Reality Bites

by Nicola Rhodes

  They went on their way, both feeling considerably lighter.

  ~ Chapter Twenty Seven ~

  The desert ended abruptly in a hazy shimmer, beyond which appeared to be a forest. It had taken them a week to get there.

  ‘You see,’ said Stiles, ‘we’re ahead of schedule.’

  ‘Do we just walk through, do you think?’

  ‘You’re asking me? I thought you were the expert.’

  Tamar shrugged. ‘Not really, Cindy’s better at this stuff.’

  ‘Well, Cindy’s not here, so make a decision.’

  ‘I’ll go first.’ She walked through and shivered. ‘Oooh it’s cold.’ But she seemed fine. Stiles followed.

  It was a relief after the desert to see so much that was green and verdant; the forest was lush and colourful and so cool and shady compared to the white hot scorching desert.

  Through the mist, they saw a large figure with antlers coming toward them. They held their breath, until it came into view.

  ‘Hank?’ gasped Tamar, in disbelief.

  Stiles gaped. ‘You know this guy?’

  Tamar nodded. ‘We go way back.’

  ‘Well, well, well, Tamar the Black as I live and breathe,’ said Hank, enveloping her in a breathtaking bear hug. ‘What the devil are you doing coming in this way?’

  ‘Feeling like an idiot, if you must know, we’re looking for the Purple Hart.’

  ‘Yes? Well you came to the right place.’

  ‘You mean he’s here?’

  ‘Yes, yes, he’s here.’

  ‘You mean I went through all that, when I could have just …’

  ‘No, no, you have to do the labyrinth; it’s a test, well, a series of tests really. You can’t just waltz into the forest and ask for an introduction.’

  ‘But you never told me.’

  ‘Well, no, I’m not supposed to, I am the guardian of the forest. It’s my duty to protect it and him.’

  Tamar slapped her head. ‘Of course, I should have realised. You’re the last guardian.’

  ‘And who is this?’ asked Hank, indicating Stiles. ‘What happened to the other one, the skinny one? Not that this one has much meat on him either.’

  ‘This is Jack Stiles, and frankly Hank, Arnold Schwarzenegger would look skinny compared to you.’

  ‘Arnold who?’

  ‘Ajax then.’

  ‘Oh him, I remember him.’

  ‘So, what do we have to do to get past you?’ she asked, giving him a winning smile.

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ said Hank. ‘I can’t bend the rules, even for you.’

  ‘Worth a try,’ she said, ruefully.

  ‘Actually the final test is this way, come on.’ He led them into the forest.

  ‘So, how is Danny?’ he asked conversationally, as they walked.

  ‘Denny.’

  ‘Whatever. How come he’s not with you?’

  ‘The old witch wouldn’t let him come,’ said Tamar grumpily.

  ‘Ah, I see, that makes more sense, I didn’t figure Derry for a coward. Still I can’t see why she would do that. Funny things, witches.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Denny knows this guy too?’ Stiles was having trouble taking all this in.

  ‘We met last year; it was last year, wasn’t it.’ Hank scratched his head.

  ‘I think so, it seems longer.’

  Hank led them into a sunlit glade. ‘Here we are,’ he said.

  Out of the trees stalked a huge deer. It was indeed purple, with golden antlers. They bowed automatically. It inclined its head and gazed steadily at them.

  ‘What’s the final test?’ said Tamar out of the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Oh there isn’t one,’ said Hank. ‘That was the desert. I’m just here to guide you, if I deem you worthy. And frankly I wouldn’t dare otherwise.’

  ‘I – I see. Um, what now?’

  Hank handed her a dagger. ‘Kill the Hart. You came for its blood didn’t you?’

  Tamar took the dagger from him slowly and approached the Hart. She raised the dagger, her hand shaking. The Hart did not move a muscle; it continued to stare steadily at her. She dropped the dagger and fell on her knees. ‘I – I can’t,’ she said.

  Stiles let out his breath.

  ‘He won’t stop you. I never had you down as a coward either,’ said Hank.

  ‘It’s not that, it’s wrong. I can’t be a murderer.’

  ‘What about all the lives you will save, if you stop Ran-Kur?’

  ‘It doesn’t balance out. Nothing justifies murder.’

