The Last Line Series One

by David Elias Jenkins

There was a knothole in the tree.

  Ariel slowly got down on one knee, leaned in close.

  “Well I never. You clever, clever lad. “

  No dank and warping Unseelie oubliette greeted his eye as he peered into the knothole in the tree. Only a winding path amongst a forest of giant trees, wrapped in luminescent silver mist and the cold light of a new dawn.

  Mr Bugaboo, if he catches you

  He’ll beat you then he’ll eat you

  That ragtime goblin man

  ‘Meathook’ the child abducting ogre, Jason’s Christmas goblin man, his dark Santa Claus, had fully formed now from the ugly big tree in the corner where he had squatted all along. Watching and listening.

  He stood directly behind Ariel, towering over him on crooked legs. His wretched face leered down at the back of Ariel’s exposed skull. The hand holding the gleaming meathook twitched and spasmed in delight.

  Ariel remained kneeling in wonder at the tree. He had studied the other side nearly all his life, read every book, every legend, studied every hidden artwork in the world.

  But here, right here at his fingertips, was a key to crossing over and exploring it for himself. Not to the Deep below but to the beautiful and perilous world above it. The world of Valkyries, Bear-Gods and Tree Wizards.

  The threat that was coming, coming for them all, he knew they could not stand against it. He did not say, in their top secret cabinet meetings while generals huffed and puffed about strategy and acceptable loss. He did not say what he knew from years of diligent study.

  That they could not win.

  What they needed were allies. They needed someone to go to the source and win them friends to fight for them, for their very existence.

  Ariel took a deep slow breath and extended his shaking fingers out towards the little portal-key, the perfectly impossible bonsai.

  He’s just a boy and he did it. I’ll find a way back. And I’ll bring us an army. There’s always hope. It’s Christmas after all.

  Behind him, the Ragtime Goblin Man raised his meathook high with a grin of depressing madness.

  PROLOGUE.

  TWO WEEKS AGO:

  Dr Ariel Speedman of the Special Threats Group had no idea he was about to be murdered.

  The rusted hook was raised high behind him, ready to be brought arching down into the back of his skull.

  An alarm was insistently sounding in the dilapidated old institution of Marksley Willows. It wailed through the corridors like an air raid warning.

  Shouts echoed in the building as orderlies attempted to quell the riot that had flared up amongst the inmates. Youths were lashing out at them with home whittled shanks and bottles of their own urine. The tinkling rain of smashing glass and the bangs of spontaneous violence rattled the walls.

  Ariel heard none of it.

  He was utterly captivated by the bonsai tree on the windowsill. It sat there between the billowing white curtains, the knothole in its squat trunk a clear window to another realm. Ariel leaned forward and peered into the hole like it was a telescope.

  He should have been looking three inches into the hollowed inside of the trunk. Instead he gazed out on a mist enshrouded forest of huge trees. Faces wrought in each branch and bough gazed out at him in invitation. Voices drifted out to him on a cool breeze.

  Come through Ariel. All you have to do is touch the wood.

  A tiny hand-carved World Tree, a conduit to the realm of dark dreams.

  Ariel had come here to speak with a patient, an autistic boy who spent every day whittling such things as a form of therapy. He had suspected that the boy may have had some latent thaumaturgy in his blood but he never expected this.

  A human that can carve World Trees. How was he doing this? He wouldn’t be able to create something so specific without an artefact of extreme power. But what?

  Ariel sat back and took off his glasses. He pulled a microfiber cloth from his pocket and puffed some condensation onto the lens. As he polished, he caught a reflection of something in the polycarbonate, a glinting hook whistling down towards him.

  Thunk!

  Ariel tumbled to one side, smashing into a desk and sending several bonsai trees crashing to the ground. Their terracotta pots cracked and soil spilled across the floor.

  Ariel cried out as the meathook thudded into the windowsill.

  He sat up, pistoling backwards with his heels. The Unseelie creature on front of him was smiling. The teeth were sharpened wooden pegs driven into the green gums.

  It was somewhere between a rotting tree and a hobgoblin.

