9 Tales From Elsewhere 8

by 9 Tales From Elsewhere

  Eoin almost yelled in surprise when he saw his father move with the speed of a moor snake.

  Torin Nok held a dirk to Korey’s red bearded throat. ‘You go too far,’ he hissed. ‘Even an old friendship has its limits.’

  Korey eyed him carefully but kept his head perfectly still, a wry grin flicking across his face. ‘I see you’ve lost none of your skills.’

  Nok withdrew the blade and sat down once more. ‘The horn is not for you,’ he said calmly.

  Captain Korey placed his hands on his knees and then stood up. ‘Then you are not the man I knew, Torin Nok.’

  Eoin watched as the Reiver left the building whilst his father sat staring at the soil floor. He decided to start after the red haired warrior and was soon marching alongside him as they headed for the stables.

  ‘I know you were listening, boy,’ Korey growled.

  ‘My father has the horn?’

  The captain nodded. ‘I’m certain of it. But he’s a stubborn man.’

  ‘He’s a coward,’ Eoin replied, immediately yelping in surprise as a searing pain struck his ear. He looked up at the livid face of Captain Korey, realising finally that the pain had come from a cuff delivered by the warrior’s substantial fist.

  ‘If you ever call your father that name again, I will personally flay you alive,’ he snarled. ‘Torin Nok may be many things but a coward he is not. By the Gods the youth of today! They talk gibberish and have no respect!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Eoin said, ‘I only meant…’

  ‘Only meant what, boy? What did you mean that I did not understand?’

  Eoin stood rubbing his ear, unable to find any words to explain himself.

  Captain Korey shot him a look of contempt. ‘It’s as I thought. Nothing.’

  ‘I only want to help.’

  ‘Then show your father the respect he deserves. You can disagree with him without showing disregard to his position.’

  ‘You’re one to talk,’ Eoin sulked. ‘My father had a dirk at your throat, not mine.’

  Korey looked down upon him with such fury that Eoin cringed, expecting another blow to his head. In an instant, however, the Reiver’s rage disappeared and the large warrior bellowed hoots of laughter.

  He slapped Eoin heavily on the back, almost knocking him from his feet. ‘Ha!’ he cried. ‘You’ve got me there boy! You truly are Torin Nok’s son.’

  His father was wrong, Eoin decided as he watched the Moss Reiver ride away. The country needed a weapon that would protect it from invaders, and he resolved to find out what had been done with Hafgan’s Horn. Once Eoin had that knowledge, he would wait. His father often allowed him to saddle Greymare and use the old horse to run errands. Eoin Nok would use that opportunity to deliver the horn to Captain Korey in the Red Keep.

  For the next few days, the boy watched his father carefully, looking for an indication of where the horn might be hidden. It was on one of Torin Nok’s regular visits to the grave of his wife that Eoin noticed his father spend a short amount of time in a small grove of trees as he made the return trip from the graveside. On exploring this area later, Eoin finally came across a tree with a hollow in its trunk. He placed his hand inside and smiled as he felt his fingers grip Hafgan’s Horn. It was a strange, twisted and deformed instrument with a dull, grey metal body that was covered in pits and dents. Eoin had imagined that something belonging to the gods would have been made of gold or glowed with some innate supernatural power. He was disappointed with what he had found. A part of him wanted to put his lips to the tarnished mouthpiece and blow the horn, but he knew the legends and they still frightened him despite the drab appearance of the instrument. The ancient stories said that the horn could crack the sky and rip mountains from the land - and that whoever blew the horn would bring destruction down upon both enemy and friend in equal measure. It was a weapon of last resort. In the end, it was not too difficult to resist the temptation. There was consolation in the fact that, now that he knew where it was kept, he only needed to wait for an opportunity to take it to the Red Keep and give it to Captain Korey. He was a true warrior unblemished by fear and would know what to do with it.

