The Bastard from Fairyland

by Phil Parker

  In its relatively new barn, amidst the rusting remains of a combine harvester, seed drills and two tractors was a small pile of hay bales. The horses tucked in hungrily though the wyvern hesitated, distracted by scents it pursued like a bloodhound. It found the bodies of two sheep behind the barn, newly killed. It tucked in to its feast with gusto.

  The farmhouse had been rifled but with not with any serious intent. We’d followed a trail of tinned foods into the kitchen and found more food which hadn’t gone bad.

  ‘Someone’s been living here until very recently,’ Oisin said as he opened the door to a large cupboard and helped himself to its contents.

  ‘And left it hurriedly too by the look of it. See if you can make something for us, while I check outside.’

  He nodded and I returned to the farmyard. No one left food behind these days. People didn’t leave well defended locations like this farmhouse either. I vaguely wondered if it was a place where the twins could live for that reason.

  I found the farmer laid out on the lawn behind the house. His shotgun lay at his side, so did his head. He didn’t have any legs and a chunk of his belly was missing, intestines lay spread out around his body like spaghetti. His corpse showed unmistakeable teeth marks. Big ones.

  A trail of blood, more intestines and the farmer’s lower leg provided a trail I really didn’t want to follow but I had to find out what had happened.

  Beyond the lawn I hurried through an orchard devastated by the passage of something big. Ancient apple trees leaned at crazy angles, branches lay broken on the floor and a muddy patch provided a footprint of something with huge hooves.

  A wooden stile marked the boundary of the orchard as well as the last resting place of what I assumed was probably the farmer’s son, a young man in his late teens. His shotgun lay on the ground; he must have tried to climb over the stile hurriedly and even held on to it as whatever attacked him, grabbed his legs. His arms still clung on to the stile. His legs had been ripped from his hips.

  Near to where his legs should have been was a pool of blood. By the stile were two spent cartridges. I assumed he’d shot and wounded the animal before it caught him. The poor kid had fought until the very end.

  I ran back to the farmhouse.

  Oisin was cooking soup, bread lay in big chunks on the table.

  ‘We’re leaving. Now!’ I yelled at him.

  There was no hesitation or complaint. We ran.

  We didn’t get very far. The creature, slightly taller than a man, strode along the drive from the main road, just as we’d done and spotted us instantly. It lifted its broad reptilian head and gave out a sound like a rutting stag, only higher pitched. Next to me Oisin gasped.

  ‘What is it doing here?’ he said.

  We stood perfectly still, both of us reacting instinctively.

  ‘The Fae released them when they invaded. Calculated to sow fear and chaos amongst the population,’ I said.

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  The creature was still over fifty yards away and it slowed down as it tried to maintain its attention on us. Poor eyesight was its weakness but, for this monster, that was as far as vulnerabilities went. It sniffed the air, a huge forked tongue flicked out of a wide jaw filled with sharp teeth. Its scaly head and muscular neck merged into a powerful body covered in brown fur and it moved on four powerful legs. From its rear a thin tail lashed from side to side like an angry cat’s. It looked, to previous generations of human beings, to be a creature made up of lots of other animals, so much so it had become something of a myth. The humans featured it as the antagonist in one of Arthur’s legends, where King Pellinore had fought the monster and named it the Questing Beast, as heroes of yore liked to do. In the story he’d described it as an amalgamation of lizard, leopard, deer and lion. I was happier describing it as a fucking vicious monster.

  ‘It’s recently eaten. It may not be too bothered with us,’ I whispered.

  The thing gave a second half roar, half belching noise.

  Oisin gently shook his head and whispered, ‘I don’t think it agrees. What are we going to do?’

  ‘We’re not going to run, that’s the worst thing to do. The owners of this farm found that out. We keep still and gradually lower ourselves to the ground to confuse it.’

  ‘And if that doesn’t work? We’ll be sitting ducks.’

  ‘That thing is too swift to avoid. Hiding is a better option.’

