“I’m sorry to bother you, I know it’s late, but I was hoping you may have a room for the night,” Finn said.
The man didn’t look at all convinced, as he considered Finn’s appearance.
“I don’t blame you for being cautious, and I realise I look a state. Please believe me when I say that this has been the worst night of my life.”
His appraisal of Finn continued, although there appeared to be a slight shift in Finn’s favour. “Caught in that storm, were you?”
Finn nodded. “There wasn’t time for me to find somewhere safe. I had to jump into the nearest shelter. I guess it could have been much worse.”
The older man studied him for a few moments more. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind, and opened the door further, inviting Finn inside.
“Took us all by surprise that one did, never seen the like of it. Everything was crashing around outside. Nearly lost me bloody roof as well as the fence. Thought the windows were going to shatter on us, they shook so hard.” He eyed Finn up and down. “Still, it looks like we were more fortunate than you, lad.”
“Is everyone here alright?” Finn asked with genuine concern.
“We’re all fine. Have just settled the Mrs down with a cup of tea. She spent the last hour hiding under the stair cupboard. Inherited that from the Dragon,” he tittered.
“Dragon?” A slight surge of panic rose. The Council had made no mention of any dragons coming through the portal.
“Aye, and that’s a polite name for her.”
A female voice shouted, “I heard that, Patrick!”
Finn couldn’t make out where the sound came from but sensed that she was close.
“Sorry, dear!” Patrick pulled a face and brought his hand to cover his mouth. “Got the bloody hearing of a bat that one.”
Chuckling, Finn followed him into an area marked Reception.
“You wait there… Mr?”
“Just call me Finn.”
“Well, take a seat, Finn, while I grab the register and your room key.”
Sinking back into the worn fabric sofa, he waited as instructed, reflecting on the events of the night. Finn had escaped the Fallen’s grasp once more, but that had only been made possible with the Council’s help. He wondered how Kane would justify that mistake to the Master a second time.
Perhaps Kane could use the Council’s sudden interference as his defence, and safeguard himself from being feasted on by the Weavers. Finn shuddered at the thought, recalling Merrick’s words of warning that night in the tavern as he slammed his tankard on the table, his breath soaked in ale and his clothes covered with grime. Merrick had leaned in close to whisper to him, “Choose death, and if he offers no choice, take death before he takes death from you.” When Finn had asked for further explanation, the older man paled before recounting the events of the night he escaped from Moren’s citadel.
“I was one of ten to have survived the siege and remain behind. The Master’s soldiers had rounded us up like cattle and took us to the dungeons where we were given a choice, to live and serve the Master or suffer a worse fate than the ones who had died fighting him. I foolishly agreed to serve as did the others with the exception of Margarite. Her son was slain by the Master’s hand and she could not bring herself to do his bidding no matter how much we begged her. I will never forget the Master’s smile as he gave the order, but not to execute Margarite, no, what he had in store, a far worse fate then death.
The Master’s soldiers instead laid Margarite on the ground and shackled both arms and legs. The rest of us to remain and watch while he opened a portal. I had never to that day believed in demons until I came face to face with that yellow eyed creature. It revelled in our fear, I remember being grateful to poor Tobias for losing control of his bladder, it dampened some of the smell from the demon’s putrid skin.
The Master whispered in its ear, the demon picking from its back two parasites and dropping them to the ground. They crawled to Margarite, one on each side. She struggled against her shackles and screamed for mercy. The Master laughed, as they burrowed through her skull, to expose her brain. White viscous tentacles weaved in and out of its mass. Margarite ceased to move. Her eyes closed, her face riddled with pain, and then she screamed. She did not stop screaming. The Master warned the same fate would befall us if we dared to betray him.
Every day all that could be heard from the dungeon below was Margarite’s blood curdling screams. Tobias soon joined her after serving food to the Master’s disliking. I could bare it no longer. I begged the others to escape with me but they were too afraid and so I crawled my way alone through the tunnels to the Citadel’s outskirts. I smeared myself with the blood and intestines of the dead and hid beneath their bodies waiting for nightfall. I made it to Moren’s borders and passed through into Valoria before the Elders raised the Selensia.”
