by Phil Parker
‘It isn’t that simple.’
He looked at me. The grin remained in place but those brown eyes, filled with so much malice, darkened further. Slowly, to build the drama, Llyr took a highly polished and ostentatiously decorated knife from his belt and held it to the boy’s throat. The kid gave a strangled scream and stopped wriggling against the implacable grasp of the two spriggans. Oisin continued staring at the floor.
‘Tell me where the Knights are Robin.’
The boy looked at me, his eyes told me he knew his fate as enormous tears tumbled down his cheek. Eyes that reminded me of his brother.
I shook my head.
The knife slid across the white throat, a thin line quickly opened as bubbling red blood splashed onto the clown-size sweater. The spriggans released the boy to flop on the floor, to spasm and writhe at my feet, his clothes which had kept his brother warm once, absorbed his blood, its stench made me want to vomit. Eventually, in what felt like an eternity, the spasming stopped and the kid’s eyes stared back at me with their hollow accusations.
I looked across at Llyr who watched me with that same sick smile. He pantomimed a coy finger to his mouth and flicked perfectly manicured eyebrows at me. I felt Puck rise up inside me. He was the last thing I needed.
Chapter 3
If Puck took control I had no idea what would happen. I wondered if he’d even care that my legs were frozen to the floor. With his anger-driven and obsessive need to kill, he’d probably rip our legs free to get to his victim and that scared the shit out of me. I tried to stay calm, keep him imprisoned in the subterranean recesses of my brain where he belonged. If I focused enough and shut the world out, I sometimes succeeded. The times I failed were when a part of me wanted revenge and I wanted to ram that fucking knife in Llyr’s cold heart now more than anything.
Suddenly, in the ruined doorway, a spriggan, wild-eyed and anxious.
‘My lord, the humans. They’ve found us. They’re attacking.’
Llyr turned, snarling.
‘Then fucking deal with them. Can’t you see I’m busy?’
‘I’m sorry my lord. But there are many and it appears more are on the way...’
Knife in hand, dripping the blood of an innocent, the murderous bastard roared his fury and provided the evidence, as if any was needed, that he was insane. He pointed the knife at me, eyes wide with fury.
‘You will tell me where you’ve hidden the Knights, Robin. You think I’ll stop at one of these creatures? I’ve killed hundreds of them. Thousands. And I’ll kill thousands more until you cooperate.’ He must have seen something in my expression. ‘And you will cooperate. Because I will kill whatever I need to get my way. Know that Robin.’
He flicked his eyes at Oisin.
‘Anything.’
He marched out of my kitchen bellowing orders, the two spriggans now spattered with the boy’s blood remained outside, on sentry duty. As Llyr strode out of my home and away from my wrath, I felt Puck start to fade. I heaved a sigh of relief.
Oisin went to follow until I called his name. He paused in the doorway.
‘You’ve changed Oisin. The man I knew would never support such a fucking lunatic.’
Torment wrote its name in the face that turned to me but I could tell it wasn’t going to be enough. I needed to twist the knife. I pointed at the body where blood formed a dark red halo around the boy’s head.
‘You’re just as responsible for that boy’s death. Is that what you do now? Murder children?’
I could tell my words wounded the integrity he prized so highly, by the deepening lines on his forehead and the wide eyes so close to tears now. I hoped the man I knew couldn’t change that much because he was my only means of freedom.
‘You don’t understand Robin.’
‘No. I don’t.’
He stood there in my doorway, looking indecisive. He needed one more push and if guilt wasn’t going to work I needed to twist the knife further.
‘But if you are the man I loved so long ago, you’ll free me so I can stop this bastard before he kills others.’
He swallowed hard and shook his head. He was weakening.
‘He’d kill me.’
‘He’s going to kill you anyway. When he’s run out of bargaining tools, he’ll use you.’
I jerked a thumb at the pathetic little body. He swallowed hard, he was genuinely scared I realised. This wasn’t just indecision, he was fighting real terror.
