by Alan Baxter
Behind them strode a huge man. He was seemingly human at first glance, heavily muscled and dressed only in green leather breeches and boots. His skin had a verdigris sheen. But he was not human. His hair was tumbling moss and his eyebrows thick leaves. Two huge antlers sprouted from his head. His face was hard, though handsome, the brow heavy, the cheekbones high and sharp. He slammed the doors and gestured at the table. ‘Eat, children! It’s all for you!’ His voice was a deep baritone, carrying through the room like a bass note.
‘Erlking!’ Fack cried. ‘Welcome home.’ He morphed into human shape, wearing a red uniform like a toy soldier. The children gasped and gaped. ‘This way, kids,’ he said, all friendly and open. ‘Eat, drink, enjoy!’
Some of the children openly sobbed, terrified. Others stared nervously at the riches before them. Fack slowly herded them all to it and helped them to eat and drink. Even the most scared he convinced to nibble on a strip of crispy bacon or a sugary doughnut.
Silhouette swallowed her disgust as the kids became trapped forever by the insipid magic in the feast.
‘What do you need?’ the Erlking rumbled.
Silhouette realised he was addressing her. ‘I’m here to see what you have to offer, actually, not to deal right now.’
The Erlking made a noise of disgust, flicked one massive hand at her. ‘It always changes. Come back when you’re ready to negotiate.’
‘The Lady is interested in your stock,’ Silhouette said, heart racing with her audacity.
The Erlking laughed. ‘I’m no follower of that bitch. There are Erlkings far nearer to her ridiculous monument. Why come to me?’
‘Let’s just say she’s collecting.’ Silhouette desperately tried to parse the information she was getting. There wasn’t one Erlking, but several. Some were nearer the palace, which meant she was currently still some distance away. But what did distance mean in this realm? She racked her brain, trying to remember all she could of Erlking mythology. She knew of old ballads, Germanic and Scandinavian legends of siren-like kings and their daughters luring humans away. It was all so much nonsense, completely useless in the very real environment in which she found herself.
The Erlking tipped his head, the muscles in his thick neck bulging at the weight of his antlers. ‘Collecting. What’s that sour bitch up to now?’
Silhouette tried to stay in character. ‘Beware how you speak of the Lady!’
The Erlking roared with laughter. ‘Fuck you, little Fey, in my house! Your Lady is a capricious and pointless despot. If she wants any of my stock, tell her to come herself and beg me for it.’ He strode from the room, wide eyes of children following his exit. They seemed to relax when he was gone and returned to eating with vigour. They were lost to the enchantment. Doomed. She realised the children’s attention had shifted to her, tall and frightening in her Fey shape.
Fack strolled up to her, still in his human form. ‘You’re taking a bloody risk, talking to him like that. None of the Erlkings care about Fey politics, you know that.’
Silhouette shrugged. ‘I still expected him to show some respect.’
Fack barked laughter. ‘What are you, new here?’
Silhouette’s heart fluttered, but she kept her cool, laughed with him.
‘Why is the Lady collecting human children?’ Fack asked.
‘No idea. I just do as she asks.’
‘You’re a long way from the Lady’s influence. There are at least three Erlkings more suited. How much variety does she need?’
Silhouette shook her head, leaned casually against a wall. ‘I don’t presume to question my Lady’s desires.’
‘Maybe something to do with that human she’s already got, the one who fucked up our fun.’
Silhouette blanched, hoped Fack didn’t notice. ‘Probably.’
‘I can talk him down a bit if you want to make an offer for something here,’ Fack said. ‘I know how to deal with him.’
‘No, not right now. Perhaps I did come too far afield. I’ll go to the other Erlkings and start there. Who’s nearest again?’
Fack turned his attention from the feeding children to look her up and down. ‘Who’s nearest?’
‘Where’s nearest?’ Silhouette said. She felt like she was drowning. They were all Erlkings, did they not have individual names? Had she made some fundamental error in the distance and geography of this horrible realm?
Fack’s magic swept over her, probing, rude and insistent. ‘The fuck are you?’ he asked quietly.