  Oh hello pretty boy! What are you then? Dark Botanicals? I was wondering when I’d get a chance to study one of these!

  Ariel rolled across the floor as the hook slammed down into the floorboards an inch from his face.

  Now might not be the time for study!

  The Creature’s hook slashed across Ariel as he backpedalled, ripping open his coat and drawing a fine line of blood across his chest. Ariel cried out in pain and kicked up at the sinewy body of the Unseelie, sending it staggering back a few paces. The booby trap smile never left its face.

  Ariel was backed into a corner and there was no one to hear his shouts for help. He desperately fumbled beneath his overcoat until his hand closed around the cool security of his pistol. He attempted to draw it but he became tangled up in his rumpled coat sleeves and only got it half way before the rusted metal hook whistled down and thumped into his calf.

  It took Ariel a few seconds to really feel the pain and when it hit, his scream took the breath from him. The Unseelie twisted the hook and licked its lips as the blood began to seep out from the widening hole in Ariel’s flesh.

  With a cry Ariel tugged his pistol free and held it in his shaking hand towards the Unseelie. The creature laughed and Ariel unloaded the entire magazine into its face.

  Splinters of bark and thorns exploded off the creature’s skin as it staggered back and tumbled into a table and chairs, scattering them. It fell backwards and lay still.

  Ariel lay there breathing hard. He did not want to open his eyes and look down but knew that he had to. The hook was still lodged in his leg.

  Ok Ariel what would Usher do?

  Ariel gingerly touched the wound and winced as the pain shot up his leg.

  He rolled his eyes at the prospect as he realized what Usher would probably do.

  Ok lab rat, time to show the boys in the team what a trooper you can be.

  He took a deep breath and wiggled the hook left and right, slowly dislodging it from his muscle. With each millimetre it moved Ariel fought back tears of agony, until finally with a glut of blood and the relief of a pulled tooth it came free. He threw it across the room with a dull clunk.

  Ariel fell back, sweating and breathing hard. The alarm still sounded over the tannoy system, boring into his brain. When he finally opened his eyes Ariel found himself staring under the bed. There was something lying there.

  He struggled up onto his elbows and dragged himself closer. It was some kind of knife or crafting tool. Now that he thought about it, it looked like the tool the boy Jacob had been using to carve his magical bonsai when Ariel had first arrived, before he began trimming it with his little scissors. In all the commotion and strange events of the last hour it had never really occurred to him to pay it any attention. Yet now that he saw the artefact it looked familiar.

  I’ve seen that in a sketch or a carving somewhere. Maybe in the arcane library at Hereford? Or at Debruler’s London townhouse? I’ve seen that knife before!

  His eidetic memory automatically went on a journey through the perfect filing cabinets of his subconscious. Pages were turned at lightning speed, web pages scrolled through and conversations replayed.

  Think Ariel, think!

  Suddenly his inner cinema froze on an image. A page in an old book in Debruler’s study.

  It’s the First Knife.

  Ariel crawled faster, ignoring the searing pain in his leg and blood seeping from his c
hest. He reached out and stretched his arm under the bed trying to reach the blade.

  Ariel stopped in his tracks as he heard the creaking and scratching behind him.

  He twisted his neck and saw the Unseelie creature rising from the ruins of the smashed table. Its talons scraped the floor as it stood up and stretched out its limbs then the red eyes fixed upon the hook lying across the room.

  Ariel stretched his arm until he felt the shoulder start to pop but he could not reach the knife and did not have the strength to move the bed. He rolled over and pushed himself up against the wall beside the window. The wind and rain lashed in above his head to gather in a puddle on the faded linoleum.

  The creature moved over at its leisure and picked up the heavy meat hook. Its eyes never left Ariel and the grin never left its face.

  Ariel was breathing hard and feeling faint from loss of the blood. The ugly linoleum floor was streaked with slippery red. He was out of ammunition and out of good ideas.

  I guess it’s time for bad ideas.