‘He told me to come along so I could prevent you from getting killed.’
Llyr’s words started to sound like a lie. Oisin’s reactions suggested he might still have some feelings for me. If that was true, I could use them to get out of this mess.
‘He manipulated you, Oisin. You were his ultimate bargaining tool. He knew you were the one thing in this world, and Tir na nÓg, I would never sacrifice.’
Those impossibly blue eyes latched on to mine then glanced at the boy’s body and returned to search my face. He sighed heavily.
‘Do you have any salt?’
I pointed at the pantry as I gave the man my warmest smile, there I was accusing Llyr of manipulation. I was such a hypocrite.
Like salt works on a slug, it dissolved the stuff encasing my feet and legs into a foul-smelling white foam. I stumbled, blood hadn’t discovered my feet but Oisin caught me and held me tightly. His scent intoxicated me, happy memories flooded my addled brain but I dismissed them.
Outside an explosion made the foundations of the cottage shiver.
‘It won’t take him long to deal with the human threat,’ Oisin said quietly. ‘He’ll be back soon.’
I nodded. There’d be a few hundred citizens of Glastonbury, armed with axes, spades and pitchforks, sacrificing their lives for no other reason other than to repel the invader. The sooner I drew Llyr away, the more would survive. Beyond that I wasn’t sure what I was going to do except guarantee the Knights remained safe. That was one pledge I would give my life to keep. I picked up my sword and collected the rucksack I kept for emergencies like this.
‘Come on.’
I stumbled towards the doorway as the feeling slowly returned to my feet and toes.
‘What do you mean?’
I turned and sighed. ‘You can’t stay here.’
‘But, you don’t trust me. Do you?’
‘No. But I’m not leaving you to die either, so come on!’
His angelic features held a mixture of relief and panic, it made me smile.
Another explosion, louder than the one before, made the air itself shudder. It was followed by screams and panicked shouts. I knew how spriggans fought, I guessed their technology wouldn’t have changed much in the time I’d been away, it meant the people of Glastonbury wouldn’t stand a chance. It was a battle between David and Goliath, the equivalent of a sling shot against an enemy with bazookas.
The two spriggans outside were thankfully more involved in watching the battle so didn’t immediately notice me stumble through the doorway. I finished them off with my sword and hoped my legs and feet could recover to aid my escape as I lurched over my soggy vegetable patch and through my abandoned orchard.
A rag-tag bunch of locals had barricaded either end of the street at the end of my garden with rusting cars so they could trap their enemy in the middle. The trouble was they couldn’t capitalise on their advantage with their limited weaponry of bricks, lumps of concrete and swiftly made Molotov cocktails that often exploded while they were being thrown. Spriggans and certain other species of my people cannot bear to touch, or be near to, iron so the barricades were partially successful but Llyr was blasting them to pieces with a weapon I knew well; the marekanite sphere.
Like so much of Fae technology it was simple and efficient. I’d used them as a parlour trick to amaze the court of King Charles II, they’d called them Prince Rupert’s Drops, after the King’s cousin began using them. He was something of a show-off. They looked innocent enough, tadpole-shaped pieces of glass, formed by drop
ping a specially-formulated molten glass into cold water, when you broke the surface tension it exploded. Change the chemistry of the glass, build them bigger and you have a weapon with such an enormous percussive charge it can destroy objects ten times its size. Like rusting car bodies.
The locals didn’t know any of this. All they could see were fairies hurling small shiny things through the air that shimmered briefly before exploding with the force of an armoured shell. For generations human beings believed my people capable of magic, the expressions of shock and awe on the faces of the local population hadn’t changed in all that time. They’d retell these moments and describe how magic was used to defeat them, rather than the less exciting solution of basic chemistry.
