The Queen's Viper

by Lesley Donaldson

  At the queen’s insistence, Kelley placed his leather-bound book on the crate behind him and moved into the archway to embrace her. He didn’t re-emerge from the recesses of the gatehouse arch. Viper knew Elizabeth clasped his hand, giving him both her companionship and her protection from the immortal.

  Viper hissed under her breath as Dee and Kelley accompanied Elizabeth and her attendants back to the garden. The stone ledge under the Daoine Tor’s fingers crumbled in her grip.

  The house servants left Dee’s trunk behind, presumably to find fresher arms to lift the box. Viper landed noiselessly on a patch of fragrant creeping thyme winding through the gravel path.

  Nothing about the chest suggested wrongdoing. Waxed rope handles on the sides showed little signs of use. No occult glyphs or other protective charms guarded the hinge and plate of the lock. A square placard had been riveted into its top bearing a metal engraving of a symbol. The etching bore a circle flanked by two crescents facing opposite directions. Viper traced it without feeling any hint of magic within the design.

  She picked up Kelley’s forgotten leather-bound book, a tome much older than she’d first thought. A dagger vertically driven into an arched line embossed the surface. Calfskin vellum pages turned as stiffly as the panels of a woman’s corset. Barely legible handwriting, along with drawings, illuminations, and calculations filled the interior. Slipped between the pages like an orgy of lovers, Kelley had inserted pages of his own interpretations of the book’s contents.

  Rapid footfalls approached from the courtyard on the other side of the gatehouse. Holding an oil soaked torch aloft, Kelley ran towards Viper. Her actions unseen, she placed the book to the top of the chest before he reached her.

  Panting, and being careful not to let the flaming drips of oil land in his book, he flipped through it quickly with one hand. He secured the book to his chest and set off towards the palace. A single loose page drifted to the ground on the evening breeze.

  Viper squatted over the paper, whereupon she made out Latin words in relief amid charcoal smudges.

  Et sicut res omnes fuerunt ab inferiori, ita supra… omnes fuerunt ab uno, sic omnes res natae ab hac una…

  She repeated the words in her head. “And as all things were from below, so above… are made from one being, so all things have their birth from this one.”

  The immortal was so lost in the mysterious phrase, that she didn’t register Kelley’s return for the fallen page until his torch cut into her visual field. The rush of flames temporarily blinded the immortal and she reeled backwards. Viper wondered if Kelley sensed rather than saw her because he took another step forwards, swinging wildly into open space.

  “I know thou art here!” He paused, listening for a response among the crickets. Receiving none, he swept the torch around himself one last time before he retrieved the paper.

  In his haste, the book fumbled out of his hands, and split open when it struck the ground. A gust of wind blew several pages towards the river. He chased after them, catching some alight in the process.

  Viper watched the farce play out before her. Her fear of Dee and his medium evaporated as she laughed at the ranting man who chased meaningless scribble. She decided to leave Elizabeth alone with her misguided sage and his bumbling medium.

  What harm could the two men cause?

  June 5, 2012

  Madam,

  Forgive me for intruding upon the busy schedule of your Jubilee celebrations. It has been long since your gracious Majesty has graced my home. I still hold the honour of being your Senior Archeologist at the Ministry of Defense, and it is that role which has placed me into a spot of trouble.

  I wish to speak with you about a matter of such great secrecy that I cannot put pen to paper to fully detail it. I can only trust you. I hope you are aware of the Thames excavation of a series of wooden plinth circles at Canary Wharf by Atticus Archival and Appraisals. They tampered with an ancient site, that is, I feel, of great importance. I have been surreptitiously monitoring their actions.

  Or so I thought. After the start of disturbing occurrences at their site, the company approached me with a proposition that I couldn’t accept, yet am under great peril should I refuse. I am afraid that either men or monsters threaten Britain. I hope, if I say that war may be upon your kingdom, that I convey my great sense of urgency.

  Please send your response via my trusted courier who awaits your reply. Burn this letter after you have read it. The cloak and dagger is, sadly, quite necessary.

  I am at your disposal, day or night.