  It was not the fortress he had imagined. Before him stood a dilapidated square tower of weather-beaten sandstone surrounded by a large wooden defensive wall. He joined the procession of carts bringing their produce to the structure and soon found himself accosted by two sentries.

  ‘I’m here to speak with Captain Korey.’

  ‘What about, boy?’ asked one guard in a growl.

  ‘I can’t say,’ Eoin replied.

  The other guard sniggered. ‘Perhaps our gallant captain likes them young?’ He gave Eoin a wink and let him pass.

  He did not understand the meaning of their words but was glad that he had managed to enter the keep with little difficulty. Soon, he stood before Korey and handed him the horn. The warrior sat at a table cradling a tankard of ale, his red hair awry and eyes bleary. Eoin suspected that the man was already drunk despite the early hour.

  ‘I’m glad your father changed his mind,’ said the Moss Reiver.

  ‘He didn’t,’ Eoin replied. ‘I kept watch until I found where he’d hidden it and then brought it to you.’

  Korey shook his head slowly. ‘When will you learn, boy?’

  ‘Aren’t you pleased that I brought you the horn?’

  ‘For that, yes. Tomorrow, we head south. The enemy have amassed a great army and we go to stand against them. The odds are not in our favour but perhaps this weapon can make the difference. For the fact that I’ve allowed you to betray your father and my friend, no. I am not pleased.’ He waved a dismissive hand and gulped down a large quantity of ale. ‘The fault is mine, not yours.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Go!’ The Reiver’s voice contained a hint of anger and drops of alcohol fell from his whiskers as he rose to his feet, towering above the boy. ‘Just go home and never betray your father again!’

  The unexpected rebuff put him in a sullen mood on the ride home. He had anticipated feeling good about himself for acting to save his country but, now, he was filled with confusion. Had he not done what Korey wanted? Had he not brought him the horn? There had been no word of thanks – merely an admonishment for going against Torin Nok’s wishes. The world, he decided, was full of contradictions.

  He faced yet another contradiction when he finally arrived home and confessed all to his father.

  ‘You little fool,’ Torin Nok said in sadness rather than in anger.

  The more Eoin had learned of his father’s exploits in battle, the more he had expected a beating when he confessed his crime.

  ‘Aren’t you going to punish me?’ Eoin asked.

  ‘For what? For doing what you thought was right? Have I been such a bad father to you?’

  ‘No,’ Eoin replied, startled and lost for words. ‘I couldn’t have asked for a better father. And now that I know how much of a hero…’

  ‘What?’ cried Torin Nok. ‘You think it makes me a greater man because of the numbers I have killed?’

  ‘But they were enemies…’

  ‘They were men of flesh like you and me and I slit their stomachs and let their insides be eaten by the crows.’

  ‘I only meant…’

  ‘You did not know what you meant.’

  ‘But they killed my mother, your wife…’

  The slap, when finally it came, was so hard that Eoin saw stars before his eyes.

  The farmhouse fell into a silence broken only by the rasping and anguished breathing of Torin Nok. Outside, a cockerel crowed.

  As they toiled in the field, Eoin saw the troop of Moss Reivers travel through the valley towards the hills to the south. Dark and moody clouds churned over the distant peaks and the boy wondered what kind of portent was brewing in the sky.

  ‘There was a time when I would have been on such a march.’

  Eoin had not noticed his father come up beside him and decided to say nothing.

 
‘For a while after your mother’s death,’ Torin Nok continued, ‘I was full of vengeance and killed many men. But then I realised none of the slayings would ever bring her back, nor take the edge from my grief. I decided that, in war, it was better that somebody survived.’

  ‘Even if it was the enemy?’ Eoin asked.

  Torin nodded. ‘Even then. That’s why I grabbed my chance at Taeburn when the king was captured. I took and hid Hafgan’s Horn. Flesh is flesh, no matter what side of the border it comes from. But I’m afraid now that Korey will use the horn and none will survive.’

  Eoin looked up to his father. ‘Is it so powerful?’

  ‘So the legends say.’

