The Centaur

by Brendan Carroll

  “I am not the one. I don’t know how to explain it. I have been asleep. I woke up.”

  “So when Mark was a baby, you possessed him?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “So it is you!”

  Nicole jumped into his arms and hugged him tightly, throwing him completely off guard.

  “This is wonderful,” she said breathlessly when she let him go again. “Now that you’re back, we can set up the lab again, start making gold…. You know gold will always be gold… we can make enough together to get the Order going again and you can be the Master… form your own branch, like de Goth. We can make Scotland a great nation, stronger and richer even than Britain. You can be king! I’ll be your little princess and Sophia can be your queen. And… and… Luke can be a prince. We’ll have allies in Britain and France already, and you know you already have a bluff in on Corrigan, so Ireland will be no problem. Little Simon loves you and would never stand against you and he carries a lot of weight with Oriel… ooooh, she’s such a brat! We can court de Goth’s people while they’re here and start setting up a new international coalition. And if I play my cards right, I can talk Galipoli into settling down here. We could have a grand wedding and put all these gloomy times behind us. But we’ll need to find out what has happened to the others. Luke Andrew… I need to speak with him, of course, and Lucio, naturally and…”

  “Hold on.” Mark put one finger to her lips. “When did you become a politician?”

  “I’m not a politician, Daddy; I just want to live a normal life. Have a family. I want to raise my own children. I know disappointed you and Uncle Luke and mother, but if you would only give me the chance…”

  “I need to go down to the river,” he told her in a flat, emotionless voice.

  Nicole stopped and her expression changed to one of disappointment momentarily, but then her expression changed again as she perceived a gray clad figure approaching them from the woods.

  “Mr. Barshak,” Nichole narrowed her eyes. “I … sent him away.”

  “He said he was leaving, but I see that he has returned.” Mark’s expression did not flicker.

  She had not sent him away. She couldn’t send him away now. He had taken on a solid form and was now beyond her control.

  “Hello there!” Barshak waved to them. His white hair whipped about his face and his large, gray eyes twinkled with new life. Every time he saw them, he was stronger. “Nice weather.”

  “Some would beg to differ with you on that.” Mark Andrew nodded and returned the smile briefly. “Been fishing?”

  “No, not fishing. Just looking. Looking and searching. Seeking and finding. Wandering and wondering.” The enigmatic creature that, by now, looked very much like an ordinary human being except for the strange clothing he wore. “You are also looking and searching, my friend.”

  He held out his hand and clasped Mark Andrew’s arm in a close shake wherein each gripped the other’s upper arm and used the free hand to pat the opposite shoulder. Nicole frowned at the sight of her father receiving this odd fellow in such an intimate manner. It was obvious that they knew each other from times long passed.

  “Nicole, won’t you go on back now? I’ll take… Mr. Barshak with me. We’ll be fine. There’s no need to fret. We’ll see what your soldier’s intentions are when I return. I’m sure we can work out something to everyone’s liking.”

  “I’m not fretting, Daddy.” Nicole stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “I want to be a part of whatever it is you are doing. Are you forgetting it was I who brought your friend, Mr. Barshak, here? If I were not worth something as a sorceress myself, would you not still be lying on the cold ground?”

  “True, true.” Mark smiled at her. “Dunna be gettin’ yur dander up, lassie. Come on with us then, if ye’re a moind.”

  Barshak turned around and began retracing his steps. Mark followed along behind him, allowing Nicole to keep up with him.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Socrates slipped carefully past the library doors where Sophia was sitting near the fire, writing in her journal. She had taken up writing everything in her diary. Even trivial things. When the Captain had disappeared up the stairs, she noted the time that he had entered the house, searching, no doubt, for Nicole, and then went on writing about the departure of the two queens, an entry she’d not finished the day before.

  The captain made a quick tour of the upper floors and located the two brothers. They were in their room on the second floor, playing a loud game of chess.

