundary.

  Mary leaned forward and shouted into her companion’s ear. “Do you know how to get through the boundary?!”

  The Fomorian swivelled his head back to look at Mary, suspicion etched on his ugly face.

  “We need to get lost, of course.”

  “How does that help?” asked Mary aloud.

  “It’s something to do with the same way you get here. You have to be lost.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. I tried to leave thousands of times. It never worked for me.”

  “Well, you obviously knew where you were going, didn’t you? Now shut up and close your eyes. We both need to get lost at the same time.”

  Mary sighed and closed her eyes.

  “You might want to hold on tight,” grumbled the Fomorian. “And whatever you do, don’t open your ruddy eyes!”

  Without further warning the beast performed a gut-busting series of barrel rolls and loops. Mary couldn’t help herself from screaming. She gripped her winged mount tightly around the neck.

  “Keep your eyes closed or by the tormentor I will tear them out!”

  The spinning and falling stopped. The creature flew much more sedately.

  “You can let go of my bleeding neck now, mate.”

  “Sorry,” mumbled Mary. “Is it safe to open my eyes yet?”

  “No. Not unless you want to go through the whole thing again.”

  “Okay.”

  They flew for several minutes blind. Mary thought of all the things they could possibly crash in to. The image of her splattered across a mountain side didn’t entice her so she changed the subject. She started thinking about her current situation, the monsters, this mysterious Old Man. Had she made the right choice? She doubted it. Whatever happened though, she had finally fulfilled her wish of leaving Pennysworth albeit on the back of a winged demon.

  Now the pressure seemed to change. Everything felt heavier. The air grew stale. As they passed the threshold she felt a pop in her ears and a tingle race down her skin.

  “Thank the gods we made it,” grumbled her companion. “And we’re on The Road too. Maybe my luck is finally changing.”

  Cautiously opening one eye, Mary saw a new vista for the first time in her life. Below her was a new road, cobbled, not asphalt, lined with eldritch trees out of fantasy and nightmare. It seemed to be twilight or early dawn as the skies glowed with burnt orange and indigo light. Stars twinkled overhead in a wash of different colours, their constellations different to the ones Mary was familiar with. Ornate signposts written in old English marked divergent paths and roads, the names odd and unrecognisable. Mary felt a tingle of excitement. She was loose in the real world at last heading for whereabouts unknown. She had never felt so free before, even though she was a prisoner. She leaned close to her captor and shouted, “Is this the real world now?!”

  The Fomorian gave her a suspicious look over his shoulder. “No. It’s the Semita Mortuis. The real world is down some of those other paths. Dead boring place, that is…”

  Mary settled herself on the Fomorian’s back and sighed. She obviously had much to learn about the world. Crouching down low again she shouted over the rushing wind. “What is your name?”

  “Your weak tongue would twist itself off if you spoke my true name. You can call me Mac ’o Knives, or Mac,” replied her mount.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you Mr Mac. Even if we didn’t get off to the best of starts. My grandfather blowing you up and all…”

  “Don’t mention it,” replied Mac dourly, his memory of the event still fresh in his mind.

  “So where are we going?” asked Mary. “Anywhere exciting?”

  “Olde London. The Old Man’s lair. It’s just a shop I guess,” shrugged Mac. “It’s only exciting to visitors. You too, I’d expect.”

  Mary rubbed her numb chin thoughtfully.

  They’re taking me to a shop? Why would a shop need an army of monsters?

  “Are there many of you in this shop?” she asked as sweetly as possible with her masculine voice.

  “Hundreds,” replied M
ac flatly. “Now quiet down and let me fly in peace.”

  They flew on, hugging the contours of the road tightly. Mac never dared cut a corner at all, even tight bends where it would be so much easier to simply fly straight. Mary spotted figures below, often dark and shadowy but sometimes gleaming with reflected light, as if they wore shiny armour. At one point she heard the unmistakable crack of a gunshot. Mac corkscrewed and veered all over the place just in case someone below was shooting at them. He cursed and muttered under his breath about heathen bandits and ‘no good eastern scum’ for a long while afterwards.

  Far away in the distance Mary could see the outskirts of a large city, shadowy and sinister in the twilight. It loomed out of the earth in low flat slabs at first, then grew by increments and finally, bloomed into soaring towers of midnight. They flew closer, passing squat warehouses and stores. Lamplight filtered out of drawn blinds and shutters, slivers of gold in the oppressive darkness. Shadowy figures scuttled to and fro on the street, shouting and cursing in strange accents. Everywhere Mary looked it seemed unkempt and in disrepair. Boards covered doors and windows. Glass windows were smashed, the rooms beyond looted and empty. Trash sat in piles, blew across the street, plastered itself to walls. “Why do people live here?” Mary whispered to herself. “It’s so depressing.”

  “They have nowhere else to go. You can thank the New Order for that,” replied Mac angrily.

  “Who are the New Order?” Mary asked back.

  “I don’t have the time or the energy to get in to that. We’re almost there.”

  Ahead the streets were better lit. There were more people about and the area seemed much cleaner. Peeling posters and billboards displayed wares and events Mary had never heard of. Bawdy music and tantalising smells drifted up to Mary, reminding her of the Pennysworth carnival and schools fetes. From her lofty perch Mary could tell that everything here was outdated: the fashions, the stores, the advertisements. It was as if this place were stuck in some kind of time warp, even more so than Pennysworth.

  Mary shuddered to think she had escaped one backwards place for another.

  Mac took a turn on to a side street, the first time he had veered off the main road, then again down an alleyway. Tall brick buildings hemmed them in on both sides, dirty and dark in the twilight. Ahead the alley terminated as a squat building of red brick blocked its path. A wide docking platform sat below the mouth of a semi-circular door made of rusting iron. Mac deftly descended down to the platform, his clawed feet scraping against the stone as they slid to a halt.

  "Get off, will ya?" Mac snapped.

  Mary unwrapped her arms from his neck and dropped to the ground. Mary’s hands were stiff from the cold. As she stretched them she found similar pains in her neck, back and shoulders. Mac glowered at her and worked the tension from his aching shoulders with his large clawed hands. "Life beyond! That was rough!" he said, folding his wings as he strode towards the door. "Follow me close lad. Don't make eye contact and don't say nothing to no-one who don't look human. Better yet, don’t say nothing to anyone at all. Got it?"

  Mary nodded her head. "Lead the way, o' fearless leader."