by Jordan, G R
“Enough of this… how do you say in this country… dross!” roared Farthington, his other heads adding to the mocking laughter. Kirkgordon drew another arrow but the air in front of him turned black. It was like a power cut at midnight with the moon turning its back out of spite. The blackness was thick. Kirkgordon heard a voice in his ear.
“Toy with me, would you? Play me for a fool? When I have offered everything, you mock me, tease me with your longing for me. I will make you suffer, I will make you curse the day you were born a man.” It was Tania’s voice but there was a hollowness to it, as if her soul had gone, leaving the merest essence of the girl she had been.
Something hit Kirkgordon right between his legs, knocking him off his feet and making his eyes water. His genitalia screamed in pain and he had to force himself to roll away. The next blow caught him on his backside while he was face down in his roll: a fortunate result, for his genitals had once again been the target.
Light exploded into the darkness and created an illuminated shell within which all could be seen. Outside of this area, the shroud persisted; nothing could be seen, not even shadow. The priest was standing over Kirkgordon, toe to floating toe with Tania. Kirkgordon watched in horror as small insects, all jet black but with little pincers at their front, began to pour out of Tania’s ears, eyes and mouth. They jumped from Tania onto Father Jonah and within a few seconds they had covered the priest. Nearly vomiting, Kirkgordon reached for an arrow but the priest, still covered in insects, reached out with his hand held aloft.
Watching in disbelief, Kirkgordon saw the insects begin to change colour from black to grey before turning completely white. Without warning, every single insect leapt from the priest onto Tania, covering her completely, and she toppled to the ground.
“Do you have any vortex arrows left, Mr Kirkgordon?” asked the priest. Kirkgordon indicated an affirmative. “Then over there, ten feet beside the witch. Fire one now!”
Kirkgordon drew his bow and fired the arrow into the ground ten feet from Tania. The vortex started to build and the priest bowed his head. Kirkgordon saw others being drawn towards the rupture in space, but as the priest started to move it was like a wall had been placed in front of him. Tania and Nefol were not moving either. But Farthington was. The dragon roared and turned his back to the phenomenon then pushed hard with his legs and flapped his mighty wings to try and escape its pull. Despite these efforts, he was gradually being drawn towards it.
The insects covering Tania turned black again, crawling like a mass of ants all over her body. Not a part of her skin could be seen. And then, almost as one, they were whipped off her body and disappeared into the vortex, vanishing before Kirkgordon’s eyes. The priest remained motionless, his hair and gown blowing towards the vanishing point. Farthington was still slipping backwards but was gaining more purchase as the vortex began to die.
As the winds faded, Kirkgordon saw that the priest’s face looked weary and drained. Father Jonah turned his eyes towards Tania and a smile spread across his face. Tania looked almost peaceful, lying in her black outfit but with renewed radiance in her face. This development exhilarated Kirkgordon, but he had to temper his joy and survey the scene to see what Farthington was about to do next.
“Take Tania and get her out of here,” Father Jonah ordered Kirkgordon. Without hesitation, Kirkgordon swept Tania up in his arms and began to run for cover.
“No you don’t!” The voice was incredibly loud and full of rage. Kirkgordon turned his head to see one of Farthington’s mouths swinging towards him. Fire raged from the orifice before Kirkgordon could react, and the heat reached him in an instant. So sure was he that the flames would overwhelm him, just as they had overwhelmed his giant, that Kirkgordon didn’t even turn away. But, to his amazement, while the oppressive heat of the flames reached him, the actual flames broke around him as if he were in a protective shell.
It took a moment for Kirkgordon to comprehend his situation. Through the flames he saw the priest, arms raised out towards Kirkgordon, somehow repelling the flames. But Farthington wasn’t to be beaten and the second head sent out flames, this time aimed towards Nefol. Again, Father Jonah reached out a hand, and the flames split around her. By now the priest was buckling and he dropped to his knees. Farthington, sensing weakness, turned his third head and poured flames onto the priest. The flames broke just before the priest, and the fire started to close in on Kirkgordon and Nefol, the heat beginning to singe their clothes.