  Nicole was not in her room. The rest of the rooms upstairs were empty. The captain walked quietly to the second floor landing and leaned over the rail as far as he could, trying to see if Sophia was still in the library. The light was still on and he could hear the same music that had been playing when he’d sneaked past her the first time. He couldn’t see her, but he sensed her presence below. Mark’s bedroom was directly over the library. He would have to be very quiet or else she would hear his footsteps.

  Sophia narrowed her eyes sharply and set the cup of tea on the small table under the stairs. Galipoli was up to something and she could not imagine what the good captain might be doing, sneaking about upstairs. It was totally out of character for the quiet Greek, but he had done a number of inexplicable things in the past few days. She had caught him snooping in the wine cellar twice, and he had asked a number of odd questions about the soldiers which seemed even odder still, since he was, after all, their commanding officer, and if anyone should have known the numbers and whereabouts of the soldiers, it should have been Captain Galipoli. But Nicole had said nothing about the weird turn in his behavior.

  To make matters worse, Mark had also been acting very strange, coming to her room almost every night. It seemed he had totally forgotten about ‘proprieties’. Of course Sophia had no intention of complaining about his increased interest in her, but it did seem a bit strange he was suddenly treating her like a wife instead of a ‘revered mother’. A muffled voice crying out a curse and a protest indicated that Gregory had bested Nicholas at chess again and the rumble and crash that followed the curse told her they were now into the physical portion of the disagreement. Sophia laughed softly, picked up her tea, shaking her head and went back to her comfortable chair in the library. The brothers were as silly as children sometimes and had very strange notions about what should and should not be.

  She smiled to herself and shook her head again as she thought of some of the silly notions Mark Andrew seemed to be developing about ghosts in the attic and ghoulies in the basement. He had always been sensitive to such things, but now he was absolutely adamant about them, warning her not to venture to either place. It almost made her want to go down to the basement, just to see what he had been up to down there or maybe up to the attic. In fact, she needed to go up to the attic. Nicole had mentioned that Merry had told her that there was a huge trunk full of baby clothes stored up there. She bit her lip and then frowned up at the ceiling as a distinctive creak emanated from the room Mark used as his room. The noise reminded her Socrates had not come back down, and he should have. Nicole was not up there. She had seen her leaving out the back door earlier in search of Mark. With Nicole around, Sophia didn’t have to worry about keeping up with him. Nicole did it well enough for both of them. The ceiling creaked again and the antique light fixture above her head moved slightly/

  An alarm went off in her head and a chill coursed down her spine. Captain Galipoli was in Mark’s room. She gripped both arms of the chair tightly. Why was he in Mark’s room?

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  The gloom along the river bank was enhanced by the scudding gray clouds that blocked the light of the moon. The thin beams of their flashlights played along the intertwined roots of the old tree. It was massive; hundreds of years old. Nicole remembered this place well and a wave of unexpected nostalgia washed over her. She missed her brother terribly and knew those days were gone forever. She and Luke Andrew had come here during the
ir brief childhood and played under the roots, pretending to b

  Mark e great sorcerers and witches. If only they had known!

  “That’s it,” Mark announced and turned off his flashlight as he began to climb the steep slope toward the old tree.

  “I have smelled the smell of angels here, my Lord,” Mr. Barshak said, scurrying up the damp hillside behind him. “Is the angel what you seek?”

  Nicole stood on the bank of the river looking up at them in consternation. ‘My Lord?’ Had she heard Barshak correctly? Was he now answering to Mark Andrew? She knew quite well she had finished the ritual which should have sent him back to the ether from whence he had come. Again, she wondered if this was her father or her brother. Why was life becoming more and more unsure every day? Could it be possible that, in Mark’s innocence, he had become possessed by one of the evil powers he had summoned from the depths? Socrates had told her she should keep an eye on Mark Ramsay. That something was not quite right with him. That he was no longer the pleasant, guile-free soul, she had practically raised from infancy. Perhaps Socrates was right.