  Your old friend,

  George Reed, Cpt.

  27: Broken Glass

  London, beneath St. Mary's Station

  June 5, 2012: afternoon

  Rumbling vibrated the walls around them. The ceiling lights flicked momentarily, giving life to the darker corners of the room. Viper expected an attack from the queen’s soldiers, or worse, Annys. She raised her elldyr enflamed hands in defense. Clare sought Dhillon’s arms for safety.

  “We need not fear,” said Owain. “There is an old Underground service line above. Sometimes they use it for running machinery. We are quite secure here, I assure you.”

  “From mere humaines, mayhap,” Viper said and suppressed her magic. “Without the fourth Mort Lake Glass, we hath no defense. I hath escaped prison only to enter Hell.” Overwhelming hopelessness shattered the last vestiges of Viper’s dominance. Before she realized it, she had crumpled to the ground, sobbing. Her grief devoured the fury that drove her revenge.

  Clare burst into tears. “I’m so sorry!” Her voice cracked. “I know I grabbed four. Between the fighting, hiding and running away, I don’t know where I could’ve lost one. Maybe I lost it when we were going through the tunnels.” She wiped her eyes dry and pulled Dhillon towards the dais that brought them to the safe house. “We should retrace my steps.”

  “That won’t do much good,” Dhillon said.

  Clare pinched herself. “Viper needs the crystals. You didn’t see that monster who attacked us at Dugan Mound.” Her nails left angry welts on her skin.

  Graeme stepped forwards, simultaneously imposing and gentle. “Dhillon, take the lassie to the sleeping quarters for a wee wash-up. Get some food in the kitchenette while ye can.” Dhillon opened his mouth to refuse. “That was an order, not a suggestion, ye ken?” Graeme set his chin.

  Dhillon escorted Clare from the room, with one last reluctant glance at Owain before he left. Owain stood, free hand stroking his beard in thought. He didn’t show any indication that he needed Dhillon to stay. The Foundling kept his full attention on his Mistress.

  When the youths left, Graeme knelt in front of Viper. “What’s for ye, will not pass ye,” he said to her. “If ye don’t mind my boldness, ye need to buck up. Sure, everything’s gone a bit pear-shaped for ye since ye got here.” He rubbed the scar that cut through his eyebrow as he collected his words. “Whatever else we are to ye, we’ll help ye succeed. But, we cannae do it alone, not against that Daoine Tor. Search for that part of yerself which has a wee bit of fight left. Ye have to take the crap that’s pushing ye down and leave it at the door, because if ye give up now, then ye’ll have lost yer battle before it’s begun.”

  Viper’s flat countenance was as unresponsive as her body. She was a moth affixed to a display board. Crushing heaviness settled in her chest. She shrank beneath Graeme’s examination and the pitying gaze from her Foundling. Viper lost the capacity to speak, for if she did, she would beg Graeme to end her life and deliver her from the unforgiving fate ahead of her.

  All three were so engrossed in the fallout from the missing crystal that they didn’t notice the stag that stepped into the room from a second, narrower passageway beside the dais.

  “What the Hell? That’s one of the deer from St. James Park.” Graeme balked at the arrival of the forest animal in the starkly modern hideaway. He started forward to catch the buck. The beast startled, but didn’t flee.

  “A moment, Graeme.” O
wain had placed his cane across Graeme’s path and moved him aside. The mature red deer had several thick, sharp projections on its antlers, like grasping claws. A creamy, four-pointed whorl of hair sat high on his head. Light enhanced the pigments in his tawny fur so much that it seemed like he was on fire. The stag glanced over his shoulder at the secondary entrance. Six additional male deer entered. They surrounded Viper, who had her legs drawn legs up to her chest. She hugged herself, forehead on her knees.

  The bucks lowered their heads. Their antlers enclosed Viper like a giant floating crown of thorns. Silvery orbs emanated within each pair of antlers, then transformed into shimmering glyphs. Tiny blue-white points of luminescence danced between each animal. Some of these lights flew above Viper, then rained upon her.

