Tales of the Horns: Part 1 The Berserk Beast

by R Mountebank

  Chapter 5

  The House of Horn

  The sun rose over the eastern forest of Pennysworth in a brilliant ball of orange, imbuing everything beneath it with shimmering amber hues. There was not a cloud to be seen in another picture perfect morning in all of Pennysworth County. The dawn chorus of the nearby birds picked up its tune a notch as the light strengthened, waking Mary from her slumber. Yawning she threw back the covers and slipped out the door and down the hall to the bathroom, where she spent the next quarter of an hour showering and trying to tame her long wild tresses.

  After brushing the life out of her hair she fashioned it into a ponytail using multiple ties to try to keep it all in place. Reasonably satisfied with her appearance, she turned her thoughts towards dressing herself. The day seemed fine and crisp outside. Mary settled on school regulation black tights beneath her plaid skirt and a blue cardigan on top of her school blouse. Now fully prepared for the rigors of the day she went in search of breakfast taking her new magazine with her.

  The Horn’s kitchen was large enough to accommodate cooking for a large privileged family and a whole train of servants. It was wasted on the Horns who presently counted just two. Mary made a bowl of muesli and ate in silence as she read her trashy magazine.

  The lives these people lived fascinated her: the hair, the clothes, the persistent Paparazzi. The glossy photographs and short gossip columns filled her with questions.

  What did these people do exactly?

  How could you be famous for doing nothing important?

  What was ‘Social Media’?

  What did a band of boys sound like?

  How were they different to any other band?

  Mary looked out the kitchen window at the southern gardens as she thought. Several sheep were in the vegetable plot making short work of her father’s half-hearted attempt at developing a green thumb. She smiled wickedly.

  Would he really care? Would he even notice?

  Not likely, she thought dourly.

  After cleaning her bowl and spoon she went to the cupboard and fetched a container of honey. Taking the honey to the pantry she stooped down low and poured a measure out into a small bowl which sat in front of a miniature wooden door in the wall. The honey was payment to the Brownie who did most of the cleaning around the house. Brownies didn’t like to be seen and would leave to live in another household if discovered or treated poorly. Mary had hunted for it when she was younger but her father had reprimanded her.

  “Leave the creature be, Mary. There are few of its kind left in the world. Our family is lucky it has stayed with us for so many generations. I can remember my grandfather talking about him. He will serve and protect us, so long as we do not pry into his life and pay him the tribute he demands.”

  Mary had bragged to everyone at school the next day that her family had a Brownie. She was ridiculed for weeks afterwards.

  The creature did a passable job at cleaning when it tried. However, it would disappear for days sometimes, and Mary would wind up doing everything. It would often pull tricks on Mary or pinch or prod her when she was wasn’t looking. Mary stood and was about to leave the pantry when she heard pottery clatter against the floor. She turned her head in time to see the empty bowl spinning wildly.

  “Dust the halls, will you?” she called out to thin air. “They’re filthy.”

  Mary felt a yank on her ponytail as she quit the kitchen and thought she heard high-pitched cackling laughter following her out.

  Sparrows scratching in the dirt took wing as Mary carried the empty mail sack back down the driveway to the gate, her ancestors’ statues towering over her with faces of pride, glee and woe. Mary was startled to see John Smith standing outside the boundary, looking miserable. He watched her as she fastened the mail bag to its hook then opened the iron-gate, stepped through and locked it shut. “Good morning, John” she said eventually.

  John rubbed his hands together nervously. “Mary Horn.” He finally said, with a hesitant note of formality. “May I apologise for my actions yesterday. They were unbecoming of my station. Let me assure you I will not be hypnotising anyone in this precinct hence forth.”

  Mary quirked an eyebrow in response. “Did my father speak to yours last night?”

  John looked at the ground. “Yes. Yes he did. My… uncle is very adept with the cane.”

  Mary reached out and patted her new friend’s arm sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I told him not to. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. Honest.”

  John shrugged and shifted his feet. “Do you accept my apology?”

  “Of course. I wasn’t that scared. Really.”

  John suddenly looked her in the eye. “I scared you?” His voice was hoarse and rough.

  Mary crossed her arms defensively. “Well yeah. I’ve never seen real magic before. I mean, I’ve always had my suspicions about the stuff. I didn’t know what to think. It shook me for a while.”

  John looked at her incredulously. “You have never seen magic before? Ever?”

  “Nope,” said Mary, shaking her head. “Look, I know things aren’t exactly normal like it is in the books and on the radio around here. Father is into all kinds of weird stuff but at least he can kind of explain it. So yeah, I have heard of magic before – but I’ve never seen it. We just don’t go around hypnotising each other in these parts.”

  John shook his head slightly and laughed. “That is rich. Especially coming from you. Next you’ll be telling me you don’t believe in magic.”

  Mary shrugged. “I didn’t believe in magic, and I’m still not sure that I do now. And what do you mean: coming from me?”

  John’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinised her. “Are you joking with me again? How could you not? You’re surrounded by the stuff.”

