The Bastard from Fairyland

by Phil Parker

  ‘Filidea, dear, I don’t know how much longer I’ve got. You need to be ready to take my place. Think about what I said. Look for the problems before they arrive, that politics is all about sleight-of-hand but remember others will be performing their own conjuring act too. I missed this one completely and now we’re going to suffer the consequences.’

  I watched her shuffle to the door which Vevina opened wider, behind her, in the shadows, I could just make out the outline of someone else, a man. She placed an arm through his as Vevina closed the door behind them, leaving me alone with my thoughts in the orchard.

  I had no idea what she’d meant when she talked about roosting birds and the dire consequences of the conflict they brought, the woman talked in riddles. I sat in the peace and quiet of her orchard, aware that the levels of anxiety I felt now were even greater than when we’d met.

  She was Nimue, Lady of the Lake, she didn’t get frightened. Yet fear was etched into the lines on her face. In all the time I’d known her, she’d never shown even the slightest nervousness about anything, she was always so self-assured. I’d assumed fear was beyond her.

  She didn’t leave the palace either. Any form of travel was painful for her, it exhausted her easily. Everyone came to her, it was a sign of her authority. Who could demand that an old woman should travel to them? Whatever was happening had to be serious.

  I stared up into the branches of the apple trees around me, at the clear sky and the gentle breeze that wafted the branches lost in thought, until one of those thoughts struck me with the intensity of a thunderbolt.

  It had been said in such a casual, offhand manner that I’d missed it. I’d been so surprised by her knowledge of my activities that I hadn’t been listening.

  “When I’ve gone, I expect you to assume my role.”

  Grandmother wanted me to be First Minister of the Light Court. Me.

  If I’d been anxious and frightened before, it was nothing compared to the ice that filled my veins now. I wasn’t capable of such a lofty position; my father would never agree. More importantly, if there were dire events unfolding that meant the possible destruction of our race, I didn’t want to be First Minister.

  Until I thought of the scale of ignorance, complacency and rank stupidity of the rest of my family. Midir was the brightest and the best in comparison. I certainly couldn’t rely on my father to provide the leadership, he was only interested in drinking ale with his friends.

  Still, I had to deal with more immediate problems. I had to find somewhere to hide Sibeal and decide who I could trust with that knowledge. Plus, play political match-making with Taranis while discovering his secrets. That would be enough for now. Everything else I’d deal with as it came along.

  I sat and stared at the branches of the apple trees and savoured the peace this place provided. Something told me I wasn’t going to get much of it in the future.

  Chapter 22

  Nothing prepared me for the sight we faced as we reached the junction with Magdalene Street.

  In happier times, before the floods and the Fae invasion, tourists had visited its new age shops and vegetarian restaurants. It had offered an alternate lifestyle, a place where people smiled, wore ludicrous outfits and felt at peace with the world.

  The twins and I arrived in a very different place.

  An abattoir.

  Magdalene Street had been the location of a battle, though a massacre was more accurate. There were a few spriggan bodies but a lot more human ones; men of all ages but also women, even kids, though I suspected they were unlucky victims. The street ran with blood, its stench hung thickly in the air, it seeped into gutters like red rainwater. You wanted to avoid looking at the carnage, but you had no choice as you searched for places to step, to avoid slipping and falling into the blood and guts. We tiptoed like dancers.

  The twins, Finn especially, threw up repeatedly. The Nemean lion-men, our escorts, pushed and prodded the kids forward impatiently. As warriors, this sight meant nothing to a culture that worshipped the perfect warrior. They bathed their offspring in blood within their first month of birth, which was why they showed such contempt for Finn and Brea.

  ‘Please Robin,’ the lad mumbled as he wept, ‘make them take us somewhere else. I can’t do this. I can’t.’

  When Brea tried to help him she received a swift smack on her legs with the shaft of a battle-axe. She glared at her abuser, swore at him and then turned on me.

  ‘Are you going to let them treat us like this? You know he’s making us walk through this shit on purpose, don’t you?’

  I did. It was the privilege of the victor and the misery of the subjugated.