  ‘So, why did you come here? You knew what you were coming for didn’t you?’

  ‘I – I didn’t think, I didn’t realise. I’m sorry I can’t do it.’ She stabbed the dagger into the ground defiantly.

  The Hart suddenly changed into a man and stood up. ‘You have passed the final test,’ he said, in a booming voice.

  Tamar gasped. ‘W – What?’

  The man smiled. ‘One, who would take my blood by force, would only bring death upon himself – herself, I should say in the present case. Only one pure of heart can wield the power to kill a god. You have proved yourself, that your intentions are pure. Now you may ask of me what you have suffered so much to find.’

  ‘I – I need your blood to kill Ran-Kur, but I can’t ask it of you.’

  The man nodded. ‘I know of this scourge. Many innocent lives have been lost, and there will be many more. You must ask.’

  ‘You won’t have to die, will you?’

  ‘Only a few drops will be needed, but how can I know for certain?’

  ‘I – I …’

  ‘How many more must die, before you find your courage? Ask.’

  Tamar bit her lip. ‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘But may I please have a few drops of your blood to save my world?’

  ‘You may.’ And so saying, he took the dagger and sliced it across his palm; he let the blood drip onto the blade. ‘Take this dagger,’ he said. ‘And plunge it into the heart of the evil one. It will kill him instantly. If you miss the heart, death will come, but it will take longer, and he will assuredly try to take you with him if you give him time.’

  ‘At least he’ll be gone.’

  ‘And so will you, a needless death. Heed my words; your work in the world is not done yet. You will be needed.’

  Tamar bowed her head.

  The Hart took her chin in his hands and raised her face to his. ‘Be careful,’ he told her.

  ‘I will,’ she answered a little impatiently.

  He released her and stood back – he seemed slightly fidgety, he crossed and uncrossed his arms a few times and cleared his throat, rubbed his nose and seemed about to speak several times, but always stopped himself.

  Tamar frowned, but Stiles knew what these symptoms meant. ‘Oh, no,’ he thought, ‘he’s going to ask her …’

  ‘I don’t suppose you might consider coming back someday,’ asked the Hart, nervously, ‘for a – um – social visit maybe?’ and he smoothed his hair self-consciously.

  Tamar gaped.

  ‘Well, we need to be getting back,’ interrupted Stiles meaningfully. ‘Denny will be worrying about you!’ he tugged on Tamar’s arm.

  Behind them, they heard Hank sniggering.

  Tamar recovered herself and, standing on her considerable dignity, she said. ‘If I were not already spoken for …’

  The Hart interrupted. ‘I see,’ he said, ‘Well, I wish you luck, and remember my warning.’

  And the forest vanished. They were home.

  ‘He did go wanking on, didn’t he?’ asked Stiles.

  Denny was startled when for a moment, a forest appeared in the living room, and he thought he saw Hank waving at him. Then he saw Tamar.

  ‘Denny,’ she squealed. ‘How are you, what have you been doing?’

  Denny grinned. ‘Oh this and that, you know, cleaning up the streets, Wombling free.’

  ‘Nutter,’ she said affectionately and threw her arms around hi
m.

  Stiles sloped off into the other room smiling.

  ‘Do you get the feeling, there’s something we’re supposed to be doing?’ asked Denny lazily.

  Tamar sat up abruptly. ‘Oh my god, Ran-Kur.’

  ‘Oh, I completely forgot,’ said Denny. ‘I finished the potion; I thought it would save time, when you got back, well, it was a good idea at the time.’

  ‘You finished it? But the ingredients …’

  ‘Yes I went for them. Well I had nothing better to do, in between chasing down vampires. I thought I should make myself useful.’

  ‘You’re quite handy really, aren’t you?’

  ‘I try,’ he said, modestly.

  ‘Might I suggest, that we don’t summon him here,’ he added thoughtfully.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, I did some research, and he’s quite – big. I think an open space might be more appropriate.’

  ‘What would I do without you?’

  * * *

  ‘We thought we might do some tidying up,’ said Stiles, when Tamar and Denny emerged.

  ‘Cindy?’ said Tamar in amazement, ‘and Eugene?’

  ‘They arrived just after us,’ said Stiles.