Finn had never forgotten Merrick’s tale and had no desire to come face to face with the demon he spoke of, or the parasitic creatures known as the Weavers. He wondered if faced with the choice what Kane’s preference would be. Either prospect for his nemesis held a certain appeal to Finn, and it would certainly buy the Council more time. Especially if the Master were to be forced to hunt for another Commanding Officer. Not many, he imagined, would have the sheer stupidity to sign themselves up for that role, unless they had an unfortunate penchant for pain and torture.
However much the prospect of Kane’s demise excited him, Finn knew it would be more wishful thinking on his part. The chances of Kane being spared, even following the recent failed attempt to capture him, increased by the sheer fact that the Master was indeed running out of time. Kane, with his apparent level of intelligence, would use this to his advantage, and situations reversed, Finn would, of course, do the same.
Patrick returned, clutching a small book and key in his hands. He drew out a pen from his shirt pocket and offered the book. Finn accepted and scribbled his name, next to the X on the page highlighted. “Thank you.”
Patrick smiled warmly. “We have two other guests here, so be sure that you don’t wake them. Your room is on the second floor. There’s an en suite bathroom, plenty of clean towels and toiletries for you to use.”
Mercadia broke her silence, “You must smell pretty bad.”
Finn deliberately ignored the remark and accepted the room key from Patrick.
“Check out is at midday, but if you need longer we can extend it to two o’clock. There’s a small charge of ten pounds if you do. I’ll let you have the room tonight for thirty-five pounds. Breakfast is included and served between seven o’clock and eleven o’clock. Don’t worry about paying me now. You can sort it in the morning.” He pointed Finn towards the direction of the stairwell. “So that you know, lad, I have an eye for wrong un’s and my gut is telling me I can trust you.”
Finn nodded. “You can, and thank you again for your hospitality, and your trust.”
He didn’t miss Patrick’s slight recoil as they shook hands. Mercadia sniggered and Finn quickly went up the stairs to the second floor, too tired and annoyed to pay any attention to his surroundings.
Heeding Patrick’s warning, Finn crept silently past the other rooms. At the end of the corridor, he turned the key in the lock of room number four and closed the door behind him. Leaning back against the wood, Finn took a few brief moments to appreciate the quiet and pleasant odours of his surroundings.
He had not exaggerated when he told Patrick that this night had been the worst night of his life. Even the misadventure in Redwood Forrest, his descent into devil sand and an unfortunate rescue by his arch-rival Quinn, paled in comparison.
Fumbling along the wall, Finn located the switch, the room and the contents becoming visible in the soft light. His gaze fixed on the large bed and to the patchwork duvet and plump cushions. It looked warm and inviting, and he couldn’t wait to climb under the covers, close his eyes, and put this whole sorry day behind him.
Shifting his position slightly to allow him to take
in the rest of the room, Finn jumped at the sudden movement from the corner of his eye. Relief that it had only been his reflection in the mirror was short-lived. Mercadia howled in laughter as he continued to stare at himself in disbelief.
It had been no wonder that Patrick had hesitated to invite him inside. Finn’s hair, now the ideal home for birds to roost, was matted with unidentifiable objects. His clothes, covered with an array of stains in varying colours, uncomfortably stuck to his skin. The tear in his trousers revealed his knee soaked in blood. Finn peered for a closer examination and observed with dismay the growth of hair on his face, far more coverage and length than he ever would have tolerated back home. His brown eyes, wild and bloodshot, stared woefully back.
With his face set like thunder, Finn marched to the bathroom and turned on the taps. He pushed the small device that would stop the water from continually disappearing, firmly into the hole. A lesson learned from his first experience of bathing in this strange world.