  ‘What do you suggest we do Brea? Do you want me to fight every spriggan, boggart and Nemean here? Not forgetting Ankou and Llyr.’

  ‘Why not? You got us into this shit.’

  I looked at her, jaw set with the rigidity of the deeply resentful.

  ‘It’s about picking your moment Brea. This isn’t it.’

  She sniffed loudly. ‘We’re going to be at the portal in a few minutes, it’ll be too late then. When I get this fucking thing off my hands,’ she shook her manacle hard, ‘I’m going to blast every bastard I find.’

  We rounded a corner and arrived in front of a space that had once been a car park for the Abbey. Both twins gasped as they looked up at the instigator of much of the carnage.

  A dragon chewed thoughtfully on body parts, its muzzle and jaws dripped with blood. It was significantly bigger than the wyvern but it lacked its cousin’s fine lines, elegance and beauty. If they’d been vehicles, the wyvern was a red sports car built for speed and manoeuvrability whereas the dragon was a bulldozer with solid, powerful leg muscles and enormous jaws that took up most of its head. There was intelligence in the eyes of the wyvern, this creature looked vaguely bovine, like a cow dumbly chewing the cud.

  The purpose of the rider on top of the animal was obvious. This thing couldn’t be relied on to think for itself. Like a horse, heavy leather straps around its enormous middle kept a saddle in place and reins were drilled into the sides of his scaly head.

  Llyr stood in front of it, radiating manic glee.

  ‘My dragon breeding programme is producing creatures that make victory inevitable. This type is useful for dealing with half-hearted uprisings like this one, but you should see what my battle dragons will achieve.’

  ‘Will?’

  My question deflated his pride for a second.

  ‘We’re training them still. But once broken-in, they will be unstoppable. Your little wyvern was a mistake, an ill-advised diversion, my dragons represent real power.’

  With his lecture completed, Llyr turned to enter the Abbey through what remained of the gateway. Our impatient escorts jabbed at the three of us with their long battles axes and we were marched into the Abbey grounds.

  Glastonbury Abbey retained some of its original glory. Its gothic walls still reached up to the heavens, beautiful archways with dog-tooth carvings hinted at the spectacle it once had as the prime religious location in medieval England. Recent features scarred its stone surfaces, like the graffiti that cursed the Fae and described their fates when mankind finally achieved victory. Llyr and his army walked past these affirmations unaware, or indifferent, to such violent and demeaning threats. At my side, two youngsters who represented humanity’s opposition to the Fae, trudged along, heads bowed, shoulders slumped. Like every other person in this land, they were emaciated, weakened mentally and physically. Simply finding ways to stay alive preoccupied them these days, any opposition lacked coordination and firepower and ended in the kind of carnage we’d been forced to trudge through.

  Ahead of us Llyr marched with the swagger of the conqueror. One thing niggled away in my head that gave me some hope. I’d fought in enough battles to know if someone with the skill and experience of Mab had led the Fae, human beings would already be slaves. I ought to be grateful for Llyr’s ineptitude, I told myself. There was still a chance I could
use it to my advantage, but I needed the odds against me to change.

  Our route took us past the circular building once affectionately known as the Bishop’s Kitchen towards the centre of the Abbey. When Thomas Cromwell’s hooligans destroyed the Abbey, enough of their respect for religion stopped them desecrating its sacred centre, the Lady Chapel, dedicated to Mary Magdalene. Or perhaps someone understood what power the chapel really contained. Whatever the reason, the infrastructure to one of the most powerful portals in the south of England, remained in good condition. Stories of Glastonbury’s doorways to fairyland had existed for centuries, primarily centred on the Tor, Christianity had successfully disguised its other entry.

  The one we were about to use, unless something happened soon.

  The entry to the Lady Chapel was up a flight of steps to a narrow archway. Llyr stood there, surveying the scene below him with an arrogantly inflated chest.

  ‘How are you going to get that thing through the portal?’ I called, jerking a thumb at the grumbling dragon some distance behind us.

  ‘I’m not. I’m leaving it here to wreak havoc. I’m doing that everywhere. Over time they’ll breed and humanity will become their fodder.’