  Ariel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He retreated into his memory palace to find the warm safe study in Edward Debruler’s London house. For weeks Ariel had been his apprentice, learning everything he could from Debruler extensive practical knowledge of thaumaturgy. His own tentative steps at practical magic had been trifles compared to the rituals and ancient texts Debruler had shown him from the collection of the Black Star. There was one summoning ritual he recalled practising for over two weeks. He had never managed it so far, faltering every time after the most pitiful of sparks. He just couldn’t get the arcane language into his head and there was one word that always evaded even Ariel’s superior memory.

  The Unseelie ran a sharp claw along the wicked hook with a metallic thrum. It started to walk towards him, enjoying the game now.

  Ariel kept his eyes tight, running his mind’s eye over the pages of a three hundred year old book.

  There. That passage of text right there. Got it. A summoning ritual.

  Ariel began to whisper softly under his breath, repeating the same eldritch mantra over and over.

  For fire.

  The Unseelie raised the hook high and Ariel opened his eyes just as the creature’s arm ignited. It looked along its own limb in shock and then began to scream in the most horrible fashion Ariel had ever heard. Ariel shielded his eyes from the sparks as the monster leapt and thrashed around the room, wailing and hissing as the flames rose higher.

  Ariel looked across the room to the door. He had a clear run if he went now. Struggling to his feet, he limped across as fast as he could. The pain was horrendous with each footstep and now the smoke was stinging his eyes shut. Ariel rubbed a bloodied sleeve across his face. He looked back at the World Tree bonsai on the window, and then to the gleaming knife just out of reach under the bed.

  I can come back once this thing is dead. If I stay here now then I’m dinner.

  Ariel drew up his coat to protect himself from the gathering flames as he neared the door.

  I’m going to make it.

  Suddenly a flaming limb lashed out like a club, smashing into Ariel’s chest. The flailing creature was blind to him but in its pain was thrashing about the room maniacally.

  Ariel stumbled back, all the air taken from his lungs. He tottered on his heels and then fell headlong across the room. He reached out his hands to stop his fall and latched on to something. He suddenly found himself on his knees at the windowsill, taking in a great lungful of air and looking out into the rainy night sky past the branches of the bonsai he was holding onto.

  He looked down at his hand. The skin was already beginning to turn into bark.

  Oh.

  In the remaining seconds he had on Earth, Ariel tried to organise his thoughts, go through mission protocols, and remember all the thaumaturgy Debruler had taught him. He had no time to do any of that. Within moments he was covered in cracked bark up to his face and already being dragged into the tree.

  Ariel, of all your impulsive bad ideas….

  And then he was gone.

  1

  Preston Loveless opened his eyes and let daylight fill his brain. His brittle comb over draped across the pillow like a broken wing.

  Kill them all Preston. Start with your family.

  His arm draped down the side of the bed and something wet and rough curled around his fingers. Preston giggled in half-sleep and drew his hand away as a pointy border collie’s head snapped up into view and rested on the mattress. A trickle of drool stained the sheets. Meaty dog-breath wafted over Preston’s face.

  Preston yawned and grumbled a few unintelligible words to the dog as his waking thoughts started ordering from shuffled deck to dealt hand. The dog’s lolling tongue and excited eyes came into focus a foot from Preston’s face. With dry voice he spoke to the pooch.

  “Good morning, boy. You need walkies? You need to go poopsies Clive?”

  Clive the collie gave a short bark of get up and Preston gave him a head tickle then reached over to the bedside table for his glasses. After two sleepy attempts he slotted them over his face and squinted at the alarm clock.

  10am glowed in digital red.

  Preston rubbed the bridge of his nose and squinted.

  “Hmmm. Have I slept in, boy? I was supposed to be up hours ago. Poor fella neither wonder you’re needing out. Go on, I’ll be down in a minute. Just need to brush my teeth.”

  Preston sat up and shooed Clive away. The dog barked once then trotted off out the bedroom door.

  Preston sat there for a moment, still confused at the time. It was Saturday but he was supposed to go into work for a few hours this morning. Very few employees at Banmann and Smythe Insurance went in at the weekend to catch up on paperwork these days. Preston was old school and didn’t like to leave loose ends.

  Preston don’t leave any loose ends. She’s coming and she needs everything ship-shape. The whole company is relying on you.