  “What stuff?” asked Mary, looking around. “I see no stuff.”

  “The gate and fence, for one thing” replied John as he pointed behind Mary, “is made of iron, designed to keep my kind out of bounds. The red letterbox there has some sort of charm or ward on it to protect it from prying eyes. That blue one has something horribly wrong with it. Those gargoyles upon the roof are more than ornamental and haven’t stopped watching me since I arrived. In fact one of them just gestured something rather inappropriately… It’s all around you, Mary. You stink of the stuff.”

  “I stink?”

  “Not literally.”

  “Look. I think it’s cute that you believe in this mumbo jumbo nonsense, but it’s going to take a bit more to convince me,” said Mary, smiling.

  “Then how do you explain it? How do you explain the ‘hypnotism’ I performed yesterday?”

  Mary bit her lip as she thought of a suitable answer.

  How did Father describe the Brownie when I was kid? An invisible psychic with a sense of humour… I remember looking it up in the dictionary afterwards.

  “Father told me that magic is just science that can’t be explained,” she replied, hesitantly at first. “Some people have an affinity with others that allows them to reach into people’s minds: known as telepathy. Some can move objects with sheer will: telekinesis. Some people just happen to be invisible and run around doing your secret bidding.”

  John’s eyes went wide as he listened. Leaning over he sniffed at her hair. “I thought I could smell a Brownie.”

  “What?” asked Mary as she backed away.

  “So how do you explain the boundaries of Pennysworth county Mary Horn?” asked John with a know-it-all smile. “Smoke and mirrors?”

  Mary scratched at her head as she thought of her answer. “Well nobody has explained that to me but I’m guessing its some kind of magnetic anomaly or miniature wormhole thingy that keeps us trapped here. You know… unexplainable science stuff…” she said, now realising herself how rather unconvincing her words sounded.

  “You seem to have a rather mundane way of explaining magic, Mary Horn! Unexplained science? Ha!”

  “All I know is what my father told me.�
�

  “Yes. Your father…” said John as he peered through the gate at her home. “Let us leave. I do not wish to be late for school. I’m already in enough trouble with my… uncle as it is.”

  They walked briskly down the badly maintained road, John setting the pace with his long legs. He muttered under his breath as he stalked along, Mary only hearing the occasional words such as science, stupid and humans. A rickety old tractor driven by an equally rickety old man chugged down the road towards them. The two teenagers stepped into the ditch when they realised the driver wasn’t going to move even a fraction to accommodate them on the narrow road. The ugly, leather-faced farmer grunted unpleasantly as he passed before spitting the most disgusting phlegm globule over his shoulder, which landed with amazing precision at their feet. The tractor wheezed and rattled its way out of sight around a bend in the road. John stared daggers at the farmer and made a quick hand gesture behind Mary’s back.

  “Only humans could make an art of controlled explosions such that it gave life to a rolling scrapheap,” he said looking forwards.

  Mary smiled. “Science at its best and worst. No magic in that old piece of junk, right?”

  John shook his head sadly. “You really have a knack for that, you know? Blowing things up with style. Got an enemy to kill? Set off some gunpowder and send a little piece of metal faster than sound at his heart. Need to go somewhere? Ignite some gasoline. It can get you in the air too! Life beyond! You fly to the moon with one giant explosion. Need electricity? We’ll split some atoms. Nobody needs those!”

  Mary couldn’t help but laugh in reply, though she was unaware of how much her laughter hurt her companion. The tall boy took his hands out of his pockets and gestured at the sky.

  “You have even bested mighty Thor and his lightning. Electricity surrounds us. It’s in your schools, in your homes; it’s even inside some of you, keeping you alive. You can communicate instantly with someone on the other side of the known world. Do you know how hard that would be with magic? And the atomic bomb? So much power and destruction… more than a mere thunderbolt could achieve.”

  Mary watched as John rattled on and then stopped abruptly. She could see how his amber eyes lit up with mischief at first and then faded to something akin to sadness. She was silent, taking in his words, when he finally spoke again, his monotone voice now taking on a gravelly edge

  “Perhaps you don’t need magic. Perhaps science has surpassed it.”

  The smile was wiped from Mary’s face as she realised just how upset John was. What was he unhappy about though? That she didn’t believe in his hokum? Or that scientists and engineers were simply good at making things? Did she really have to defend that?

  “How can you be upset over that stuff?” she ventured. “Look, bombs and guns aside, advances in science and technology are beneficial to everyone. Would you prefer candles or the light bulb? Do you miss squatting over a ditch when on your plumbed toilet? How about riding in an air-conditioned car instead of on some flea-bitten nag in the cold? And the best thing is, anybody can use these things – electricity, household conveniences, cars. Even backwards, tea-leaf gazing loonies like you. We don’t all have to be top wizards or sorcerers to have a better life. God only knows what they are doing out there, beyond Pennyworth. What inventions and gizmos clever people are creating...”