  “Daddy!” She called after him and started up the bank. Mark and Barshak were already under the overhang created by the extensive root system of the old tree. “What are you looking for?” She panted as she joined them.

  “Here was the passage,” Mark said and felt of the earth at the back of the low cavern formed under the roots.

  “Ahhh, yes,” Barshak agreed. He knelt in front of the wall and shined his light over it. “Great magick. Very great.”

  “Can you open it?” Mark frowned at the gray-clad creature.

  “I could… perhaps.”

  Barshak raised his right hand in the light and looked at the flashing diamonds set in the golden wedding ring Nicole had given him in a none-too-subtle hint.

  “I can provide you with much more,” Mark offered and then squatted on the floor and picked up a hand full of the dark soil.

  “Daddy, please.” Nicole knelt beside him. “We don’t have to barter with him. I can take you to the underworld, if that is what you want, but surely you know the way. You’ve been there many times.”

  “Not through here.” He jerked his head toward the wall.

  “This is the way of the dark Lord, Apollyon. I smell him, my Lord.” Barshak wrinkled his nose and spat on the ground as if the name tasted foul. “You would do better to follow the child’s advice.”

  “Who are you calling a child?” Nicole turned on him and then took hold of Mark’s arm. “Daddy, look… let’s go back to the house and get some tea. We can discuss this thing. You can tell me what you want to do, and we’ll decide the best way to go about it. Besides, it would be better if we take some of the others with us… you know, just in case. Nicholas or Gregory. If not one of them, then Socrates.”

  “Socrates.” Mark repeated the name and then looked up at the roots drooping down over them. He scrambled to his feet and out of the cavern before they knew what had happened. Nicole hurried after him, bumping into Barshak along the way. They fell, got up, fell again together and then helped each other up in aggravation. Mark had already climbed up over the roots, out of sight. They could hear his footsteps disappearing.

  Barshak climbed the roots nimbly and reached down to help her.

  “What was that all about?” She asked as they hurried after him. Barshak held her hand tightly and guided her through the trees without the aid of the flashlight she still held in her hand. The beam sprayed wildly about the trees, disturbing birds and other night creatures in the branches.

  “I haven’t the foggiest notion,” Barshak answered her.

  “Oh, really? When did you develop an English accent?”

  “Here and there. There and here.” His ambiguous answer aggravated her further and to make matters worse, lightning flashed over the trees and thunder rolled across the meadow. They would no doubt get soaked wherever they were going.

  “I sent you back!” She stopped suddenly and jerked him to a stop. “Why are you still here?”

  “I like the scenery.” The enigmatic creature stood looking down at her. His ghostly pale eyes glittered with a light of their own.

  “You irk me. Where is my father going?” Nicole stomped off into the darkness and immediately became entangled in a thicket of dead brush.

  Barshak caught up with her and helped her get loose again.

  “He is not your father, Nicole.”

  “That is unimportant.”

  “It is extremely important and furthermore, you should not listen to the wicked counsel of those with whom you would keep counsel.”

  “You speak in riddles.” Nicole left him again, but shined her light more carefully in front of her.

  “Your friend, Socrates, is no longer a friend,” he called after her.

  When she spun around to answer his ridiculous charge, he was gone.

  “Barshak?” She called tentatively and then cursed as she was suddenly drenched in a cold downpour.

  When she finally reached the back door of the house, she was appalled to find it standing open. The rain puddled and ran down the hall toward the kitchen, making the ceramic floor tiles slick. She cursed again, slammed the door against the wind and made her way into the laundry room. The generator was out of service, and she had to grope in the dark for a clean towel and something dry to put on. The house groaned and creaked under the onslaught of the storm as she pulled on someone’s trousers and a dry tee shirt. The pants were too big and the tee shirt was too small. She felt around behind the door and pulled down a heavy sweater before throwing the towel on the floor to absorb some of the water. The water in the hall was cold on her bare feet and she slipped and slid about treacherously on her way to the kitchen. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she was shivering, her feet like icicles and only her anger at having been abandoned by both of her escorts kept her body temp above normal.

