Father of Storms

by Dean Jones

  She shook her head and her mum smiled and returned to her vigil.

  It had been two days of waiting in the room. And Hope thought about how they had been chased and harassed. Over the last six months, they had moved three times as each of their previous houses had been discovered by a nutter called Brian. Who, for some reason, blamed her dad for the death of his family. Hope had been in the front garden of their house in Grimsby when he first turned up with seven of his friends and demanded she tells him where her father was. They had moved there from their farmhouse in the Dales two years earlier to get away from that nasty journalist Nicola Stuart.

  She remembered being scared but then her dad strode out of the house and confronted the man.

  ***

  “What do you want!” he had demanded.

  “You are a murderer and I want justice” the man had replied.

  “How do you work that out, I am a family man minding my own business and you come to my home and threaten my daughter. Please leave before I am forced to call the police,” he stared the man down, but he was not budging. From behind one of his friends chipped in

  “Tell him, Brian, tell him about your family and how they died because of him!” This spurred Brian on and he squared up to her dad.

  There was a crackle of energy in the air and the light in the lamp post exploded showering glass down on the five men. Brian suddenly looked afraid and turned to leave shouting obscenities at them both.

  “Don’t think I won’t be back you bastard, I will and next time I’ll bring more to sort you and your fucking family out!” They watched them leave the street and within an hour they were packed and heading east along the A64 towards Leeds.

  ***

  Hope moved to stand by her mum and looked down onto the street. It was sparsely populated currently but as it was still only 7 am she expected it to become busier as people left the hotels along the road and headed for the station.

  “I’m going to get a shower mum, won’t be long,” again her mum nodded absently as Hope headed for the bathroom.

  Marcy watched her daughter’s reflection as it passed behind her and headed into the bathroom. She waited for the door to close before collapsing into the chair beside the window. It had been the longest time they had been apart since they first met nearly nineteen years ago. She couldn’t bear to spend any longer than needed away from him and after his wait to find her he wasn’t much for leaving her at all.

  Crying, she held herself and tried to drive the fear and emptiness away. “He’ll be fine,” she told herself. “He’s a strong warrior and he will not give up until he is in my arms again.”

  Hope stood and let the water rush over her letting her mind wander. As she did so she soon found herself in the mental state needed to commune with spirit. Tentatively she called out for the Mara though in truth she was reluctant as her last encounter had left her fearful.

  “Mara? Are you there?” There was a long pause and she thought she heard something, but it was very faint like a scratching in another room.

  “Mara, is that you? Please come closer,” again she wasn’t sure about the request but felt confident they wouldn’t hurt her intentionally.

  “Little Mistress?” Hope caught her breath and tried to remain composed. Focusing on the sound of the Mara she waited.

  “Ah Little Mistress, you have returned. Do you wish to hear news of our Master’s torture?” Hope could think of several things she would rather hear of than that and shook her head.

  “Is he well?” Was the only question which came to her.

  “He is fighting, Mistress and we are doing as you suggested and bringing him dreams of his family and of his life…it is giving him strength.” There was a hissing and once again the sound caused her to lose concentration and it took several minutes before she could centre herself again.

  “Your father took to communicating with us as a baby does to breathing Little Mistress, he is truly a great man who is blessed…we would expect more from you.” Their criticism stung, and she became defensive and angry, now of all times the Mara would point out she wasn’t as good as her dad.

  “Be that as it may Mara, I am here now, and I seek to know how my father is?” The words were spoken forcefully, and she felt each one leave her like an arrow.

  “As you wish, Mistress. We apologise, we meant no offence” The Mara replied sounding a little more respectful.

  “Your father is currently sleeping after suffering injuries during questioning and is now reliving some significant points of his life.” They reported, “we have taken the time to explore his surroundings, specifically looking for the one who blocks his mind.” Hope raised her eyebrows at this

  “And what did you discover?”

  “We cannot be sure but the man who holds him is the same man we met when your mother was first alive...we think his name is Corey and he was also a teacher of your father when he was just a boy.” The news hit her hard. Another from one thousand years ago and now he’s holding her father prisoner.

  “I do not believe in coincidence Mara; this man must have been looking for my father. What else can you tell me of him?”

  There was an energetic crackle and the Mara drew closer “We know he is not concerned with anything but his own interests Mistress. We also know he was integral to the plot to kill our master’s wife. We have seen it in his dreams…we need to prepare your father and will show him what we have seen.” The Mara circled beside Hope in her shower and she suddenly became aware of her naked state.

  She turned and covered herself with her arms. The action brought laughter from the Mara, though she wasn’t certain it was laughter but couldn’t explain the sound as anything other.

  “Your modesty is unnecessary, Mistress, we are of the same sex,” they lowered their hoods and hope saw them for the first time and struggled to put the harsh whispers and screeched laughter to the beautiful faces she was now looking at. They were obviously twins and were as pretty as faeries with their long black hair held back with a ribbon.

  Feeling a little foolish she dropped her hands, “is there anything else?”

  “Nothing yet mistress but we are keen to return to our master and if we discover anything we will contact you again.”