  John’s amber eyes had widened as she spoke, and now he stared at her morosely. After a long silence, he turned away from her and sighed. “I am not upset at what the tinkers of this world have made,” he said, emphasising the word tinkers as though it were an insult. “I am distressed at the state of the magical world. It is dying, Mary Horn. One day soon it is expected to disappear completely. Then what will my kind do? Will I cease to exist? Or will I be reduced to some mortal form, a husk of my former life, devoid of the divine and beautiful art that created me? That is what troubles me most. The… uncertainty of it all.”

  Mary didn’t understand what she was hearing. She stared at John, trying to find the words or emotions necessary to answer him. “What do you mean ‘mortal’? Aren’t you already?” asked Mary slowly.

  John returned her dumb gaze with a haughty look. “You are so slow sometimes, Mary Horn…If you must ask then I cannot tell.”

  Mary stopped in her tracks as her thoughts cart-wheeled in her head. Was he speaking the truth or just pulling her leg about the whole magic/immortal thing? He did seem rather emotional about everything he said. Or was he just a convincing liar? She glanced at the odd boy who walked on ahead of her, his back turned to her once more.

  There certainly were a lot of strange things in Pennysworth. Perhaps magic, not science, offered a better explanation after all.

  John’s long legs took him further away from Mary. She ran to catch up, tugging on his shoulder to slow him down a notch.

  “Now answer me this, John, and don’t go spouting on about your magical coven…”

  “Covenant. It’s a covenant, Mary Horn.” John interjected harshly.

  “Okay. Gimme a break… Your magical covenant.” said Mary, rolling her eyes. “If you can’t or won’t speak to me on some matters because you made an oath, why have you been running your mouth about magic and such?”

  John shrugged his angular shoulders. “I thought you knew. I thought everyone knew. They reflect the principles of the universe. How could anyone not know?”

  Mary’s heart skipped a beat as his words sank in. Her tongue felt unnaturally dry as she licked her lips. “So we are trapped here because of… magic?” She felt a nervousness take hold.

  John nodded, a slow smile setting on his lips and a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Yes, Mary Horn. That is no secret. But getting in or out? That’s the golden question. One that I cannot tell you.”

  Mary’s knees buckled and she slumped to the ground. Hot tears burned her eyes. “How am I…” she stammered, her thoughts scattered but her nervousness giving way to exasperation. “How am I ever meant to leave this place?”

  She felt Johns hand grip her shoulder tenderly.

  “You cannot, Mary Horn.” His voice was solemn. “And believe me when I say you do not want to leave.”

  Mary looked up at John through tear-filled eyes. “Why are we here? Why would anyone come here? It’s so horrible. I hate this place.”

  John looked back at her levelly. “It is a safe place, Mary. The safest you could ever hope to find. For many people it would seem idyllic. It is quiet, it has a rustic beauty unmarred by human progress and there is plenty of food and shelter to go around. What more could people want?”

  “It’s nothing more than a prison!” Mary spat back at him. “A comfy prison full of institutionalised prisoners too dumb to realise just how trapped they are. If it’s so safe then why can’t we just leave when we want to?”

  John paused before answering, his head bobbing side to side as he thought of his answer. “The magic that created this place… that is this place, is very delicate. If there are too many people outside of Pennysworth who know about it, it weakens its power, makes it easier for others to find it. For it to exist it must stay a secret. If everyone suddenly became aware of Pennysworth’s existence it would probably disappear forever.”

  John paused to scratch his long chin ponderously. “Or become part of the forgotten world perhaps… How would it fit in to a pre-established reality?”

  John shook his head. Mary was looking at him intently.

  “Does that make sense? Do you see why it is important to stay?”

  “No” replied Mary coldly. “It does not make any sense whatsoever. And a magical prison is still a prison no matter which way you paint it.”

  “It does if the magical prison is actually a safe haven for several thousand people.” John sighed and took a peek at his wristwatch. “Look, we are never going to make it to school in time if we stay here all morning debating metaphysics so forgive me when I do this.”

  “Do what?” asked Mary as she wiped the tears from h
er eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan.

  “This.”

  Grabbing her wrists, John yanked Mary to her feet and embraced her. The speed at which he moved was astounding. Mary only had time to utter a muffled ‘What?’ before the world bloomed white, as if a floodlight had just been shone directly into her eyes. Mary felt as though her body was being pulled or stretched away from the earth at phenomenal speed. She lost all sense of direction. No up or down. Neither left or right. There was only away.

  Suddenly the sensation changed. She began to constrict and gather back together. The speed diminished. The brilliant light faded. She was standing on a grass field, John still embracing her tightly.

  “We are here,” he said simply.

  Mary reluctantly let go of her companion and glanced around. Pennysworth Normal School was behind her. They were standing close to the trees where they had only met yesterday. So much had happened to Mary since that moment. She had made a friend, learnt that her brother was returning and that Pennyworth itself was magic. It was as if her destiny had suddenly changed in that one chance meeting. She could only hope it was for the better.

  “What was that?’ asked a breathless Mary.

  “Magic.” replied John smiling.