  We squatted on the pathway to the farm like hens hatching eggs. The animal swayed its head from side to side as though looking for us. I could see, on its flank, just above its foreleg, a bloody wound, the final act of vengeance from the farmer’s son.

  It took several strides in our direction with alarming speed, despite limping on its injured leg, when it spotted us it let out a high-pitched wail of pleasure. Another roar followed, louder, deeper. It came from the wyvern positioned at the end of drive, head up, teeth bared as it pored at the ground like a bull that’s spotted the matador.

  They raced towards each other, juggernauts of muscle. Oisin let out a half scream of concern for his pet and grabbed my arm tightly.

  As they prepared to collide, the Questing Beast opened it huge jaws to bite whatever flesh it found but, just as those jaws went to clamp on its prey, the wyvern chose a very different approach. It leapt. There was no attempt to use its pathetic wings, instead it used its powerful hind legs and soared over the head of its opponent. It landed on the creature’s back and raked the fur with sharp claws and sank its jaws into the base of the neck. The Questing Beast reared up like a stallion, hooves pawing the air as it howled its protest, twisted its neck to bite the wyvern but the red menace was already off its back, it landed like an athlete on the ground, facing its foe yet again.

  ‘She’s amazing,’ Oisin gasped. ‘The intelligence needed to attack that way!’

  The Questing Beast approached slower and with greater care this time, the wyvern roared its defiance but remained where it was, watching its enemy’s every move. Suddenly and with startling speed the Questing Beast leapt at the wyvern just as it started to turn thereby exposing its flank.

  They collided and rolled over and over each other, both pairs of jaws snapping at whatever part of the other could be reached. The Questing Beast was first on its feet, the wyvern shook its head like a punch-drunk boxer and tried to stand but found itself pinned to the ground by one powerful hoof placed on its snake-like neck. It screeched alarm.

  Oisin was on his feet instantly and I had to hold him back from dashing to the rescue.

  The Questing Beast roared its supremacy, swishing its tail furiously.

  But the instant it roared, the red-scaled snake-like neck twisted and jerked, freeing itself from the other animal’s foot. It caused the Questing Beast to lose its balance for a few seconds, it tottered and as it did so the wyvern twisted it neck so that its jaws could close around the lower part of its enemy’s fore leg, making it howl in pain.

  It didn’t stop the Questing Beast from reaching out to grab the wyvern by its exposed neck but the wyvern was out of range in seconds. The Questing Beast let out another howl, a mixture of pain and frustration, judging by its pitch. I realised the bitten foreleg was the same one already injured by the farmer’s son. I wondered if that had been deliberate or if I was crediting the wyvern with too much intelligence.

  The wyvern’s position was only just out of reach but it did the strangest thing, it turned to present its backside to the other creature, as though it was going to run away. The Questing Beast paused, uncertain how to react to this unexpected behaviour but the temptation of the exposed flank was too good a target to resist. It reached forwards, stretching its neck and head to bite the tempting hide. At the same time the wyvern’s tail flicked like a whip, striking its opponent hard in the face, or rather, its eye. Red liquid spurted in all directions and the Questing Beast squealed like a pig.

  Blinded on one side the Questing Beast turned its head so it could still see its o
pponent, but the wyvern anticipated the movement and lashed the tail again, it missed the other eye by inches but struck the muzzle and drew more blood. Like dancers they circled each other, tails lashing at each other but the wyvern was an expert, its tail raked the flesh along the Questing Beast’s side and even on its already injured foreleg.

  Each time the injured leg was struck the Questing Beast howled even louder, blood poured from the bite marks and the shot gun injury a little higher up. Like a warrior, the wyvern assessed where to strike its enemy so as to capitalise on the injuries. I’d watched men fight with less strategy than this animal, it was like watching a champion in a melee deal with a less experienced and weaker assailant. It kept tipping its head from one side to the other as it always did when it was working something out. I turned and grinned at Oisin who was too preoccupied with his pet’s safety to be interested in its battle strategy.