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ Eoin said despondently.

  ‘It will be Korey’s choice to use it, not yours.’

  A few days later, as they worked the fields, the ground began to shake and a distant rumble emanated from the southern hills.

  ‘The fool!’ cried Torin Nok. ‘Korey’s blown the horn!’

  A sudden blast of wind enveloped them, as the southerly rumble became a roar. Struggling to stand on the trembling earth and leaning against the force of the gale, father and son fought their way home. Evading falling trees and airborne detritus, they eventually reached the farmhouse and barricaded themselves inside.

  For the rest of the day they cowered indoors as the storm raged and the earth shook. When night came, the trembling of the land was unabated. Torin suggested that they try to get some sleep but it was difficult. The winds continued to howl and rain beat loudly like drums of war against the roof of their shack.

  Eoin opened his eyes and quickly roused his father when he realised that the new morning had brought a calm to the world. The storm had lasted four days but now it was gone. And there’s a new scent in the air, he thought. Once Torin had recovered his wits and sat bleary eyed, Eoin asked him about the strange aroma.

  His father sniffed the air and smiled. ‘The sea. That’s what it is.’

  ‘But how?’ asked Eoin. ‘We’re leagues away from the shore.’

  They ventured outside to find a clear, blue sky peppered with white clouds. Eoin looked on in astonishment at the sight before him. The valley and southern hills were gone and the gentle waves of a new ocean lapped against the slope of the land not far from their farmhouse.

  ‘The horn did this?’

  ‘It would seem so,’ Torin Nok replied. ‘It truly is a tool of the gods to wield such power.’

  ‘Look at the blue water. It’s beautiful,’ said Eoin.

  ‘Never forget what it is, my son.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘A grave. Who knows how many thousands were swept to their deaths when the waters rushed in.’

  ‘Do you think Korey survived?’

  ‘I hope not,’ replied his father.

  Eoin gaped at the man before him with utter horror. Was this callousness another facet of his father that he was only now uncovering?

  Torin Nok looked upon his son and gave him a soft smile. ‘I think you misunderstand my words. I wish no harm to Korey. He was an old friend, but his survival would probably mean that the horn was still accounted for. I hope it to be lost forever beneath the waves of this new ocean and it’s likely that Korey would still be with it because he would not let it go willingly.’

  ‘And you think the horn would be used again if it were found?’

  ‘Worse,’ Torin replied. ‘Men are curious beasts by nature. Eventually, somebody would try to uncover its secrets and build others just like it. Even if the horn is truly lost, those who have witnessed its power will strive to recreate it. Soon, every king and madman in the world may have his own horn. Imagine the peril of a land cursed with a hundred such weapons? This kind of power was not meant for the likes of men.’ He gestured at the new body of water. ‘We were made to live and work such wonders as this, we were never intended to be the creators of these things.’

  Eoin pondered his father’s words for a while. ‘What shall we call it?’

  ‘You want to name this ocean?’ Torin asked somewhat startled by the change of tack.

  ‘Aye,’ Eoin replied.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Eoin Nok pursed his lips and thought for a moment. ‘The Korey Sea.’

  Torin laughed and slapped his son’s shoulder playfully. ‘I like that. The Korey Sea, it is.’

  ‘We’ll have to build a boat.’

  ‘Will we now?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Eoin, ‘we can’t be farmers anymore – not with all this water around us.’

  ‘No,’ Torin replied. ‘I suppose not.’

  When they returned to the farmhouse, they noticed that the stable door was ajar and Greymare nowhere to be seen.

  ‘She was probably terrified by the storm and kicked the door open,’ his father suggested.

  ‘Will she be alright?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Torin replied. ‘She’s been with me a long time. We’ve been through so much together.’

  His father said that they should clear up the mess left by the wind and rain and then they would set out about building themselves a craft for the water. Eoin knew that this was just a way to take his mind off the worry he felt for Graymare but he didn’t mind. It was better to be busy, he thought.