Silhouette refused to give in to rising panic. Move fast! She shot out one hand, clamped it around Fack’s neck and squeezed. He gagged and thrashed, shifted back into his Fey form as his magic built up quickly. Silhouette cracked him hard in the temple with her free elbow, stunned him. His power drained, his eyes swam.
‘Where the fuck is the ice mountain?’ she demanded.
‘Wha …? You’re not Fey …’
Silhouette hit him again. ‘Where is it?’ She squeezed harder.
Fack choked, scrabbled at her fingers crushing the breath from him. ‘Follow the blue fucking sun!’ he managed to get out.
He was regaining strength, the surprise of her attack past. Silhouette could take no more chances. She moved her shape, elongated her maw to a predatory jaw full of long teeth, shifted her grip and tore out his throat. He howled silently, air rasping through the ragged hole, and thrashed. Silhouette slammed him into the wooden floor, hardened her hands with long claws and smashed through his body, tearing at organs and flesh. His blood was a viscous green, his internal parts fibrous and tough. Still he kicked and squirmed, his hands clawing up at her. How do you kill these fuckers? She dimly registered the screams of the children as she ripped through Fack’s chest cavity. She saw his pulsing heart, swollen and almost black. She tore it free and his movement ceased.
Before anyone else could show up, praying the Erlking didn’t come thundering back in, Silhouette bolted from the wooden hall. Outside, night had fallen. The clouds shimmered with an unnatural light. Three moons drifted across the sky, casting everything in a wan blue glow. She was momentarily reminded of the light in Obsidian and cast the terrible memory quickly from her mind. She turned away from the Erlking’s domain and ran, long Fey legs eating up the ground as she blinked across great distances, looking for new shelter. She felt like never stopping.
In a hotel room in Sydney’s Chinatown, Claude Darvill puked again, wondering when his intestines would curl out of his raw throat and he would finally sink into the blessed oblivion of death. He rubbed his eyes, his vision slowly returning to normal.
‘Come on, son, you’re made of sterner stuff than this. Remember that voudoun you told me about in Port-au-Prince? Ha! If you survived that, you can get over this.’
Darvill looked across the room at his father as he slumped back onto the bed again. ‘Fuck you, Dad,’ was all he could manage, his voice weak.
Hood smiled, hands twitching and busy in his lap. ‘You sleep it off, I’m going out.’
Through his haze of pain and nausea, nerves rattled in Darvill’s chest. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To rape and murder. I want violent, non-consensual sex, followed by blood and splintering bones.’
‘It’s too risky.’ Darvill hid his disgust at the casual depravity, tried to appeal to the logic of not getting caught.
Hood laughed. ‘What’s the risk? I get caught, I kill them too. I am fucking invincible, son.’
Darvill’s thoughts flitted briefly to the new sword across his back. ‘Them not being able to hurt you is one thing. But we don’t need the heat. They’ll send more and more against you and we won’t be free to move where we want.’
Hood scowled, lips shivering as he muttered. He tipped his head back and yelled, ‘Fuck you, I will decide!’ And Darvill knew his father wasn’t addressing him. ‘How long till you can move on?’ Hood asked.
Darvill simply wanted to die, to curl up in a ball and expire, but he needed to keep his father focused. The o
ld man certainly seemed to be developing a greater level of control over whatever haunted him, but it was hard to guess how long it might last. The mass killing under St Mary’s should have satisfied him for longer than this, surely. ‘I can go now,’ Claude said. ‘But what’s the plan?’
‘I want Alex fucking Caine. Same as always.’
‘But he’s been abducted to Faerie. Shit, is that even possible?’
‘You told me about Obsidian, son. You know the other realms exist.’
Darvill nodded. He couldn’t deny that. ‘So what do we do?’
Hood stood, his eyes darkly furious. ‘We go to Faerie and get that little cunt so I can kill him. Why is this so hard for you to grasp?’