  They moved around each other like they were performing a dance and, at just the right moment, the wyvern’s tail lashed out to target the same place each time. It meant the Questing Beast, which was starting to limp badly now, didn’t dare attack, it kept circling in the hope the other animal would lose its concentration so it could strike. Occasionally it resorted to using its jaws to bite but, with one eye this was a risky strategy, it left itself open to another attack on its neck and head.

  Finally, with blood pouring from its leg and head, it staggered and dropped to its knee briefly but with an effort managed to right itself.

  The wyvern broke the circle they’d been making, turned to face its foe but didn’t move, just watched with disdain as though it knew it had won and wanted to give its opponent the opportunity to withdraw.

  Or so I thought. I must have been attributing too many human qualities to it.

  The Questing Beast stood, unable to put much weight on its injured foreleg, at right angles to the wyvern. It snapped and snarled impotently. The wyvern roared once, and rushed at its enemy, head down. Like a bulldozer, it pushed the Questing Beast over on to its side. The wyvern rammed its head up against the Questing Beat’s belly then yanked it upwards, ripping flesh with its jagged crest in the process.

  The Questing Beast squealed and spasmed but the wyvern thrust its head against the thing’s belly again, ripping the hole wider. Squeals of agony ended in a throaty gurgle.

  The wyvern’s head disappeared into the beast’s stomach briefly, only to return with a jaw full of blue-white intestines which it chomped on and returned for more.

  ‘I recommend you leave it alone for a while Oisin,’ I said as he took tentative steps towards his pet. ‘Leave our red warrior to savour her victory.’

  As if in answer it lifted its head up and bellowed loudly then yanked out more offal.

  ‘I think you’re right.’

  His wide-eyed horror was almost comical.

  ‘We need to get something to eat too.’

  Oisin looked at me aghast. ‘After that sight?’

  I shrugged. I was hungry.

  Chapter 17

  The cave was damp and smelled of urine.

  As my entry into the human realm, it wasn’t the most auspicious of places. The opposite of the luxury of the Dark Palace, even its servants’ quarters. I moved the crystals from the base of the archway and the primrose yellow light vanished, leaving me in a world of darkness and foul smells. A narrow shaft of light drew me upwards where the temperature threatened to freeze me. I’d been warned of the low temperatures and to recognise snow but no one had prepared me for the intense cold that went with the fluffy flakes that dropped from the sky. It penetrated my clothes, quickly chilled me through to the bone so that I started to shiver uncontrollably.

  At the mouth of the cave, I looked out over a watery landscape that stretched for miles. It was a world without colour, warmth or any welcoming features and it made me wonder why my race was intent on winning it back. As far as I was concerned, they could keep its bleak misery.

  Outside the cave, behind me, was a hill. Atop it I could make out a rectangular stone building surrounded by a camp of fragile constructions. Some were made from sheets of heavy material that billowed like flags when the wind caught them. Others were more solid, made from wood or metal. None of them looked hospitable, even habitable. It confirmed what we’d been told, these people were savages.

  It was certainly a place to avoid.

  Except now, with this new location, I had no idea where I was or where Cochrann might be. My quest felt enormous, unsurmountable and as the snow blew in my face, briefly robbing me of my breath, for the first time I felt real despair. I had little time and I was lost.

  A narrow path, just above the water line, led me upwards. It wasn’t the route I wanted to follow because it took me nearer to the settlement, but unless I chose to swim, I had no other choice. As swimming wasn’t something slaves were taught, I decided to risk following the path, it was safer than drowning.

  I trudged upwards in the hope the path might circle the camp but luck was not on my side. The camp got nearer. Close enough to hear the everyday chatter of people going about their daily jobs. I began practising the greetings Master Darragh had taught me.

  The muddy path, no more than a rarely-used track animals might use, turned a corner and I came face to face with two young girls, carrying buckets. They were pathetic creatures, dressed in thin rags, exactly what I’d imagined savages wore. The path divided at this point, downhill to a small beach, up to the camp. They were so busy talking they didn’t see me, not until we almost collided. That was when they screamed.