  At my side I heard Brea grind her teeth and exhale loudly. She twisted her hands repeatedly, they were raw and bloody as they chafed against the metal edges but I could see she was getting somewhere with them. She caught me looking at them and gave me a ferocious smile.

  ‘Well Robin,’ Llyr called down at me. ‘This is where we say our goodbyes. The Knights will come with me while I leave you to the tender mercies of Ankou.’

  The desiccated figure of death climbed half way up the stairs, attempting a smile, while his master giggled.

  ‘He really doesn’t like you Robin, did you know that? When my father tampered with his DNA long ago, he found one advantage above all others. He cannot die. Ankou has valued this quality because he’s known, no matter what it took, he would eventually destroy you. Looks like that moment has arrived.’

  On either side of that shrivelled mouth, parchment-like skin puckered into dark yellow folds as the smile widened. I looked at him and then at Llyr.

  ‘Shame that tinkering with his DNA didn’t make him prettier.’

  The smiles vanished.

  ‘It doesn’t appear Mab is here to stop me Robin. Was that another of your jokes?’

  Llyr’s smug grin broadened as he turned towards the chapel’s crypt where a bright light illuminated the stone walls. They’d opened the portal and time was running out.

  ‘Goodbye Robin.’ He turned to the skeletal figure at the foot of the steps. ‘Don’t make his death quick or painless, will you?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  With a snap of his fingers he beckoned his lion-men escorts who yanked the twins towards the steps.

  ‘Still picking your moment?’ Brea screamed at me.

  Her brother looked panic-stricken and gasped my name repeatedly.

  I shrugged heavy shoulders. It wasn’t the ideal moment by any means but I’d run out of choices. I’d hoped Keir might have helped but it looked like I was on my own, which was nothing new. Well, I always wanted to go out in style. Around me a couple of dozen spriggans and boggarts remained behind as the lion-men escorted their High Lord and his prisoners up the steps, through the narrow archway into the chapel. As the last of them vanished from view, Ankou took up position in front of the archway, he’d guessed what I had in mind.

  I took a breath, relaxed my muscles and discreetly scrutinised my own escort to see which one lacked concentration, without even a weapon I was useless. A boggart with a broken tusk stood within lunging distance, if I was quick…

  The roar bounced from one stone wall to another and made us all turn, including the rider on the dragon that lifted its huge head with interest. The wyvern strode around the corner of the building and roared a second time the moment it saw us. I recognised its tone, it was the same challenge it had made before attacking the Questing Beast. Around its feet were flecks of foam, its jaws were covered in it too, the animal must have used its acidic saliva to melt Llyr’s restraining gel. It raised its head, roared again and charged.

  Spriggans and boggarts, startled by this unexpected guest, looked at each other with uncertainty and began to edge towards the chapel steps and safety. The dragon rider had other ideas. He yanked the head of the dragon to meet the smaller wyvern, confident in his mount’s size and power, he jabbed his heels into its flanks to stir it into action though the animal looked disinterested. It had pigged itself on human remains and probably wasn’t in the mood for a fight.

  The wyvern picked up speed, weaving one way then abruptly changing direction. The dragon rider yanked his steed’s head hard each time, causing the animal considerable pain from the bolted reins in its jaws. It roared but more from pain and irritation than aggression. The wyvern moved so swiftly it was amongst the retreating soldiers, avoiding the snapping jaws of the dragon easily. It snatched the slower boggarts in its jaws, crunched them in one bite and spat them out in the direction of the dragon. The smell of blood and the instant meal distracted it, until its rider yanked hard on the reins to pursue the wyvern. The wyvern, intent on administering its revenge on the boggarts and spriggans that had immobilised it, herded them towards the chapel steps where Ankou was brushed aside in the rush to reach safety. It ignored me, now pressed against the Abbey wall, as it moved closer to the chapel steps and cornered itself. For an animal I’d credited with so much intelligence, it had made a huge error. The dragon rider spotted his advantage and let out a whoop of excitement as he drove the dragon towards the cornered wyvern. I looked around for a weapon, spotted a sword on the ground and picked it up, I didn’t know how I was going to stop a lumbering mass of dragon with a weapon that was toothpick in comparison, but I’d think of something.

