The Park Family: Mairi: Retribution

by Lisanne Valente

  When he was beside Finvarra, he asked, “What happened? I was gone for a few seconds.”

  Finvarra was as baffled as he and shrugged, his eyes deeply saddened at the deaths of his young Fae.

  Valerie, Mairi, and Lauren transastralised together and swept past the dying Fae and Angel, heading directly to the forest.

  “If I get hold of my stepbrother, I swear I’m going to kill him myself,” Mairi snarled.

  “You’ll have to get in line,” Lauren added.

  “Hush, listen,” said Valerie. “Can you hear anything?”

  The girls stopped and hid deep within their mist, out of view from all.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Lauren replied.

  “That’s the whole point. There should be the sound of birds, or the worms in the ground, but there is nothing except that clicking sound—what the hell is that?” asked Valerie.

  Mairi listened for a few seconds more, then suddenly, her eyes widened in fear, and she screamed, “GET OUT OF HERE! GET OUT, NOW! HURRY, HURRY!”

  They moved like lightning, glancing for only a moment over their shoulders to see the black earth rise up, like a giant wave. Bits of twigs floated like flotsam, worms and slugs wriggled and screamed in pain as it plundered forward. The Mistdreamers urged their mists to hurry, and they cried out to the Angels and Fae to return to the Castle. A few heard them, but most were intent in the ongoing battle with the Demons.

  The wave of earth, fragments of broken branches, filth and the beasts of the ground, continued to flow closer and closer to them, covering the ground almost as quickly as them. Anything in its way, got sucked under the force of the wave, dragging it down into the bowels of the earth, burying them out of reach.

  When the girls reached the castle, the wave slammed into the power of the enchanted foundations. The earth hovered in the air for a few seconds before falling to the ground.

  A high-pitched, furious scream pierced the air. It rebounded from tree to tree in a frenzied hatred, splicing and slicing into the wood with hysterical rage.

  The Mistdreamers sat beside each other, at the dinner table in the great hall, together with what remained of the Fae Army and the Angel protectors.

  When it had been safe to leave the castle, during some respite from the Demons’ attack, they had collected the bodies of the dead they could find.

  Finvarra, Seere, Omniel, and Forcas carried the majority of the remains, and placed their lifeless bodies within the boundaries of the castle, laying them respectfully, in order Azrael and the other Angels of Death could collect and take them to the next realm.

  There had been too many deaths for the four to collect in one day.

  At the dinner table, it was Finvarra who spoke first. His sorrow was deep, and he felt like an old man. Many of the youthful Fae had died. The demons had targeted the young, deliberately.

  As they discussed the day’s events, the Dragon entered the room.

  “You should have woken us!” shouted John.

  “We tried, but you were deep in slumber, and we could not rouse you. The girls even tried to mistdream into your selves, but you had locked down any avenue for contact.”

  “Then it is our fault our brothers are dead,” Emmaline said with sorrow.

  “It is not the fault of any here!” shouted Appoloin. “The deaths of our brothers, lay solely with the Demon Army and Lucias, the instigator. He who kidnapped our son.” Appoloin stood and walked around the room. He needed to touch those who lived. It was imperative he didn’t get sidetracked. He had to feed his hate, but he had to know that there was hope.

  Serapiel spoke. “We got our tactics completely wrong.” He cursed. “We must look at this again from another angle.”

  “What you must do,” Mairi said, “is relocate the battle.”

  “What?” everyone in the room seemed to shout at once.

  “She’s right,” said Valerie and Lauren.

  “The ground has been cursed,” Lesley said timidly. “Anything other than that which cursed it, will die. You’re lucky to have survived, Finvarra.”

  “I am old, but not stupid,” he said defeatedly. “I have learnt a few tricks in my time.”

  “Then they are tricks you need to share with us, if we are to survive the next attack.”

  The room slowed, particles in the air, hung, motionless. Those from the sixteenth century, stilled, caught in the moment of whatever they were doing. A radiant, mystical glow rose from the floor. Small sparkling lights spread across the room, surrounding them in a wondrous energy. A bright comforting mist enveloped them and they relaxed.