  The Mort Lake Glass rotated so fast that it appeared immobile. The crystal coasted across the room until it hovered high above Viper’s body. Each of the stags raised their head, one at a time. Their glyphs drifted up and merged with the crystal.

  The hairs on Viper’s arms stood on end as the crystal charged. The images on the monitors scrambled. The ceiling lights intensified. Viper tilted her head up and opened her eyes, now fully black with despair. The luminous crystal reflected in her gaze.

  The stags lowered their antlers, spikes aimed at Viper. A sinuous white magic wound from the crystal, seeking the middle of Viper’s chest. She recoiled backwards from its touch and pierced herself on the tip of an antler. The stags stomped their hooves and bleated with nervous agitation.

  Graeme bolted forwards to help her. The stag nearest him kicked out its hind leg, knocking him on his backside. He pushed himself up on his elbows and drew his pistol. The crystal shot out a beam of red light at the weapon. The gun flew from his hand. It smashed into a television screen, sparks flying. Graeme positioned his knees beneath himself, ready to pounce.

  Owain’s cane, handled with surprising skill, held Graeme back. “Don’t interfere. This may be the work of the Sisters.”

  “What if they are sianach?”

  “Even if they are the same violent, mystical deer you encountered in your youth, I suspect they won’t harm her,” Owain insisted, wide-eyed with fascination, “unless they need to stop her.”

  “How do we ken which one?”

  “We don’t.”

  The animals’ barks and snorts rose in crescendo as Viper tried to free herself from their entrapment. Scratches marred her arms as she deflected the swings of their antlers. Elldyr fire erupted from her body and collided into the majestic beasts without effect. A buck’s antler punctured her foot, securing it to the floor. Viper howled with pain and anger. Owain winced. Beside him, Graeme swore.

  Another stag, then another, speared her body with their antlers and immobilized her limbs to the ground. She thrashed within the living restrains. The heat and smell of the animals mixed with her own sweat and blood. Once again, winding magic emanated from the Mort Lake Glass, aiming for Viper’s chest.

  “I beg of you, do not end my life.” Glistening tears descended into the smeared mess on the floor. “The humaine, Graeme, hath the right of it. I wish to fight. I want to live!”

  The crystal plunged from above Viper into her sternum as if drawn there by a magnet. She arched against the antlers. Her nails dug into the floor and her eyes turned white. The immortal’s body became lifeless, moving only when the stags extracted their black-tipped antlers from her limbs.

  The first stag gazed upon Owain and Graeme with huge, unforgiving eyes. “Men with guns are coming. Protect her as the Herd protect her. Die for her as the Herd will die for her.”

  Graeme’s mouth gaped. “What the-?”

  “Buck?” completed Owain. He extended a low, upturned palm. The stag nuzzled his hand. “Thank you, new friends. We shall see my Mistress safe.” The stag nodded its head approvingly. “Graeme, let’s get the safe house back up and running. We need to initiate lockdown and get the perimeter cameras back online.”

  In a daze, Graeme responded, “Right. Right, boss.”

  They relocated to the bank of damaged computers, and the stag returned to Viper. She had lifted her head, and moved her bloodied limbs cautiously. Her wounds started to knit together.

  “Generations of sianach herds have watched over the Oriel stone since it became bound to Erta. The stone must be made whole.”

  “I hath heard of that stone, the Oriel, but know not of such a thing.” Viper’s head throbbed. Pins and needles wracked her arms and legs. Her eyes became malachite swirls again.

  “As above, so below. From One are all things borne,” the stag said, quoting Edward Kelly’s book. Viper gingerly ran her finger over a fresh half-moon glyph-scar where the crystal had pierced her chest. Drying blood crusted the wound. “I must show you something.” The stag offered his antlers to assist her from the ground. She teetered like a newborn foal. Together they moved away from Owain and Graeme sorting out the console.

  Braced on the body of the sianach, Viper followed the long meticulous hallway past the kitchen towards the bedrooms. “I have encountered other animals like you, whom I thought acted in partnership with the Sisters.”

  “Our history minders say the sianach have aided you before,” he replied. “We are warriors who roamed these lands when Erta’s children were young.”

  “Then you know of my origin?”