  The dragon marched forward. I called at its rider, waved my arms to distract the animal but the rider just grinned at me and whooped a second time. The wyvern on the other hand roared its challenge. With its strong hind legs, it powered forwards in a suicidal last-ditch charge. I watched, astonished at its bravery.

  The dragon opened its jaws.

  It was at that point that I learned not to underestimate the wyvern. It had deliberately goaded the dragon-rider into attacking in that position. It was the same strategy it had used against the Questing Beast.

  The wyvern launched. It sprang upwards, like a high jumper. For a moment, I thought it could fly. So did the dragon as it raised its head to watch the red shape soar over it with ease. It lowered its legs, like a plane coming into land, snatching the rider from his saddle and dragged him backwards over the jagged spine of his steed. Blood erupted and the rider’s shrieks ended abruptly.

  The wyvern landed gracefully just beyond the tail of the dragon, turned ready to attack but the dragon just stood there, dumbly. It looked around as though expecting a command and when nothing happened the smell of its broken jockey drew its attention. It sniffed at the remains and snacked on them before looking around for more. It devoured the wyvern’s earlier victims with ease, turned and ambled back to Magdalene Street, no doubt determined to finish its feast.

  It completely ignored the wyvern as it sauntered over to me, I swear the animal was smiling as it approached. It stood at my side, eyes intent on the archway where spriggans and boggarts peaked around the stone archway.

  I heard a scream and shouts.

  ‘Brea? Finn? Are you all right?’

  Nothing.

  The wyvern rumbled a sound deep in her chest that I knew meant she was unhappy about something, she was sniffing the air, nostrils flaring.

  In the archway consternation turned into pushing and shoving, something was wrong. Now I had an ally I decided my moment had arrived.

  I sprinted forwards. Ankou leapt out from the archway, sword ready. I thought the nearby spriggans racing in his direction were going to fight alongside him but they more interested in avoiding the red
monster than on me or my black-cloaked nemesis, they blundered past him.

  He leapt off the steps to get out of their way to land neatly on the ground.

  ‘My fight isn’t with you,’ I said watching him closely. ‘I want Llyr. If you’ve got a grudge with me let’s settle it later.’

  His top lip curled to reveal yellow stumps of teeth.

  ‘I’ve waited long enough, I will not oblige your requests.’

  I gave him a shrug and moved to circle him. If he thought I was getting ready to fight I hoped he might not realise I was moving so I could run up the steps and into the chapel. Whatever was causing the confusion might work in my favour, what I didn’t need was any delay. The wyvern watched us, nodding its head from one side to the other in its attempt to understand what the strange creatures were doing.

  ‘I’ve obviously upset you. I must admit, I can’t remember how.’

  More a distraction, as I moved towards the steps, than genuine curiosity but it caused the upturned lip to become a tight-lipped snarl.

  ‘How typical of you.’

  He lunged at me, sword slashing in an arc in front of my face, forcing me backwards and down a slight dip towards the Abbey wall. For a second I lost my balance and he rushed me with astonishing speed, blade a blur. I could only parry the attack until I regained my balance.

  The snarl turned into a smile.

  ‘You’ve got slow.’

  I’d show him fucking slow.

  I launched a frenzied attack, causing him to step backwards but he met every move easily, anticipated where I’d go each time and had his sword ready.

  ‘Still the same old plays eh? Nothing original.’

  Suddenly his blade wasn’t where I expected it to be, he’d stepped much further back than was necessary, like he was retreating. I struck out at thin air and he laughed. In a movement that left me bewildered for a split second, he leapt upwards, far higher than you might expect from someone who looked to be ancient and decrepit. He landed, cloak flapping like the black wings of a huge crow, his blade slicing down vertically, ready to part my skull. I ducked, turned the loss of balance into a forward roll but couldn’t get upright in time. He twisted in a way I didn’t think was possible, his blade slicing in a diagonal arc, missing my left thigh by a whisker. I rolled over again and again while he laughed.