  ‘The desert and the sphinx and everything just vanished suddenly,’ said Cindy. And we were at my house, so we thought we should come here, in case you needed any help or anything.’

  ‘Also, we’re dying to know how it all turns out,’ admitted Eugene.

  Tamar shook her head. ‘Oh, Denny, this is Eugene, I told you about him. Eugene this is Denny.’

  They shook hands, perfunctorily.

  Then Tamar spotted the new statue. ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh nothing.’

  ‘The question, surely, is who is that?’ said Cindy.

  Denny glared at her; she quailed but continued staunchly. ‘I’m a witch; we can tell the difference, you know, between a statue and a person who has been turned to stone; the look of surprise on the face is a dead give-away for one thing.’

  Tamar peered at the statue. ‘My god,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s the landlord. Denny, what did you do?’

  Denny shrugged carelessly. ‘I didn’t hurt him. He turned up, and I sort of – panicked, and then … well, how do I undo it without him wondering what the hell happened?’

  Tamar laughed. ‘I’ll sort it out,’ she said. ‘I’ll modify his memory; he won’t remember a thing, a dose of the flu that’s what happened to him, nothing more.’

  ‘Oh good,’ said Denny. ‘I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more. ‘

  He’s a bit of a swine,’ said Tamar to Stiles, Cindy and Eugene, who were looking dumbfounded.

  ‘I’m glad you could come up with something,’ said Denny. ‘I was hoping you would. I had no idea what to do with him.’

  ~ Chapter Twenty Eight ~

  They found Tamar in the empty street, looking grim. She had already thrown the potion. The dagger was tucked into the back of her belt.

  ‘What the hell is she doing?’ said Denny.

  Stiles laid a restraining arm on his shoulder. ‘I think she feels she has to do this alone,’ he said. ‘She’ll be okay; she knows what she’s doing. She’s ready.’

  Denny subsided; he nodded. Much as he hated to admit it, Stiles was right. There was nothing he could do, except watch.

  They all watched.

  ‘RAN-KUR THE INVADER – RAN-KUR THE DESTRUCTOR – I SUMMON THEE. COME FORTH AT MY COMMAND. REVEAL THYSELF. BE SEEN AND PERISH.’

  ‘I think she added that last part herself,’ said Denny. Only to realise that he was addressing a woman that he had never seen before. Tamar’s thundering tones had attracted a small audience of surviving locals.

  ‘What is it,’ said the woman, ‘some sort of street theatre?’

  Denny did not know what to say. Fortunately he was spared the necessity of answering as at that moment Ran-Kur chose to make his appearance in an impressive thunderclap and firework display. There was some scattered clapping. Ran-Kur bowed slightly. Gods are like this.

  ‘Oooh its good isn’t it?’ said the woman, nudging her neighbour.

  Ran-Kur was a pretty impressive figure. Around twenty feet tall, he was cloaked and hooded in black from head to toe (or at least from head to the ground.) All that was visible of his features were two glowing red orbs, in the approximate place where you might normally expect to find his eyes.

  ‘PERISH?’ he thundered. ‘DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? YOU INSECT! HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT YOU, SMALL CREATURE, HAVE SUCH ARROGANCE? I WILL CRUSH YOU, AS I HAVE SO MANY OTHERS BEFORE YOU. AND IT SHALL BE SLOW, SO THAT YOU MAY SEE HOW MANY OTHERS I SHALL KILL BEFORE YOU DIE.’

  ‘He likes the sound of his own voice, doesn’t he?’ said Stiles.

  Denny was silent; he was worried. If it went wrong all these nosy people would die. They would probably all die, even Tamar.

  Ran-Kur was growing, thirty feet, forty, fifty. Tamar stood her ground and did nothing, except watch silently. Ran-Kur reached down and plucked her off the ground.

  The spectators were watching in terrified horror. This was more than they had bargained for.

  Tamar was lifted high into the air; Ran-Kur continued to grow.

  Denny was panicked. ‘She’s stuck,’ he said. ‘Her arms are pinned; she can’t reach the dagger.’

  ‘If she can survive being swallowed by a dragon, she can get out of this,’ said Stiles. He sounded calm, but Denny noticed that his knuckles were white.

  ‘Swallowed by a …?’