  “Much of your past is not mine to know, nor have you time enough to learn mine. We must amend that which was broken.”

  The hall ended in a wide rectangle with five rooms, two on each side and one at the end. The open doorway on the right led to a room decorated in earthy tones. A row of swords adorned the wall, narrow metallic teeth poised to devour intruders. Ivy’s fencing suit rested on a mannequin outside the closet door. Viper regretted that she had been hostile to the woman. With her sharp steel and sharper tongue Ivy would have been a formidable companion. Viper felt a wave of nausea and backed into the hall. As if Ivy’s ghost guarded the room, the door closed with a swish and clicked shut. The glass turned opaque black.

  Viper recognized the intended occupants of the next three rooms by their contents. Each generously sized space had accompanying en suite bathrooms, affording the most modern amenities to those hiding in the bowels of London.

  Across from Ivy’s room, Graeme’s quarters had minimal decoration, in shades of navy blue. Tight sheets and blankets secured his bed. His dresser held three framed photos of himself posing with men in matching desert brown uniforms holding rifles in front of armoured vehicles. Closest to his bed, protecting him as he slept, was a picture of Graeme in the arms of another half-naked man, with Graeme’s eyes closed in pleasure.

  Viper laughed despite herself. Here was the falseness of which the Sisters spoke. For all the manly charm he lavished on Viper, Graeme loved men.

  She explored the remaining rooms with a lighter heart. Owain’s room was a miniature version of his grander apartment in the skyscraper. Objects from every century since the Elizabethan Era cluttered the shelves. On a broad desk, Viper flipped through maps in which he detailed possible locations of her imprisonment. Unchanged place names tore at her heart even as the modern web of roads bastardized what she remembered of England’s geography.

  The immortal headed for the door. A humidity controlled box caught her eye. The box held a hand-stitched doll of wool and cotton, wearing a black and white silk gown, decorated with semi-precious stones and pearls. Each detail precisely replicated Elizabethan Court fashion. The face had been sewn with the utmost care. Its Cupid’s bow lips beckoned for a kiss, the vibrancy of their red silk strands long since faded. Ringlets of real auburn hair topped the doll’s head. Viper thought about the day when she cut the locks from its owner beneath the largest oak tree of Hampton Palace. She felt the sting of regret in her chest as she studied the effigy of Elizabeth.

  The sianach tapped his antler on the frame, urging Viper onwards. “Marriage bed, blood red, Bessy had a son. Bloodshed, unwed, Bessy’s son is gone.” The beast
repeated the rhyme, words Viper had not heard for hundreds of years.

  Viper paused at the doorway of the room recently occupied by Dhillon. Sparingly furnished and without a distinct personality, she concluded Ivy had created this room for any unexpected guest. Dhillon had turned it into his flop house. His dirty clothes from Maidstone haphazardly occupied the floor. Only the satchel on his bed appeared deliberately placed, a flaw in the kaleidoscope created by the indiscriminately strewn belongings. The bag lay flat, its flap closed and latched. He’d folded the strap on the top.

  The door at the end of the hallway was shut. Viper placed her hand to the switch and the glass whooshed open. The room had the same trimmed presentation as Dhillon’s. A dual trail of clothes, topped by what Viper assumed were Dhillon’s underpants, led to the tiled floor of the bathroom. The sounds of moaning told Viper what to expect if she progressed farther. The stag nudged her with his cold, wet nose in her lower back. Her bullheaded eyes scolded the stag.

  “You need to remember,” said the magical beast.

  “What am I to recall by spying on these two as they dance the beginning of the world?”

  If the stag could have shrugged, as if to say, “It’s your choice,” he would have before he turned and left Viper alone at the threshold of the bedroom.

  She tiptoed into the room wondering what connection that humans making love had to her quest, her history, or the Oriel stone she knew nothing about.

  Viper imagined that the youths had nestled on Clare’s bed, Dhillon comforting the girl about the loss of the fourth crystal. Her cheeks would’ve been flushed red, her eyes worried as she sought redemption. With his head in her hands, he would lower his voice, smooth and soft in his approach.