The priest looked towards Nefol and said something. Kirkgordon didn’t hear but he saw Nefol’s face fall. Father Jonah turned to him.
“Kirkgordon, Nefol was my daughter. She is now yours. Look after my child.”
Kirkgordon’s heart sank and his face became pained. The priest called out at the top of his voice and pushed his arms out sideways, one towards Kirkgordon and one towards Nefol. The girl screamed and Kirkgordon felt the heat around him begin to fade. He saw the fire being driven away from himself and Nefol, but the flames were encroaching on the priest and he began to burn. With one last surge he drove his arms outwards again. The fire from the two heads attacking Kirkgordon and Nefol turned back towards the heads, setting the heads themselves on fire. Farthington started to fall from the sky. But the remaining flames had engulfed Father Jonah, and when the flames eventually ceased, there was nothing left of the priest.
Nefol dropped to her knees, tears streaming from her face. The shock of the priest’s death froze Kirkgordon to the spot. Only the sight of Farthington rolling on the ground brought Kirkgordon back to his senses. Tania was out cold. He ran to the foliage and set her down in the bushes. On his left, Kirkgordon saw Austerley stumbling along, dazed, and a little confused. Then all light disappeared. Out of the darkness, a voice spoke.
“Who’s going to save you now, Austerley? I can see in the dark, without any help from your charcoaled priest. Can you?”
In The Dark
Jane Goodritch moved to destroy the cage but was suddenly plunged into complete darkness. She fell and landed with a thud on the ground, hurting her shoulder. A feeling of utter disorientation set in. Jane tried to think where she was on the hill top, aware that there was a cliff edge close at hand.
“Wilson, I can’t see. I can’t blinking well see. I don’t know where the cage is,” she yelled at the top of her lungs.
In a soft throaty whisper, Wilson replied, “Jane, calm down, just calm down. I know where I am. I’ll guide you but you need to listen. Be calm love, just be calm.”
Jane nodded and then realized nobody could see anything. “Of course,” she answered.
“Good. Now, I want you to count slowly and with an even volume. First I will bring you to me. Slowly and evenly, okay?” Jane didn’t acknowledge but instead began her count.
“One. Two. Three. Four. One. Two …”
“Good, but more even with your volume, it’s very important.” The count continued but with less variation in volume. “Better. Now we’re going to move. Take two steps in your current direction.” Jane moved and kept counting. “About turn and then four steps.” The process continued until Jane tripped over Wilson.
“Good, good, you’re here. Now stand and let me feel your feet. Good. Turn this way a bit. Okay, that’s a direct line, but you still need to count. I’ll tell you if you go off line.”
Jane stepped forward slowly. Twice, Wilson corrected her movement, but after a short while she knew she was close to the edge of the cliff as the wind rose slightly into her face. Any movement now could take her off the cliff.
“Wilson, I’m close, very close. I’m nearly over the edge,” she shrieked.
“Calm. Stay calm and count. Trust me, Jane. Trust me.”
She continued with Wilson’s instructions until she felt her foot slip. She fell forward and panicked, believing that her descent was unstoppable. Just as she reached out, her fingers clutched something made of metal. Her hands gripped the cage and she swung out. A gust of wind from below told her she was
over the cliff and she clung on desperately.
“I’ve got it,” gasped Jane, “Wilson, I’ve got it!”
“Then pull down. Pull down with everything.”
“But I’ll be off the cliff! I’m swinging over the edge.”
“Let your feet down, Jane. Just slowly let your feet down.”
Swinging back and forth, Jane started to let her feet down and her ankles cracked off the edge of the cliff. Jane winced but at least she now knew where the cliff edge was. After the next swing she planted two feet on the ground and pulled hard. The cage was heavy and it was dragging her towards the edge of the cliff in the darkness. The momentum was building. If it didn’t come free soon, it would drag her over the edge. Just as she was deciding whether she needed to remount the cage or let go and prepare for its brutal return swing, the metal device broke loose of its chain.