  Baglis, the enigmatic witch, she with the list of titles that were too long to name, stood.

  Gone was the dumpy little woman, and in her place was a serene beauty, dressed in a shimmering white dress. She asked for silence. Mairi was astounded when the Fae and Dragon knelt before her, awaiting her pronouncement.

  “I tell you now, my children. It is time for us to end the pain of your ancestors. We must finish what was started in another century, one not yet born, but one we have lived through.”

  “Aye, you say this to be true?” asked King Finvarra.

  “I ask you to remember Glencoe. It is now time for Retribution. You will only win this war, when you avenge those innocents murdered. You must awake the sleeping dead MacDonalds and avenge the massacred at Glencoe, only then will peace be welcomed… .”

  The room hushed, and in their grief, each considered the action she was asking of them. Saddened that there would be more losses.

  “Are you certain this is the direction we must take, Mother Earth?” asked King Finvarra.

  “My lands in Glencoe have been spilled with the blood of good men, my son. We have travelled beyond the century in which they die, but our lives intertwine. We have crossed paths, in this century, from here you will go to the Veil, to a time when events have occurred, those ones which cannot be undone.” They are written.” She stared into Omniel’s eyes, and, unable to hide his guilt, he looked away.

  “I ask you not to fight as Roman soldiers but as the Scottish midge that flies in like the wind, takes a bite, then flies away, unharmed. Hark my words, my children, and strike fast and hard.”

  “We will lose men,” Seere spoke out.

  “You will lose women as well,” Mother Earth answered. “But when right comes your way, you cannot turn your back on it.”

  The mist evaporated. Baglis had returned, busying herself around the room. She was once more, the person everyone knew and loved. The Highlanders continued their conversation, not realising they had been held in a suspended moment.

  The air was clear, and the mood of the room, fragile but definite.

  “Let us eat,” said Appoloin. “Let us break bread and share a glass of wine and raise a toast to our lost brethren, who fought so valiantly and shall be missed. Then we will rest, and prepare ourselves for what we face tomorrow.”

  Everyone in the room stood and raised their cups. It was a powerful sight to witness.

  “To those who should be with us, but wait for us in another realm. Until we meet again. My brothers. Slainté Mhath.”

  A chorus of Slàinte Mhath was returned, and silence once again fell over the room, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Some of the battle to come. The Mistdreamers of what they had witnessed. The leaders working out how the battle plan would change.

  “Until tomorrow,” Appoloin said under his breath and threw back the wine in his cup.

  Chapter Twenty One

  “I cannot fucking believe it!” Lucias screamed and punched the trees. “My son is gone, Zagan is dead, and we cannot gain entry to the castle. What the fuck are you playing at, Mother!”

  “Good to see the real Lucias is back,” sniped Flauros.

  “We must make new plans, tomorrow,” Lucias said, ignoring the jibe. “Let us rest for the time being. Tomorrow will be the end to all of them.”

  He stared at the castle and heard the cries of the babe. The child�
��s breeder would be near. He listened deeper for her heartbeat, but heard nothing.

  Demons having crossed between realms grew irritated, willing to accomplish the plans set up by their masters. But their masters were not giving instructions. They were waiting for the Castle to awake.

  Lucias could smell the change that hung in the air. They had all but obliterated the Fae and Angel the day before. Surely it was a time for his elation and the Angels misery? Yet that was not what he sensed coming from the castle.

  The first Dragon left the castle at dawn, just one.

  Lucias screamed at the bowmen to shoot him down. They followed him closely with the sight of their bows, arrows at the ready, but there was never a clear shot, and they had been informed of the consequences of wasting arrows.

  Round and round he flew, until Lucias, exasperated, yanked one of the bows and fired the arrow himself. It hit the dragon directly in the heart.