‘Let me rephrase the question,’ Darvill said with a sneer. ‘How do we get to Faerie?’ He pulled himself into a sitting position, head swimming. Whatever gas he’d ingested, it was messing with him in a hundred different ways. He was in no doubt that if it had been any more he would never have woken up again. It seemed his father’s immunity extended to many forms of attack. Hood had been completely unaffected.
Hood raised his palms. ‘We just walk right in.’
Darvill’s head pounded, his gut roiled, his vision blurred. He had little time for his father’s over-zealous attitude to everything. He shook his head, raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘This thing in me,’ Hood said. ‘This fucking thing Caine gave me knows the Fey and Faerie intimately. I can’t explain it to you, but I have knowledge and experience you wouldn’t believe. I know the Void, I know so many realms. I can see through dimensions into the shapes of things unfathomable.’
Darvill held up a hand. ‘You’re not making any sense. My brain hurts too much for this shit. Basically, you’re saying you can get us to Faerie?’
‘Yes. I know it. I’ve been there before. At least, part of me has. We just need a gateway. Find us a Fey gate and I can open it.’
‘Right. So I need to find a gateway. You can’t do that bit?’
Hood shrugged. ‘I have to do everything? Come on, son, I’m trying to include you here. Did I save you from that place for nothing?’
‘I don’t even know what a Fey fucking gate is!’
Hood slumped down into a chair again, put his feet up on a small coffee table in front of it. ‘You’re the seeker, Claude. You have all those great finding skills. I could probably track down a Fey gate, but you could do it quicker. Here.’
Hood stood swiftly and slapped a hand to Claude’s forehead. Jolts of energy crackled through like electricity, made Claude cry out in surprise and pain. Sensations of another place rocked through him, vistas confusing to the eye and mind. He realised it was Faerie he saw. ‘Feel it!’ Hood yelled. ‘Know it!’
Darvill pulled away, fell backwards off the bed. ‘All right, enough! Too fucking much, in fact.’ If he thought his head had throbbed before, he was mistaken. His skull flexed fit to burst. He pulled himself into a kneeling position, lowered his head to the floor like a Muslim at prayer and groaned. The pounding pain began to ease. ‘Okay,’ he said in a weak voice. ‘Just give me a minute.’
‘What’s that across your back?’ Hood asked. ‘You get a new sword?’
Darvill sat back, kept his face as neutral as possible. He was enjoying this newfound mayhem, but recognised that it might quickly spiral out of control. He had no idea if the sword was a Get Out of Jail Free card against his father, but he didn’t want to jeopardise the possibility. And besides, it was something special, almost alive. He had barely explored its potential yet, but recognised its unrivalled potency. ‘I picked it up in that Armour base. You don’t remember?’
‘I don’t remember much, to be honest. Bloodlust, son. It’s a wonderful thing.’
‘Yeah, I can imagine. I thought it looked cool and kinda valuable. They’re not going to need it any more.’
‘Very true.’ Hood walked to the door. ‘So, come on then. Let’s go.’
Darvill raised his hands. ‘Wait a minute. I have to do my thing first. It’s easier here where there’s peace and quiet.’ He rummaged in his satchel for a thick charcoal pencil and began marking sigils of finding on the tough carpet. ‘Now shut up a minute while I find us a gate.’
Jean Chang watched with interest as two more people wearing all black approached the broken door in the side of St Mary’s Cathedral. They conversed with tense faces and angry gestures. The one who had arrived first grabbed the sleeve of another to prevent her rushing downstairs. He made a phone call. After ten minutes or so another man joined them, a big, dark-skinned fellow with long black hair and a heavy brow over a handsome face. Maori, perhaps, Jean guessed. Or from somewhere in the region. He carried a large sports bag and took a gas mask from it. He put the mask on and, gesturing to the others for patience, went in through the broken door.
Chang watched patiently. The three remaining people by the door shuffled around. After several minutes, the large man re-emerged, pulled the mask from his face. His handsome visage was distorted in anger and grief. Chang watched the four of them talk and argue for a minute before she made a decision. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she walked towards them.