Jane dropped off the cage and threw herself backwards to try to avoid toppling over the cliff. Her toes felt the edge and her feet slid off into nothingness. Using all her will and sense of self-preservation, she managed to turn as she fell. She scraped at the ground with her hands. In the dark she fought for purchase as several nails broke from her efforts. As her body followed her feet over the edge, her left hand grabbed on to a rock and her right hand snatched at a piece of gorse. With the spikes biting into her hand, Jane held on, clinging to the meagre supports.
“Wilson,” she screamed, “I’m slipping. Wilson, help me!”
Jane heard the cage falling down the cliff. One thud, then another, followed by an almighty clatter. Her eyes were suddenly blinded by pure, natural light. As her sight returned, she saw a hand reaching towards her. Her own hand on the rock was slipping. Wilson grabbed hold of her arm. Jane gripped tighter on to the gorse, ignored the pain and pulled hard with both arms.
The gorse slipped loose and tumbled down her left side. Jane was dangling over the cliff by one hand. Desperately she tried to swing her free hand up towards the cliff edge, but she was losing her grip and began to slip. The hand holding her gripped tighter, stopping her slide. Looking below, Jane saw the drop and the waves crashing against the rocks. Her hand slipped further. So this was it. Time to check out. And she blacked out.
Wilson held on in agony. His arm was screaming at him and the feeling in his hands was beyond pain, but he kept gripping. She was going to go, about to tumble to her doom. This was it. All or nothing. He steeled himself for the white hot complaints his body would register and he rolled away from the edge, pulling Jane’s arm with all his might, desperately trying to drag her over the cliff top. A weight landed on his upturned body, bringing more pain. But this time he welcomed it. And he lay there, forcing a smile through the agony that was caused by Jane Goodritch lying on top of him.
Austerley spun round in the dark, searching for the source of the sound. Now that he had a smaller foot, he was unsteady and hesitant with his steps. The last time Farthington and Austerley had come face to face, the dragon had ripped his foot off; now that he was a biped again, Austerley was keen to remain that way. Kneeling down, he touched the tarmac with his hands and chanted a series of low droning noises.
“There you are, Austerley. Crouching down. Are you begging for mercy? You’ll find none. I would have had all the money in the world, Austerley. Dagon’s right-hand dragon. But no, you couldn’t do the one thing I required of you. So now you’ll suffer. I’ll pin you down and rip off your other foot. Then your fingers, then your arms. And when there are no limbs left I’ll snap your neck and toss your worthless torso to the crows. I see you shaking, Austerley. I smell your fear.”
Austerley’s body was trembling but he kept his focus on the tarmac. The language he uttered was old, from a village deep in a rainforest. He had seen their practices and he knew their ways could shock even those who had dealt with the bloody horror of a night in the wildest of cities. This was power and he was its master. The tarmac cracked.
Kirkgordon felt the ground move. The surface of the care home’s car park pulled out from under him like a rug. Kirkgordon lost his footing and tumbled in the dark. He heard Nefol yelp. He rolled until he hit something hard. Reaching out with his hand, he felt the bark of a tree. Disorientated, he listened to try to figure out what was happening.
A roar reverberated, a cry of frustration. Farthington’s large feet were thumping on the ground and possibly kicking at something. Kirkgordon heard a crack and something hit the tree just above his head. Reaching up, he felt a piece of tarmac. Bemused, he rolled to one side, thinking he may have inadvertently ended up in a line of attack.
Kirkgordon’s eyes blinked shut as natural daylight flooded the scene. Jane and Wilson had succeeded! Straining to take in the scene before him, he saw only a huge black blob. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a giant man-shaped piece of tarmac throwing a right hook at Farthington. Behind the tarmac man was Austerley, kneeling on the ground, deep in concentration. Seeing that Farthington was completely occupied with the tarmac man, Kirkgordon took the chance to look for his goal, Havers. The government agent was still swinging on the end of a rope and Kirkgordon took an ordinary arrow from his quiver.
For a moment, as he looked along the arrow, everything drifted away. Kirkgordon let his breathing slow down. He relaxed and let the fingers of the hand gripping his bow ease off. His eye saw the target perfectly; he simply released the drawstring and watched his arrow fly. With years of practice behind him, he turned away, knowing it would hit his target. A smug smile came across his face as he heard Havers thump to the ground.