  Hope nodded, “how will I know you have returned Mara?” she asked.

  “You will know Mistress, pay heed to your feelings, they should tell you.” With that, they were gone.

  Desperation of Aethelbald

  It had been two days since the meeting with Seth and Aethelbald was pacing his rooms like a caged animal waiting to be released. More than once he had barked at an unsuspecting servant entering his presence, for little more reason than he needed someone to shout at.

  There was a soft knock on his door and he stopped and looked towards the sound, deciding whether or not he wanted any company, then he recalled he had expressly forbidden any interruptions and his ire rose.

  There was another knock, this time louder.

  “Who is it?” he bellowed but there was no reply other than another louder knock on his door.

  “Come in” he shouted, “and hope you have something important or I will have your head!” He stood expectantly, watching the door, waiting for the owner of the knock to enter.

  A thumping came next and Aethelbald’s patience had entirely dissipated and he stormed over to the door and practically ripped it open ready to assault whoever was playing games with him.

  The door opened swiftly, and Corey smiled to himself as the sight of the red-faced King appeared before him.

  “Ahh, King Aethelbald, I was beginning to wonder if you would ever answer your door or just content yourself to leave me standing here?” The smoothness of his speech emitted calming energy and he could instantly see the effect on the King.

  Moving past, the now dumb Aethelbald, Corey glided into the rooms and surveyed the plush rugs and adornments of the King of Mercia. There were tapestries and trinkets spread across tables on the far side and
scrolls strewn across a desk near the window, which is where Corey found himself standing.

  “Do close the door, my dear man,” Corey instructed, and the King did as he was asked.

  looking through the collection of papers he thumbed a couple of more interesting looking documents about Northman movements to the east and smiled.

  “An interesting lot these Northmen, wouldn’t you agree?” He turned his head to take in the King who was now just coming to his senses.

  “Interesting?” The King finally replied, “they are dogs and savages!” He slowly made his way across the room to stand opposite Corey.

  Aethelbald looked at the man across his writing desk and tried to recollect who it may be. Surely, he must know him as he has allowed him entry to his rooms but looking for the memory in his mind was like sifting mud, nothing came to him.

  “Who are you, exactly?” He finally asked.

  The man smiled at him and he could feel a warm confidence filling his body and knew this was someone of importance who he must speak with.

  “My name is Corey and I am at your service dear King,” Corey said smoothly.

  Aethelbald gave a slight respectful bow in Corey’s direction and gestured to the chairs beside the fireplace, inviting Corey to sit.

  As they moved to the chairs Corey extended a tendril of energy into the King and probed his mind looking for information he could use. He chuckled to himself as he sat down beside the roaring fire.

  “It amazes me that a man with your intellect has managed to raise himself to the station of King although, I suppose, it was your fathers work really and you just happened to be in the right place at the right time.” His lips curled in what he hoped was a genuine smile though he felt disgust for the man.

  Aethelbald sat in the other chair and was taken aback at the clear insult, but strangely felt he shouldn’t be angry as, in truth, he knew it was correct.

  “Well now, I think the niceties are satisfied, let me get down to the reason for my visit,” Corey started and sent out another wisp of energy to make the King compliant with what he was going to suggest next.

  “I believe we have a mutual acquaintance; his name is Seth.” Aethelbald’s eyes widened at the mention of his bodyguard’s name.

  “Yes, he is...I mean was head of my personal guard,” he confirmed

  “Yes, yes, of course, he was. Well my interests in him have been long in developing. He is married to my niece you know. Lovely girl but not the sharpest knife, if you get my meaning?” Corey didn’t wait for a reply. “Well Seth has something I would really rather like to use, and it is proving a little difficult for me to obtain as he is a stubborn ox, don't you agree, Aethelbald?” He asked, looking at the now wide-eyed King.

  “Ah…well…yes, stubborn…yes, he is somewhat. He has decided to abandon my guard to have a family, of all things?” he looked at Corey and shook his head indignantly. “Selfish bastard, leaving me unprotected without him at my side…he is a magnificent warrior…” the King mused aloud.

  “He is that I hear, and yet it is not his skill with a sword I am looking to obtain.” Corey leaned forward and fixed the King with a stare.

  “I need something…much more valuable but having tried over the years I have found his mind is like a steel trap. Nothing I do seems to allow me access.” He left the comment hanging as he reminisced.

  “Unlike you, who has a mind like soft pig shit. So easy to manipulate and yet to do so leaves you feeling dirty and in need of a wash!” Corey let out another strand of energy and found Aethelbald completely blank and ready for whatever he told him.

  “Well now, I think we are ready,” he stood and turned his back to the fire to warm himself.

  “I need Seth to be broken, mentally and, as I understand it, you have a need for him to remain by your side to protect you. So, what we have here is an opportunity to work together to reach a conclusion which would be mutually beneficial. You help me gain access to Seth and I will ensure he stays at your side.” He reached down for another log from the basket and placed it delicately into the fire.