‘This way!’ I called to Oisin and leapt into the middle of the street, making as much noise as possible. From one end of the street I heard Llyr’s fury screamed at me so I lumbered in the opposite direction, where smoke from the remains of a car chassis hung lazily in the still morning air and created a gap in the barricade. We burst through it, surprising the handful of cowering young men who scuttled out of our way in panic. One of them recognised me and called out to the others not to attack, though to be honest, they were too busy hiding to offer any kind of threat.
‘Let the fairies through!’ I screamed at them, ‘we’ll lead them away from the town.’
The young man nodded in wide-eyed astonishment. Oisin and I made our way down the street as another explosion landed so close I could feel its heat on my skin. A quick glance over my shoulder told me I’d wasted my time giving any instructions. Bodies, at least parts of them, and the remains of the barricade, lay scattered across the street.
We turned a corner and zig-zagged our way through streets and alleyways, sensations were finally returning to my feet and legs. I needed a plan and keeping in front of Llyr’s rampaging spriggans was as strategic as it got.
Oisin held my arm, turned me to face him. ‘I couldn’t have stopped Llyr from. You Know. I was too. Scared.’
I knew by his furtive looks, as we’d hurried along the street, he’d needed to unload his guilt. I’d never met anyone who cherished his principles so highly, they’d been the cause of so many of our arguments once. That he’d compromised them for Llyr intrigued me but I looked at him blankly. I wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily.
‘What you saw Robin. It was just a glimpse of what he can do.’
‘Why isn’t anyone stopping him?’ I panted, running with uncooperative legs was tiring.
I got a contemptuous snort. ‘He’s powerful Robin. As Oberon’s insanity worsened more and more power was transferred to him as the only heir to the throne. Some questioned his ability to rule but they quickly disappeared, had accidents or died in mysterious circumstances. Everyone else learned to do as they were told.’
‘I warned them. I told them Oberon’s paranoia was real. But no one listened, they did nothing as he took away my money and my friends for no other reason than he believed I was committing treason against him. Serves them right.’
I stared angrily at the man who avoided eye contact. So he should, he’d been one of them. We hurried along a deserted street in silence. Eventually my resentment got the better of me.
‘And now you’re doing his bidding, like a good boy.’
It got the flare of indignation I hoped was still there.
‘You don’t know what it’s been like. You ran away.’
‘I didn’t run away.’ I gave my indignation free reign. ‘Oberon’s minions were out to kill me.’ A vivid memory of a fight on London Bridge six centuries earlier sprang to mind. ‘Did you ever hear of someone called Ankou?’
Oisin frowned and nodded.
‘He was sent to kill me. Would have succeeded if I hadn’t drowned him in the Thames. Oberon knew it would take somebody with his skill and determination to finish me off. We’d even trained and fought together, long ago.’
That earned me a look. I’d told Oisin some of those horror stories. I sniffed.
‘Our training turned us both psychotic, the only difference was, Ankou liked it.’
We continued running as a loud explosion echoed up and down the street and a huge plume of smoke rose into the sky behind us, no doubt signifying the end to the human’s resistance in Glastonbury. Oisin kept looking at me.
‘Is that why you thought we’d returned for you?’
‘Yeah. I thought he still held a grudge. You see…’
I felt stupid now.
‘…around the same time, I shared a secret with someone, a human. A secret about Oberon and the stupid bastard wrote a play about it, even put me in it. I thought Oberon had found out about my… indiscretion.’
‘I see. So Llyr’s search for the Knights came as a shock?’
I just nodded, humiliated by my arrogance.
‘What happened to Oberon?’
Oisin shook his head. ‘Dead. Everyone suspects Llyr but there was no chance to examine the body, a mysterious fire in Oberon’s bedroom prevented it. No one dared to suggest the death was anything other than a result of Oberon’s insanity.’
‘The Dark Court must be made up of a bunch of limp-dicked cowards if Llyr took control so easily.’
The grip on my arm tightened, Oisin’s stare intensified.
‘Robin, don’t underestimate Llyr. You remember the members of the Trooping Fairies don’t you?’
I nodded. I’d trained with them.