“Nefol,” Kirkgordon said to the girl, “get over to Havers and protect him.” The girl raced off but to Kirkgordon’s horror she ran directly at Farthington. “No, don’t engage him. Nefol, no!”
Kirkgordon immediately saw the change in Nefol, who was normally so cool and calm. She fought with rage, and her normal technique of avoiding contact, stepping past her enemy’s blows and counter-attacking was lost in her fury. She approached the dragon head-on like an irate wrestler. Farthington had spotted her coming. She piled straight into his upturned foot and collapsed to the ground. The dragon lifted his foot to crush her but was jumped on by the tarmac man, who began to pummel him.
“Crush him, Mr Austerley! Eliminate the filth!” Kirkgordon knew the voice but the wrath contained within it was unusual for the normally cool Havers. Racing over to Nefol, Kirkgordon could see she was breathing but badly hurt.
The dragon cried out as the tarmac man beat it to a pulp. “I have Alana!” The name froze Kirkgordon’s heart.
“Austerley, stop!” ordered Kirkgordon.
“He took my foot. He took my bloody foot, the bastard, I’ll kill him!” yelled Austerley. His arms were making the same pounding motion as the tarmac man.
“I have your Alana. She’s dead if I don’t return!” roared Farthington.
“Dispatch him, Austerley,” encouraged Havers. “End your pain.”
He could be bluffing, thought Kirkgordon, but if not, dear God… I can’t lose her. The kids need her. They can’t lose her. Alana, no!
Austerley felt the tip of the arrow on his head and heard the voice saying, “Stop it now. Stop that creature of yours, now!” Kirkgordon’s voice was calm but urgent.
“That bastard dragon’s gonna pay, Churchy!”
A trickle of blood ran down the side of Austerley’s head as the arrow tip was forced slightly deeper. “Now, or I will kill you.”
Looking deep into Kirkgordon’s eyes, Austerley saw a man of sheer intent. His rage died in the face of self-preservation.
“Mr Kirkgordon, I order you to stop this and let Mr Austerley do his work to eliminate our threat. Step aside, Mr Kirkgordon.”
“That’s my family! Havers, interfere now and I will hunt you down. Let the dragon speak!” raged Kirkgordon.
“I will not. You cannot trust this beast. It’s a trick and I will finish him now.” Havers, walking slowly after his torture, limped towards Farthington. Caught between holding Austerley at bay and st
opping Havers, Kirkgordon was outnumbered and at a loss. A smile broke across Havers’ lips and he prepared to dispatch the dragon. A whirring sound went unnoticed by all those on the ground except for Nefol.
“If I die, she dies. Kirkgordon, they need to hear from me.” Farthington’s voice was becoming agitated and the dragon’s face showed panic at Havers’ approach.
Kirkgordon bowed his head, feeling at a loss. Any arrow would be pointless. He’d have to hit Havers, which, given the distance and the target, was unlikely to succeed. It would also free up Austerley to reinitiate the fight. Hollowness and shame at his weakness filled him. Alana’s face filled his mind and he began to break down inside.
Kirkgordon’s breakdown was interrupted by the whoosh of large black wings and then a cry of “This is all a bit serious, boys!”
Calandra, her skin cold and white, dressed in black boots, jeans and leather jacket, dropped down beside Farthington. Kirkgordon gawped at her.
“Glad you could join us, my dear,” said Havers. “We have been busy and now it’s time to settle our scores. This is for Ohlos!” said Havers as he advanced once again towards the dragon.
“Farthington’s got Alana, Cally! Stop Havers!” shouted Kirkgordon.
Calandra’s staff upended Havers and pinned him to the ground.
“I think you forget, my dear, you are on my payroll,” Havers pointed out.
“Time to speak, Farthington,” ordered Kirkgordon, “or I’ll let Havers back up.”
The dragon let go a sigh of relief, expelling air, and began to shake. Having seen Farthington change from human to dragon, Kirkgordon always thought he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw the opposite change. He was wrong. It was like watching a bizarre nature film in reverse as the beast was packed into a shell too small to contain it.