  A loud roar came from above the demon and they watched, pleased, as the Dragon began to fall. It changed into Zagan. He had not died the day before, but had been captured when the remaining Fae had fled the battleground.

  The witches had spelled him to resemble a dragon.

  It was an act of illusion to draw their attention away from what was their intention. Lucias whipped his head around and caught sight of the fleeing Angels. Mistdreamers and Fae rode high on the backs of the Dragon.

  “We must follow!” he shouted and raised his sword.

  “It’s a trap!” screamed Flauros.

  “They have nowhere to hide. It’s Scotland, open to all.” He promised, “Gather yourself together, and we will fly on my enchantment. I will find them, wherever it is they intend to hide.”

  He sensed Mairi. She could not hide her fear of him. It would be simple to follow them, and so Lucias dug deep into his magic and collected the armies, whipping them into a wild wind that raced after the Angelic entourage stopping only when their prey vanished in front of them.

  Landing on the ground, they waited for sight of those they stalked, when a dense fog, so dark they couldn’t see who stood next to another, fell around them.

  “I told you it was a trap,” Flauros said furiously.

  “Where are we? They can’t have disappeared.”

  “You mean similar to being unable to enchant forty thousand demon from one area to another? Of course they can bloody disappear.”

  “But I feel them in my heart still. They are around us as I speak. Where are we?” he asked again as he landed on the soft moorish grass.

  “We are in Glencoe, The Veil. This day does not bode well for us, Lucias. Remove us from here immediately.”

  “Why so? What have we to lose? They’re gathering their strength.” He surveyed his army, grouped together like an impenetrable force.

  “We are ready, willing, and able, the stronger of the two sides. I say let them come. We will end them here, today.

  “Advance!” he ordered.

  The demons stomped the ground, the earth trembled beneath, and they marched forward.

  “Do not be so hasty, Son,” Angela muttered. “Listen to your generals; they have fought here.”

  “Not yet, they haven’t. We are in an earlier century. They could rid the world of MacDonalds at this time and save all that messy massacre nonsense from happening at all.”

  “We cannot undo what has already been done,” she urged.

  “But it’s not been done yet, Mother.”

  “Lucias—”

  Paschar hated her. He despised everything about her, from the way she ate, to her choice of dress, and her smell. He mostly hated the way she controlled his master. No more. They were her last words. He raised his sword, ignoring the fear sparking from Lucias’s eyes, and sliced her head from her shoulders. It bobbed grotesquely along the ground, coming to a halt in front of a large boulder. Her eyes, wide in surprise, stared lifelessly back at him.

  Lucias blinked, and waited, slowly turning his head to speak to his mother’s murderer, and that was when the first demon fell.

  Ten Angels flew in from different directions, attacking the armies, picking one or two demon at specific areas, weakening their defence.

  The demons near the Angels elongated their claws, spiked with venom, and prepared their return attacks on them. Eyes red with blood lust, they glared at the Angels and shifted into position, readying themselves, but the Angels ignored those prepared to stab—instead, they changed tack.

  They altered their attack plan. No longer killing demons at the outer sections of the brigade, they flew into the centre. The demons parted, giving the Angels space, preparing to end their lives. Angels stood shoulder to shoulder in a circle, holding their swords pointed forward. The demons would have to remove or fall on them. Choosing the former, they charged at the Angels, many turning to ash on contact with the sword. When they saw the result, they held back.

  The Angels began to spin.

  Demons remained still, watching. The Angels spun faster and faster, until they became a single sword.

  Too late…

  The demons were caught in a gyroscope of death, slashing and slicing its way through the Demon Army, stopping only when they heard one of the kings shout. Spreading their wings, the Angels shot into the sky, disappearing from view.

  “We are sitting ducks!” screamed Vual. “Get us out of here, now!” he demanded.

  Lucias’s blood boiled. His twisted and warped features, were no longer hidden by Angela’s powerful glamour. His eyes filled with the madness he had kept in check for weeks. He let it loose, and began rampaging, but the Angels had vanished.