  ‘I give you good morning, my ladies,’ I said as warmly and welcoming as I could.

  They screamed a second time, dropped their buckets and fled up the hill, still screaming.

  Panic gripped me. I might have enough time to hurry back to the cave and activate the portal to return home, empty-handed. Or I could meet these people and hope someone had seen Cochrann. Master Sidwell had said there were others with my skin colour in this realm, perhaps there were some in this settlement. Or they could be savages who would kill me. I dithered, turning one way then the other, wishing someone would give me instructions. I was a servant, I didn’t think for myself.

  Indecision stalled me, I hadn’t moved when five men that looked like bears, with long hair flying behind them, ran towards me. They carried an assortment of weapons I didn’t recognise, their shouts and curses helped me conclude these people would not be welcoming hosts. I raised trembling hands in surrender, something I’d been told to do in such circumstances, and did my best to smile.

  The savages wore furs and beards that hid most of their faces so it was impossible to see if my smile had any effect, I could only go by their eyes and they looked angry.

  ‘Greetings fine sirs!’ I said as calmly as my quaking stomach allowed.

  They surrounded me, the pungent smell of body odour was overpowering, and looked confused by my welcome. One of them, with a scar across his face that made him the ugliest in a tough competition, shrugged, raised a heavy looking weapon and brought it down on my head.

  A firework spectacle, like the ones we have on Samhain Eve, burst in my head until darkness granted me peace from the pain that went with it.

  Pain followed regularly after that.

  I woke in a small metal cage, one of several lined against the stone wall of the big building. Its size only allowed me to kneel, squat or sit, I assumed it was meant for animals and I worried they might treat me as such. I was also naked. I suppose I should have felt self-conscious but my greater concern was that I felt very, very cold. I’d been told by Lady Mab that the low temperatures in this world meant we couldn’t survive very long, my fingers and toes were losing sensation and I guessed that wasn’t a good sign.

  The stone building was at one end of the camp so it was quite isolated. I called for help on the few occasions when a handful of women hurried by, intent on their work, but they ignored me. I assumed they were women, it was difficult to tell, they looked
nothing like the women in the palace. Where the men wore thick clothes made from animal skins mostly, the women wore rags, they were stick-thin with heads shaved or covered in stubble. I noticed one of them wore my coat and I called out to give it back but she shouted something that I assumed was a curse, judging by her expression and tone.

  I don’t know how long I remained in the cage, without any sun to track across the sky, time drifted. Eventually the men returned, they didn’t speak but roughly dragged me out of my cage and tried to make me walk. The problem was I’d been penned up so long the cold and stiffness in my joints made it difficult to move, I had trouble walking but the men weren’t prepared to wait. One took a stick out of the folds of his animal skin coat and brought it down hard on my back, I screamed. When my legs buckled under me as I tried to stand, he struck me a second time, even harder. I screamed again. Beatings were normal for me but this method was new, it was applied with such force and in line with my spine so it struck bone rather than flesh and muscle. I struggled to my feet and managed to stand upright but he beat me with his stick again, this time against my buttocks. All the men laughed. An even bigger man with a face hidden by hair, and with shoulders like a bull, nudged the other man.

  ‘Careful with that arse, Jack, we’ll want to use that later!’

  They all laughed even louder. One of them, he was younger with less facial hair, grabbed hold of my hips and dragged me against his crotch and in a pantomime of exaggerated thrusting gasped and gurgled loudly.

  ‘Ooh, nice and tight, lads!

  The one they called Jack pushed him away from me.

  ‘Fucking hell, Rimmer, you’d fuck a brown skinned one?’

  The younger man wrenched me back and threw an arm around my chest and held me tight.

  ‘Who cares about that? He’ll be tighter than the women you fuck!’

  He looked around at the other men who sniggered.

  ‘He’s better looking too. He’ll keep me warm at night!’