  As he collected pieces of wood and righted various items around the steading, Eoin noticed a large white bird perched on the remains of the roof. It was watching him. Seeing its yellow, webbed feet, he finally identified it as some kind of gull. With the surviving parts of the farm put to right and the remaining livestock accounted for, he picked up an axe and followed his father down a small trail. The movement disturbed the bird on the roof and it took flight. It glided over him barely moving its large white wings as it headed for the glistening waters. He followed its path until the sun blinded his vision and his eyes began to water. Then, he continued his way to the grove of trees and began helping his father fashion some wood to make a boat.

  They rested against a large trunk in the late afternoon but a noise down by the shore soon caught their attention. Eoin ran down the slope to find Greymare prancing and whinnying through the surf.

  ‘She looks ten years younger capering around in the water,’ Torin Nok said as he caught up with his son. He placed his hand on Eoin’s shoulder. ‘It’s simple sights like these that make me think that it’s not over for us yet, boy – despite what fate may throw our way.’

  The horse paused when it saw father and son. It stared at them for a moment and then galloped away, skirting the water’s edge as it headed into the distance.

  ‘Greymare!’ Eoin called. ‘Come back!’

  ‘Let her go. Perhaps now is as much a change for her as it is for us and she needs to find a new way. We’ll leave the stable door open for her in case she decides to return. Somehow, I doubt that she will.’

  Eoin nodded as he watched the horse disappear behind a rise and was surprised at how sad it made him feel. Only now did he realise how much the old warhorse had meant to him. Could we be like Greymare, he wondered? Could we find a way to live in this different land? He glanced up at his father and thought he saw hope in his eyes. Perhaps that was the final contradiction - the opportunity born from destruction to build a new and better world.

  Greymare was gone but the bird was back. It tilted its head and considered them with its yellow eye as they walked by the dry stone dyke on which it was perched.

  Did you see it? Eoin wondered of the creature. Did you witness the changing of the land? He knew there would be no answer. There were never any answers and he felt no surprise when the bird merely continued to watch the passage of the two humans with its cold unthinking eye.

  Later, as he stood on the shoreline, he studied the smoke waft from the chimney of the farm and knew that supper would soon be ready. Then, he turned to watch the sun begin to set for the first time over the Korey Sea. What would tomorrow bring? Would there come a day when it would be as his father had speculated– a ti
me filled with the sound of a hundred horns? Such an event might herald the very last moments of life in this land and he wondered if that was the way of men - to build and then destroy that which they loved most dear?

  The world, he thought as he wearily made his way back to the house by the sea, was so full of contradictions.

  THE END.

  ALL OR NOTHING by Jim Lee

  Lurching between the close binary stars on effectively one-and-a-half fusion reactors, the interstellar warship Battle of Clontarf steadily lost ground to its larger and less-damaged pursuer. Final defeat seemed only a matter of time; death or capture the only apparent outcomes.

  The ship’s young captain pursed her lips. “I’m open to suggestions?”

  Lieutenant-Commander Kieron Murphy, Clontarf’s First Officer, met her eyes—but only to shrug apologetically. The other bridge personnel offered even less.

  Morrigan O’Ree took a long, slow breath. She waited for the nanobots the medic had injected into her injured arm to do something—calm her down, clear her head.

  Nothing much happened.

  It was just her third cruise as captain.

  It shouldn’t; it couldn’t end like this!

  In search of options, she glanced again at the tactical display. The heads-up projection automatically adjusted to the eye-level of whoever occupied the Command Station at any particular moment. It was unfailingly reliable, like most everything run by the ship’s AI. But the angle shown, the point of view presented changed only upon specific request.

  O’Ree’s jaw tightened. “Clontarf,” she sub-vocalized, “new display orders—”

  The sentient computer system responded. The holo-image rotated, adding and removing distance and relative velocity figures, power calculations and course coordinates one by one as instructed. The display grew more crowded then less so and then full of icons again as it rotated 360-degrees in a calm, even stately arc.