  He thought all his wishes had been answered when the three Mistdreamers walked towards him. The bitch Valerie was breeding again, and it wouldn’t be long before the other two introduced more evil spawn into the universes.

  He lifted his sword and swung it in wild circles, running at them. He stopped when Vual held him by the shoulder.

  “They are an illusion. They are here to distract. Boy, where is that mind of yours?” he asked angrily. “Do you lead us to our death, and have you forgotten the very plan you asked us to be part of? Get a grip of yourself,” he growled.

  Lucias cleared his eyes, and sure enough, the Mistdreamers vanished, but in their place he could see the Mistdreamers’ fathers, Alexander and Graeme, wearing full Highland battle gear. Angels, Cathy and Linda, wives to Callum and Alexander floated threateningly behind them.

  A shadow stalked ominously between them. Lucias focused on it, but it was elusive hiding its identity. What he was certain, was the shadow had been sent to kill him.

  He spat on the ground and began waving his sword. This was going to be a kill he would enjoy. He would laugh as their blood flowed onto the earth.

  Who was that, behind the fathers?

  He almost gloated when he recognised it was three witches. He would kill one and take the other two and feed off them. He might even place the core of his mother in one of them. With a glance over his shoulder, he saw her head. It hadn’t moved. He laughed to himself. No, she could go to Hell. He’d never bring her back!

  The witches were going to be his salvation, if this battle didn’t work out as he had planned.

  He was so centred on his own future, he didn’t notice the sky had darkened. It was Scotland; the sky continuously darkened. But in this instance, the sky was full of angry Dragon.

  They swooped towards the Demon in a carefully choreographed onslaught from all points of the compass and dived onto their hapless prey.

  The sound of bones snapping… echoed. The leading Dragon pulled away from the chaos of ripped arms and heads, and those with him followed.

  They realigned themselves at the far end of the Glen, and formed a barrage and sped towards the Demon Army.

  Swords, axes, and spears raised, they charged toward the Dragon, who hovered in anticipation of the clash.

  Lucias could see what was about to happen and yelled at the Demons to withdraw. “RETREAT! RETR
EAT, NOW!”

  But the flapping of steel wings drowned out his orders.

  Emmaline drew in a deep breath, filling her chest with the good Scottish air, and held it, waiting for her troop to do likewise. When she heard the last intake of breath, she blew softly, at first, and the spark of a flame lit on her exhaled breath, like a pilot light. When lit, she huffed with all her energy, and a wave of Fire breathed toward the Demon.

  Ten more sparks lit on Dragons’ breaths, and the Demons turned about-face and ran, scattered, towards the rest of the armies, who now battled Fae.

  The Fae appeared and disappeared, every two seconds picking off essential Demons.

  Waves of fire lit the ground and slithered along the dried grass, igniting leaves and stray pieces of wood, until it found its mark. Each demon touched by the Dragon flame burst into a cloud of ash, which floated like snowflakes to the ground. Others watched the snaking flames wind their way towards them and scattered, running away as far from the flames as they could reach.

  When they found safety, they caught their breath, and prepared to march back to the central army.

  That’s when the Angels swooped in, the Fae appearing sporadically, to the front, then the rear, alternating by also materialising to their side. Stabbing and cutting until the Demons’ skin fell from their bones.

  Lucias contained his temper and crossed his forearms in front of his face, balling his hands. He blew his poisonous breath onto them, whispering an incantation his mother had taught him. “Whoo… sheeee… soooo… frooo…” Throwing his hands in the air, he flicked each finger, one after the other. With each flick, flying death creatures swarmed the sky. The Dragon fell back, assessing the situation and waiting for their orders.

  Seere was commanding the Dragon from the ground, ordering the dragons to prepare the attack. They belched fire into the starless sky and were surprised with the ease of the creatures’ destruction.

  The Demons on the ground halted their rapid approach when the dark sky blazed in the incandescent colours of reds and golds. When it returned to the dark midnight blue, they restarted their advance upon an army of Fae, who had entered the Glen.