  “Now, there’s this Priest in Seth’s Village called Ripley, and he has taken it upon himself to accuse my dear Seth of witchcraft and daemonic acts. Which, according to his…bible” he rolled the books name around his mouth as if tasting it for the first time. “Hmm…Anyway, his book is pretty clear about these things, so I suppose his accusation is not too far from the truth.” He punctuated his statement by prodding the fire with the poker and willing the flames to grow and spark.

  “I need you to fully understand that Seth cannot be harmed by the likes of him and so it is down to you to convince this fool that the person he is looking for is actually my niece, Meredith. He will, of course, kill her. Which is a shame as I do like the girl, but the death of one so close to Seth will be the opening I need to allow me to take control of his mind.” He looked up from the fire and back to Aethelbald, who was now just blankly staring into the flames.

  “I did try this once before but the person I killed wasn’t close enough to Seth for the effect I desired. He was upset of course, and her untimely death caused him a moment of weakness but his wife you see…she kept him strong and Mae’s death was for nothing… well, it was fun for me I suppose.” Corey smiled to himself.

  “He is a magnificent creature though, all muscles and integrity. A marvellous combination don’t you think?” Aethelbald nodded absently.

  “Of course, you agree, why wouldn’t you?” He smiled to himself again before clapping his hands together to bring Aethelbald out of his trance and back to the room as he returned to his previous seated position opposite the King.

  “As I was saying, my King,” he stated matter of factly as if this was the conversation they'd been having all along. “I do believe Seth to be innocent of these claims and as such you should perhaps direct Ripley on another path so that the true witch, if that’s the correct term, can be found and dealt with,” Aethelbald blinked trying to get his bearings.

  “I think you are correct,” he said finally. “Seth is far too godly a man to be caught up in this kind of scandal and given he is the head of my guard, would I have not seen evidence of his daemonic ways if they existed?” His demeanour had now returned to its previous state of a leader who believed he was fully in control. “Of course, I would have, no this Ripley must be told to leave Seth in peace…” he thought for a second and then clearly showing an idea had formed he smiled.

  “Naturally, his wife would become the main suspect of such crimes, but I am sure Seth would fully understand God’s will is just and all those who act against Him shall be weeded out and dealt with,” he paused for a second. “Once she is out of the way then, of course, Seth would have grief and anger to deal with and where better than at my side in battle to get over his loss?” He got to his feet and placed his hand on Corey’s shoulder. “Thank you for your counsel Corey, once again I am in your debt.” Corey allowed the King to steer him toward the door.

  “My King flatters me,” he said as they walked. “I am merely providing a service, as any good subject would.” He cringed at the comment knowing soon he would be the one people crawled in front of and Mercia would dance to his tune.

  Aethelbald opened the door and showed his guest out ensuring he caught the guards’ attention to pass on the message that his adviser should be provided with a reward for his services. He watched as Corey walked down the corridor towards his treasury with the guard before closing the door and returning to his chair beside the fire.

  It had been a difficult couple of days, but he now saw a solution to his problems and with his army heading out for battle very soon he knew it was time to act. He could not allow Seth to leave his side and this was the only way to ensure his continued loyalty. He smiled to himself as he warmed his hands.

  “No wife, no family then no reason to leave” he sniggered.

  De Ja Vu

  The buzzing returned as Seth opened his eyes and instantly let out a gr
oan of pain.

  The now familiar process of checking his body for the wounds created by the regular torture was becoming tiresome but he knew somehow it was important to keep a mental check on how his body was healing.

  He raised his hands and saw both were now heavily bandaged, he gave his fingers the instruction to bend but they refused, and he sighed again remembering Hector as he had smashed the hammer into each hand in turn and the glee on his face as the blood splashed across his jacket.

  The sessions were almost identical each time, Seth had lost count of the number of times he’d been asked the same question but there wasn’t an urgent need from them for him to answer, it was almost as if they were using the question as a reason to torture him rather than torture him to answer the question.

  He raised his head and looked at the ruins that were his legs. Both knees were strapped, and he could see his right foot was also now covered in dressings. Again, he recalled Hector with his pliers breaking each of his toes in turn as Harvey asked: “How do you do it, Mr Goodman?”

  He was still pleased to discover he retained all his teeth, Marcy loved his smile and he would be annoyed if they did anything to upset his wife and the loss of teeth would surely do that.

  The TV was still showing a twenty-four-hour news channel, but it seemed the only story was the one relating to him and the events he couldn’t quite remember.

  Still scrolling across the bottom of the page were names of those who had supposedly died in the attack and Seth watched knowing at the end were the names of Marcy Goodman and Hope Goodman, sure enough, they appeared, and he watched them scroll slowly across the screen. He blocked out the words the reporter was saying and only watched silently as the names of his family reappeared sixty seconds later.

  The door opened and in walked Harvey and Doctor Garrett.

  “Well, I must say, Seth, you really know how to take a beating,” Garrett commented as he began to check his dressings. “I do find it incredible that after only a few hours of sleep, your wounds show remarkable signs of healing…just amazing.” He looked Seth in the eye. “I would really love to study you further, perhaps once this nasty business is concluded my employer will agree to a small scientific test or two?” his eyebrows lifted as if asking for Seth’s approval.