‘They’re dead.’
I stopped. The Trooping Fairies were the elite force of the Dark Court, they were the strongest, toughest, angriest fighters you could find. We prided ourselves on never being beaten, no matter what dangers we faced. Everyone trembled at the threat of the Trooping Fairies, how could they be dead?
‘What do you mean? Belenus? Emer? Nisien?’
Oisin nodded, watching my reaction.
‘But how? Emer could beat me with ease. At the Battle of Gabhra, when we were cornered in an old farmyard, he killed six of their finest warriors and saved our lives that day. What about Vosegus?’
‘A riding accident.’
‘But he taught me to ride, he was the best rider of all of us.’
‘Do you see what I mean? Robin, if you hadn’t escaped, you’d have been Llyr’s first victim.’
I started to understand. The hardest enemy to defeat is fear, it’s how dictators rule, opposition melts in the face of it. Llyr had done what all despots do, eliminate everyone who presented any kind of threat, it left no one to argue against him and no army to depose him. Oisin’s anxiety made more sense, Llyr was hell-bent on regaining control of this world, to rule it and impose his own insane nightmare vision. If he captured the Knights it provided him with status and power to bring the Light Court into this war. In comparison, the Dark Court were rank amateurs. Together they would be unstoppable.
‘You are going to stop him, aren’t you Robin?’
I could hear the hope in Oisin’s trembling voice. I could also hear the heavy thud of spriggan boots.
‘I’ve vowed to keep the Knights safe, that’s all. Now come on, we need to hurry.’
We sprinted through the alleyways of the old town until we arrived on Magdalene Street.
‘This is where we arrived, in that ruin,’ Oisin pointed at the remains of the Abbey.
I’d guessed as much. The Fae’s invasion of the whole country had followed the same pattern, using portals from Tir na nÓg to transport spriggan armies into the middle of ancient towns and cities. Chester had been first to fall, and with it, the north-west within a day of their arrival. Lincoln cathedral was decimated as a battalion of spriggans interrupted a Sunday service by marching out of the crypt. The people of Bury St Edmunds put up a defence that cost thousands of lives and left the town a smoking ruin.
Pagan sites, with their mystical legends absorbed into Christianity, were the doorways to fairyland. The trouble was no one believed in fairies any longer. Not until they arrived bringing death and destruction
and the cruelty Shakespeare understood. Much as I hated to admit anything good about that bastard.
We hurried down Benedict Street until we paused for breath in front of the square edifice of Saint Mary’s church tower. Scrawled across its ancient stonework, graffiti complained about the London government’s desertion while newer messages cursed the Fae and promised differing forms of retribution, frequently via the insertion of cold iron objects. Oisin gestured towards the daubing of a particularly graphic illustration.
‘How do they tell the difference between human beings and Fae?’
‘Quite often, they don’t. All strangers are a threat. They steal food, murder people or abduct them to sell to slavers. The sadistic ones like to test newcomers to see how they react to iron, when it’s placed on the skin. Or under it.’
Oisin swallowed hard. ‘Nice.’
‘Stay close.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘For help.’
Up ahead, at a street corner, a fleeting shadow coalesced and vanished in a second. Moments later, hurried footsteps echoed only to stop abruptly. A short and shrill whistle sounded a short distance away then a brick landed in the middle of the road in front of us, jagged pieces pinged off walls, boarded windows, rusting cars and the detritus of ten years of neglect.
We kept walking as nonchalantly as possible. Laughter echoed along the street, another brick smashed behind us.
‘On the roof,’ Oisin whispered.
I didn’t need to look up at the flat-topped roofs of the houses, I’d known this route carried risks but our pursuers would be watching the main roads.
At the junction of Garvins Street a quick glance showed a line of dark human shapes standing like sentinels across its width. I deliberately ignored them and continued down Benedict Street. Houses with conventional roofs meant the bombing campaign fizzled out but as the end of the street drew closer and Wirrall Park came into view, another threat formed.