Studying the full complement of bottles on the shelf, Finn selected the one labelled ‘Bath Foam’ and followed the instructions, carefully dropping some of the liquid into the bath. He watched the effect of the potion as the water level rose, and an assortment of rainbow sphere shapes covered the surface. Fascinated he reached to pick one up. It burst in his hand.
Finn sensed this was only adding to Mercadia’s amusement. “Are you planning on watching me bathe or have you seen enough now?”
“Oh, I’ve seen enough, thank you.”
“Glad to have made your night,” Finn bit back. The woman was infuriating.
“Come now, you need to learn to control that temper of yours.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” His sarcasm was unleashed without any care as to who he was addressing. “Feel like throwing any more trees around?”
Surprisingly, Mercadia ignored his remark. Her tone had changed noticeably. Perhaps somewhere in there, an acknowledgement that she may have pushed him a little too far. “We will be watching you. Time is running out. You need to find the girl and quickly.”
“I need to bathe and have a decent night’s sleep.” Finn slipped off his jacket and signalled, as far as he was concerned, the end of their conversation.
Mercadia paused, seemed to change her mind over what she had intended to say, and then remained blissfully quiet. Finn’s muscles unknotted with the release of her connection. Good. He had not relished the idea of bathing with an audience.
He quickly peeled the remainder of his clothing from his skin and kicked the dirty pile into the corner. His hands swilled the water and confirmed a pleasant temperature. A gentle knock at the door interrupted before he could step foot into the bath. Muttering a curse under his breath, he grabbed the nearest item he could find, a large white cloth, and wrapped it around his torso.
Finn opened the door tentatively, one hand keeping a firm grip on the soft fabric. The petite woman in front of him smiled in greeting, Patrick’s wife, he assumed. She offered him a bundle of clothing and a brown paper bag, smiling as he stared at her with mouth agape.
“You can thank me tomorrow,” she chuckled as she walked away.
Touched by her kindness, Finn’s mood lifted. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him as to what he would wear in the morning. He scowled at the discarded pile of clothing on the floor. There was little chance of him wearing any of that again, even if he wanted to.
He examined the bundle she had pulled together for him. Blue trousers made of a thick material he couldn’t quite recall the name of, a dark-blue shirt and a black jacket, very much like the one that Eddie, his first human friend, had given to him when he arrived through the portal.
Finn was careful to avoid contact with his skin, as he held the clothing out in front of him, surprised to find an almost if not perfect fit. Not bad. How had she guessed? Perhaps, she was a descendant of a dragon after all.
He peeped at the contents inside the brown paper bag, and almost howled in joy. It had been hours since he’d last eaten and although he was famished, the desire to wash away the leftover stench overruled his hunger. Reluctantly, Finn placed the bag on the bed and hurried to the bathroom.
A groan of sheer ecstasy escaped as he lowered himself into the water, and soothed what remained of his pain and embarrassment. Reaching for the containers, Finn read each one, in turn, identifying the bottle that would clean his hair and body. Using the contents as instructed, he washed the remnants of the storm free, and at last, felt like his old self.
One thing, however, obstructed his path back to normality. Finn scanned the bathroom in search of that miraculous item that Eddie had called a razor. Disappointed, he made a mental note to ask Patrick for one in the morning, and instead sank his body below the surface of the water. The heat had already eased his rigid muscles, and any tension that lingered slowly ebbed away in silence. Time passed by in a peaceful haze. Finn almost drifted to sleep, until the coolness of the water returned him to a semi-state of wakefulness.
Releasing the device, he emptied the bath and stepped out, wrapping the white cloth once again round his midriff. As Finn passed the mirror, his reflection beamed back an approval.
Satisfied, he shifted his attention towards the table that stood opposite the bed, the various contents piquing his interest. Picking up the metallic container, Finn searched the surfaces. Unlike the bottles in the bathroom, there were no instructions to enable him to understand its purpose. Tipping it upside down, he flinched at the small amount of water that spilt into a puddle. A realisation dawned, this was a boiling pot!