Conversation ceased as she approached. They watched with suspicion.
‘Hello,’ Chang said.
The big man nodded, stepped forward to take charge. ‘Can I help you? We’re a little busy here.’
She held out her hand. ‘My name’s Jean.’
He looked at her hand, back to her face. ‘Jarrod.’ He shook, his massive hand engulfing hers completely.
‘Hi, Jarrod. Listen, I’m not sure what happened down there exactly, but I know who did it.’
The posture of all four changed instantly. From wary patience they became alert, avid. Jarrod held up a palm to stem their questions before they had a chance to start. ‘How do you know?’
Jean looked around the group. They all wore matching black cargo pants and T-shirts. They had utility belts like policemen and shouldered satchels. There was an air of professionalism about them, an almost military discipline. But who were they? Could they be part of the Armour group Darvill had been so keen to track down? ‘I need to know I can trust you.’
Jarrod smiled, nodded. ‘Understandable. You can. I can’t tell you too much about who we are, but we’re the good guys.’ He gestured down the stairs where tendrils of smoke still drifted like lazy ghosts. ‘Someone attacked our headquarters down there. They’ve killed a lot of our colleagues and virtually destroyed the place. I need to know anything you know. Please.’
‘Are you a religious organisation?’ Jean nodded towards the towering sandstone wall beside them.
‘No. Once maybe, in a way, but not now. We’re secular and only interested in the safety of the population. Does that matter?’
Jean hugged her bag to her chest. Inside was the means of finding the perpetrators these people so desperately wanted. And they looked like the kind of organisation that might have a chance of succeeding in stopping the hell she had helped unleash. Perhaps she could ease her conscience. But she needed to see it through. She needed to know, to be part of the solution. And she wanted to feel safe. ‘I’ll only tell you what I know if you keep me with you.’
Jarrod started to protest and Chang held up a hand to stop him. ‘This is non-negotiable,’ she said. ‘For my own protection as well as for my own reasons. I’m capable and have tech that will definitely help you.’ She hefted her bag for emphasis, wrapped her arms tightly around it again, pressed it against her chest like a shield.
Jarrod sighed. ‘Okay.’
Chang allowed herself to feel some relief. ‘Do the names Robert Hood and Claude Darvill mean anything to you?’
Jarrod’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Yes. Yes, they do.’
Jean nodded. This was the right decision. She told him everything.
14
Alex paced the icy cell. He ground his teeth, frustrated, angry, riddled with pain. The brief reprieve from the ministrations of the Fey a
fforded him little comfort. His chest burned where they had cut around the shards of the Darak. The very fibres of his being ached from their intrusive magic. Apparently they were procuring humans from some strange dealer in order to test a new raft of theories, to see if those humans survived before they tried on him. More deaths on his conscience.
He stopped, looked around again. An empty square space offered zero opportunities for self-harm, and they knew it. He had no bed, let alone bedclothes. And even if he had a sheet to twist into a rope, there was nothing to hang himself from. At best he could knock himself senseless against the wall, but that was pointless. He yelled, an incoherent noise of frustration, and resumed his pacing.
The window high above was a square of darkness. Two moons had drifted past, though no stars were visible. He wondered how long the night would persist. He stopped pacing, turned to look up at the darkness again. The window was too high to jump for. But he was a fighter, in peak condition. Maybe he could make it. He moved under it, crouched, leaped. As he reached up, his fingers were more than a metre from the aperture’s lower edge. With a grunt of annoyance he tried again. Maybe a centimetre or two higher. He might be in great shape, but no mundane human could make that jump. If his magic was unbound, he could make it easily, and far beyond.
He turned his back to the wall, slid into a sitting position. Again he turned his attention inwards, probed and prodded at the enchantment binding him. So complete, he saw not even the tiniest opportunity to manipulate it. The Lady made the Autarch’s magic seem like a child’s toy. With a roar, he stood and leaped, and leaped again, reaching for the window.
The cell door banged open and the Lady strode in, wearing her human shape. Alex fell to the floor as her whips of agony thrashed through him.