  After twenty three years at the firm Preston was dismayed at the lack of company loyalty new interns showed. Two, maybe three years and they were off to pastures new or taking a year out to go find themselves in India. Preston had never been to India and had no intentions of subjecting himself to a lot of stifling weather and food that would have him resonating the toilet bowl with sonorous farts all day. He took his family to Blackpool to twice a year to a lovely static caravan site whose owners knew him by his first name. That was a source of real pride for him. Good morning Preston. Your usual plot? Crazy golf starts at nine. That always made him feel like he belonged. Belonging was important, pleasing the boss and the group. That’s what these young office juniors never grasped.

  Crazier the better, Loveless. Imagine taking a club and putting one of those bright golf balls into your wife’s gaping mouth…if her neck was broken and you positioned her just right…

  Preston went to get up but grabbed his stomach as a cramp followed by a wave of nausea hit him.

  “God, I feel awful. I feel like I haven’t slept at all.”

  Preston smacked his tongue off the roof of his mouth. Now that he had sat up, he felt like he had the worst hangover of his life. Preston rarely drank, apart from a sherry at the office party but he did recall one time when he was fourteen raiding his father’s Crème De Menthe. He had vomited ectoplasm for an entire day as his father tutted in the background. This morning he felt worse than that but he had not touched a drop.

  His muscles ached, his head throbbed and he was thinking through treacle.

  “Most terrible night’s sleep of my life. Bloody nightmares all night.”

  As Preston shifted he realized that his pyjamas were soaked with rancid sweat. He swung his feet out of bed and slotted them into his old battered slippers.

  “Terrible dreams. Terrible.”

  He got up and shuffled to the bathroom. Under the harsh glare of the overhead bulb Preston could not believe how bad he looked.

  Preston usually had to face his sagging jowls, thinning hai
r and weak chin every morning. He was used to that but now he was confronted with the dark desperate circles beneath his eyes, the slack jaw, and the clammy skin. He often had suspected over the years that his wife only stayed with him for the regular pay he brought home from the office. This morning he couldn’t imagine how anyone could even bear to look at him. He opened his mouth and leaned in to the mirror. His tongue was jet black as if he had drunk a bottle of ink.

  “Well I never. Better clean those gnashers eh?”

  Preston vaguely recalled dreaming being in a business meeting with lots of people who had black tongues just like his. Everyone was talking to him and telling him that he was being promoted. In his dreams Preston had swelled with pride at this, sustaining an impressive erection in his sleep. He was being reassigned to a specialist department. It was a new team and there was a lot of work to do in order to get things up and running. The new CEO would be arriving for inspection soon and no way did Preston want to disappoint her. The people with black tongues were very specific about this.

  Get everything ready for her coming. There are those who do not want this venture to succeed Preston. Can you fucking believe that? Insurance is a cut throat profession and you’re the kind of steadfast loyal fellow we want to set up this new team. To go out there and slice a few jugulars for us.

  Preston looked in the mirror. A tall slim black male in an immaculate suit and dark glasses was standing behind him, smiling. When he removed his glasses Preston noticed that his eyes were just inky pools of blackness.

  “Yes, yes I’ve got to get to work.”

  The tall man nodded and his bald head gleamed in the overhead light. Preston recognized him. It was the man who had interviewed him for his new job.

  Mr Xzaza.

  Preston squeezed out a slug of toothpaste onto his brush and popped it in his mouth.

  When he looked up Mr Xzaza was gone.

  He started slow, dreamily back and forth on the molars. Little meticulous circles on his incisors. Back to the molars. A little faster and more thorough, now. Preston stared at himself in the mirror as the froth began to fizz up around his lips. Brushing harder now, Preston’s teeth clamped down on the brush so its plastic ridges rattled off his teeth. His mouth was curled in a feral snarl now, his jowls wobbling as he thrust the brush right to the back of his throat. His gag reflex kicked in as he smashed the brush repeatedly into his tonsils but he persevered. A gargling moan issued from his throat and his mouth turned up at the corners in a job interview smile. Froth was spattering all over his neck and chest now, tinged pink with blood from his torn and ravaged mouth.