  She stopped by the library, intending to rail at anyone there, but the library was empty. The fire crackled in the hearth and several candles and an oil lamp cast soft shadows in the cozy room. Sophia’s favorite sweater and the novel she had been reading lay on the sofa. A cup of tea sat on the table next to her favorite chair. Nicole frowned and looked about quickly as a brilliant flash of lightning very close to the house, lit up the room with surreal clarity.

  “Where is everybody?” She asked angrily and stomped out of the room again. She stopped in the foyer and looked up the stairs. Thunder shook the house and rattled the windows as a slow thread of cold fear began to inch up her spine.

  “Hello?” She called up the stairs, abruptly feeling very alone. Never in her life had she ever been in the old house alone. There had always been someone. Planxty Grine or Stephano or her mother. Her brother. Her father’s cronies were always in and out. She stood perfectly still. Her cold feet forgotten. In the darkness that followed the lightning, she thought she saw someone standing on the rails of the second floor landing. Someone who looked remarkably like Mark Andrew, with his arms stretched out on either side as if he were planning to take a swan dive to the foyer.

  “Noooo!” She shrieked and rushed forward as he fell, unthinking, in a foolish attempt to catch him. She realized her mistake too late and screamed as she braced for the impact that would probably break her neck, but there was no impact. Only an unnaturally cold sensation swept through her as the body passed through her and disappeared into the floor. A ghost! Someone had jumped from the railing? Who? When?

  She looked down at the floor and realized she was standing in the middle of a dead man. He lay on his back with his neck at a freaky angle. Suddenly, she found herself in the middle of a group of frantic men. A woman was screaming near the library. She saw Simon of Grenoble and von Hetz the elder. Then John Paul was standing over her with the golden sword. When he raised the blade over his head, she screamed again and stumbled toward the front doors. With trembling hands she fumbled with the dead bolts on the heavy doors and then threw them
open. The wind blasted her face, but the rain had stopped. Nicole also stopped in her tracks as she took in another unbelievable scene in the yard. Her father stood holding the golden sword. In front of him knelt two men with their backs to him. She recognized Planxty Grine and Stephano Clementi.

  When Mark Andrew stepped forward, dipped slightly and brought the blade around toward Stephano’s neck, she screamed again, unable to tear her eyes away from the horrid sight of the Knight of Death beheading his two faithful servants. Mark looked up at her and ran straight for her with the sword held over his head, screaming something in Gaelic. Nicole heard herself screaming a third time as she fell backwards into the house, and then she was caught in strong arms and dragged inside. Someone closed the front doors and the cold wind was cut off, along with the sight of her father and the flaming sword.

  “Nicole! Nicole!”

  She blinked and looked up into the worried face of Nicholas Sinclair-Ramsay.

  “Nicole, where is Miss Sophia?” She turned her head and saw Gregory’s equally worried expression. “Where is Grandfather Mark?”

  “He’s here. With you.” She pushed herself to a sitting position and they hovered in front of her.

  “No, he’s not. We can’t find anyone,” Gregory told her.

  “That’s not necessarily true, Brother,” Nicholas said sourly. He stood up and held his hand down to help her.

  “What do you mean?!” Nicole was near hysteria.

  “We found someone,” Gregory’s eyes widened. “Or something… what are they, Brother?” He turned his blue eyes on his older brother.

  “I’m not sure. See for yourself.” Nicholas held out one hand toward the stairs.

  Nicole turned very slowly and swallowed hard. On the stairs was something not quite comprehensible. A shadowy form hovered next to a greenish glow. The figures were vaguely human in shape, but ephemeral, seemingly drifting somewhere between reality and fantasy.