  ‘Oh, er, she didn’t tell you?’

  Ran-Kur was now seventy feet tall at least. He held Tamar out in front of him on his palm, as he brought her closer to look at her, ‘I am the mighty Ran-Kur,’ he said in relatively quiet, but still rather pompous tones, ‘that you, puny mortal have dared to summon, now you shall pay the price. My name, it means “ill feeling” and “spite”.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  Ran-Kur lapsed into normal speech for a second. ‘Oh, you speak Demon then?’ he asked interestedly.

  ‘No, it means the same thing in human.’

  ‘Does it now? Well there’s a thing.’

  Tamar saw her chance. She crossed her fingers the dagger seemed pitifully small now, and leapt sliding down the robes and plunged the dagger into the chest as far as it would go. As she did so, she felt all her strength ebb out of her, she let go of the robes as Ran-Kur gave a shudder and fell.

  As she hurtled through the air, powerlessly, she thought, ‘at least it worked.’

  ‘She’s falling,’ cried Denny. ‘Something’s wrong.’ And ignoring the death throes of Ran-Kur, he shot into the air to catch her. Before he could reach her, she hit her head on a jutting parapet, by the time he had caught her, she was unconscious and bleeding freely from her head.

  ‘I’ll carry her,’ he said fiercely to Stiles, as the latter moved forward to help.

  The crowd of people watching stepped aside for him to pass, watching in silent sympathy, at his stricken face. As they walked away, neither Denny nor Stiles noticed the sinister figures of the vampires emerging from the shadows.

  * * *

  ‘Can you help her?’ Denny asked the doctor on call at casualty. ‘I think I should warn you that a “no” at this point, would not be beneficial to your career,’ he added threateningly.

  Tamar was lying on a stretcher, white and still, her breathing was shallow. Denny had never seen her like this. It was terrifying; the more so because in his worst nightmares, he had never imagined that something like this could happen to her. Not to Tamar.

  ‘It’s a bad head wound,’ the doctor said phlegmatically. ‘We’ll do what we can.’

  As she was wheeled away, Tamar opened her eyes. ‘Denny,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry? What for? You got him.’

  ‘I meant for – for dragging you into this … f – farce I call my life, I shouldn’t have.’ She
was gasping, her breathing ragged.

  ‘Don’t talk rubbish; you’re going to be fine.’

  ‘Liar.’ She managed a grim smile.

  He realised that he had never told her. Of course, she knew, but he had never said the words to her. ‘I love you,’ he said. And for a moment, he looked like his old self again, even his hair was back to flopping in his eyes, although this might have been due to his recent exertions.

  She reached up and brushed it back gently. ‘I know that,’ she said, ‘fool.’

  ‘Christ,’ she added, ‘it must be bad.’

  He shook his head mutely, as she passed out again.

  * * *

  Tamar opened her eyes and was surprised to find that she was apparently floating. She felt fine; wonderful in fact sort of light-headed and dreamy – good drugs these. Then she saw him, a sinister robed figure sitting cross legged and apparently at his ease but floating in front of her about three feet in the air. Lying negligently across his knees was a large farm instrument of some type and he was reading – a novel apparently entitled ‘The Passion of Lucille’. The cover was of the lurid “Bodice ripper” type, featuring a nubile yet over-developed woman in a nightie in the arms of a well-muscled werewolf – well he was extremely hirsute anyway, too much so for Tamar’s taste. The figure never looked up; he was apparently thoroughly absorbed in its contents.

  Tamar was fascinated. Whatever her expectations of the afterlife had been – and she had not really dwelt on it much – the last thing she had envisioned was to meet the grim reaper (she knew him from his pictures) passing the time before she passed on by reading a romantic novel. The fact that she had obviously died was, to her mind, the least of her problems.

  She was also a little put-out by his obvious indifference to her predicament.

  ‘It’s all very well to him I suppose,’ she thought, ‘all in a day’s work.’ Tamar was not inclined to take the matter so lightly. ‘Ahem,’ she ventured.

  The spectre looked up, embarrassed, and secreted the book hurriedly in his robes somewhere. ‘So sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise it was that time already.’

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said, caustically. ‘Take your time, I’m in no hurry, I’m just dead, no big deal.’