Finn’s eyes eagerly searched the room for the stove, which frustratingly was found to be missing. Placing down the container, he noticed a small lever protruding from its base and hesitated for a brief moment before pressing it. To his astonishment, it lit and a faint rumble from the boiling pot could be heard. Finn recalled what Eddie had taught him about electricity, the boiling pot somehow connected, and again he marvelled that such a power existed.
Examining the assortment of baskets, Finn noticed a collection of herbs wrapped in a little white bag. Eddie had called it tea, boasting ‘the British answer to all problems’. Finn failed to see the logic of this, but considered after today anything would be worth a shot. Dropping the tea bag into a cup, he waited for the boiling pot to calm and poured the water carefully.
Scrutinising the rest of the contents on the table, he gazed at the small brown container with an image of a cow. Milk that, ‘no perfect cup of tea could be without’, according to Eddie. Peeling the lid back, Finn tipped the contents and used the silver spoon, to ‘swish and stir’. Patrick and his wife were extremely thorough, Eddie would be impressed.
Resting the cup on the surface of the small cabinet, Finn turned on the bedside lamp and crossed the room to switch off the light, his stomach somersaulting with excitement when finally, he could crawl into the welcoming warmth of the bed.
His hand dipped eagerly into the contents of the brown paper bag, the sandwich demolished in less than a minute. Hopeful of a further reward, Finn raked inside and triumphantly pulled out a sizeable mouth-watering slice of cake.
Fulfilled, he reached for the tea, a comforting ritual Finn considered, sipping at the hot liquid. Eddie right, as always. When his quest completed, he would take some of the little white bags home and give them to his mother to try. Perhaps she would even be able to identify the herbs used and recreate her own.
With his thoughts turned to his mother, the memory of her tears haunted him as she begged for an explanation. Heartbroken, when Aaron vanished, the guilt of then taking her fragile heart, and crushing it further with his own departure, weighed heavy on Finn’s mind.
He now understood the decision Aaron had taken to simply leave, although he’d cursed his brother at the time for the torment not knowing had caused. In truth, it had been the reason why Finn couldn’t bring himself to do the same to her.
When the argument subsided, the house brought back from its s
tate of disarray, their mother had eventually accepted his decision and promised for both their sakes, that she would not ask any further questions. Finn knew it had been difficult for her to do so, kissing her goodbye had been so much harder than he’d ever thought possible.
The morning Finn had travelled through the portal, he had risked one last opportunity to see her. She was standing outside, tending to her herbs in the Moon Garden that she loved so much and though she looked happy, Finn didn’t miss the longing in her heart to reunite with both sons. His own heart had echoed in response.
Mercadia at least had fulfilled her promise and ensured that in exchange for Finn’s services his mother was taken care of, and most importantly, kept safe from the enemies he had made. Enemies who now swore their allegiance to the Master, whose faction was growing considerably, along with his power. The Council’s protection of the remaining three realms weakened, with each betrayal and battle that had been lost.
Finn contemplated the gamble they had taken tonight, using all of Mercadia’s power to send the storm through the portal, and leaving themselves vulnerable to attack. They must have deemed the prophecy to be of great importance, and worthy of taking such a risk?
Finn knew little of the Council’s two remaining Elders and prayed their powers were sufficient enough to maintain the Selensia barrier while Mercadia regenerated. The Master reportedly had been testing its boundaries since the discovery of the Silver Stag, and there was no doubt in Finn’s mind that he would continue in doing so.
Switching off the bedside lamp, Finn stared into the darkness of the room, Mercadia’s words repeating over and over again in his mind. “Find the girl, and quickly.”
Hoping that tonight would bring him closer, he succumbed to his weariness, and slowly drifted towards slumber.
Chapter Two
Middlesbrough, North East England
“Would you like another drink, Rowena?” he slurred, barely managing to retain his balance as the bar stool swayed precariously.
The Veils of Valoria Page 2
