The Bastard from Fairyland

by Phil Parker

  Mab.

  She leapt into the air, somersaulting in the process, to land on her feet a short distance from where the bolt of energy drove into the ground, causing turf to explode into the air.

  Llyr swung round, blasted one of Mab’s guards in the chest. The man was flung backwards, a black hole in his chest and was dead before his body hit the ground. The other was stupefied for an instant, he made the mistake of reaching for the sword strapped on his back and in that instant Llyr smashed a booted foot against the man’s leg, dropping him to the ground and blasting his head clean off his shoulders.

  Within two seconds he’d created chaos.

  The first energy blast had been close enough to Keir make the wyvern think her master was under attack. It roared with fury and galloped towards Llyr, oblivious of everyone else, which included Oisin and me. We dived out of its way.

  Brea’s reactions were quicker and unaffected by the route of the vengeful wyvern. Incandescent white energy leapt from her fingertips as she yelled something above the crack of thunder that followed. Llyr dived from his position on the steps just in time to avoid the blast that destroyed part of the staircase. Like Mab had done, he leapt into the air and landed gracefully, paused long enough to fire another salvo of energy at Brea who dropped to the ground to avoid its searing force as it flew a short distance over her body.

  ‘Now!’ Llyr yelled as he shot a second bolt at the girl, she rolled on her side down a slight incline which offered temporary protection.

  From around the far corner of the Abbey ruins a woman stepped out. We all followed the direction of Llyr’s eyes and we all reacted with the same degree of shock.

  ‘Surely not!’ I heard Nimue gasp.

  They hadn’t been seen in the longest time, in fact stories maintained the last of their kind had been killed long ago. In Tir na nÓg they were called Bean Sidhe. Celtic legend portrayed them as women whose keening bemoaned the loss of a loved one. The reality was a lot less romantic, they were weapons capable of emitting destructive levels of sound. Over the centuries people distorted the name: they called them banshee.

  I’d called her a woman, though gender was meaningless to this creature. She might look human until you saw the huge mouth, under which a throat pouch made her look more like a toad. It inflated swiftly, she opened her mouth to emit a sound so high-pitched, so loud, everything vibrated around us. The Abbey walls shook, loose masonry fell. The ground itself shook like an earthquake. For anyone with ears, the pain was intolerable.

  The wyvern stopped its attack and dropped its head to the ground like it was trying to bury it. All the others fell to their knees, held their hands over their ears tightly and grimaced with pain. Mab had been about to attack Llyr with her sword, she tried to maintain the assault but she could do little apart from slowly drop to the ground and assume the same position as everyone else.

  Llyr was unaffected, no doubt wearing something that stopped the scream from reaching his eardrums. He marched towards Keir, his readied sword made his intention obvious, that smile back on his lips.

  My reactions to the Bean Sidhe were different.

  The reason the Trooping Fairies achieved its elite status came down to two factors. The first was training. It meant understanding what to do against any opponent you might expect to face in battle. The body could be trained to react to a variety of threats and the pain they would likely evoke. The second factor came down to your character; the extent to which you were prepared to tolerate whatever pain they threat threw at you. Your training showed you what you could withstand and what you couldn’t, it also showed you some useful techniques to deal with the threat and the pain. Withstanding the scream of the Bean Sidhe was one of those moments I’d endured in my training long ago.

  The pain was terrible, I felt blood dribble from my ears and down my neck as I ran towards the creature. The high-pitched keening felt like sharp knives slicing through my brain, it would be so easy to curl into a ball and let the pain overwhelm me but instead I’d learned the technique of constantly yawning. It kept the tympanic membrane in the ear from constantly vibrating which would increase the scream’s volume and intensity, opening your mouth and blowing through your nose regulated it to some extent.

  The creature was ugly beyond belief, long strands of limp grey hair gave the appearance of great age, which fed the banshee legend but the body was still lithe and supple as it stepped backwards to avoid my attack. The banshee can sustain its scream for a long time but it still needs to breathe, the best time to attack was as it took its breath.

  I raised my sword as I ran up to it, the creature dodged to its left to run past me, just as an energy bolt blasted the earth to my right. Llyr was trying to stop me, that was good, it meant he’d abandoned trying to kill Keir for the time being. The banshee dodged to run past me but the exercise caused it to use up its remaining breath. I drew level with the creature just as its throat sac deflated and hung limply under its mouth. Out of breath, it staggered, unable to avoid me any longer.

  I ran my sword through the sac, the throat and out the other side.

  The banshee gave a huge shudder and fell to the ground, dead.

  I whirled round. The others were struggling to their feet, they’d suffer for several minutes until their tympanic membranes could adjust and I was too far away to do anything but hurry back. My exertions had opened my wounds again, the slickness of my blood worked its way down my face and chest but I dismissed that irrelevance.

  Llyr watched me, grinned as he raised his hand to point his knuckles in my direction.

  ‘I should have done this long ago!’ he called.

  Orange energy left the device as no more than a trickle that bounced around the wet ground at his feet and quickly fizzled out. He tried again, this time only grey smoke appeared.

  ‘Never rely on technology!’ I yelled as I raced towards him, sword raised.

  He hurled the mass of wires and crystals to the ground angrily and looked around. The wyvern continued to shake its head in discomfort, everyone else struggled to stand up only to stagger like drunks. Llyr resumed his attack on Keir.

  The wyvern saw the danger, tried to intercept but staggered and collapsed in a heap.

  Keir, on his knees, raised both hands in a defensive position and called out ‘Don’t!’.

  I was too far away to intervene, Llyr’s perfect mouth formed its manic grin and his dark eyes burned with the same malevolence I’d seen in my kitchen before he murdered the boy. Behind him, from the Lady Chapel crypt, spriggans and boggarts poured through the archway.

  The Bean Sidhe had been his insurance policy in case something had gone wrong.

  Llyr’s soldiers piled down the steps towards us. Brea leaned heavily against the Abbey wall, supported by her brother, to blast the ones at the front of the column but it didn’t stop the rest from pushing forwards.

  Mab raised her hand as a command for them to halt, it slowed them down briefly, she wasn’t someone you crossed willingly but she appeared to be drunk as she staggered towards them. Llyr turned to his troops to bellow commands at them. He stood, sword raised, the picture of the leader in battle, authority in his voice and in his body language and the moment of indecision passed. They continued their advance.

  Llyr grinned at me as I did my best to run, chest heaving, pain blossoming everywhere and knowing I wasn’t going to make it in time to defend the boy. Llyr’s oily words were spoken loud enough for all of us to hear as he raised his sword again.

  ‘Time to die, little brother.’

  ‘Stop!’

  Nimue’s voice rang out as she stepped in front of Keir and held up an imperious hand, it was enough to make Llyr pause. She had her back to me but I knew what he’d see, the force of will that made the most powerful warriors wilt.

  ‘Stop and think Llyr. Consider what you’re about to do. If you commit murder you will face execution. You will lose the throne as well as your life. Is that what you want?’

  But Llyr wa
sn’t intimidated by the old woman, I don’t think he even cared about her threats, he’d burned his bridges and had nothing to lose.

  ‘You’re assuming there will be witnesses, you old crow.’

  He swung his sword, not at Keir but to decapitate the old woman. The blade flashed as it caught what little sunlight there was, slicing downward towards the old woman, she turned her head defensively, unable to move out of its way. Suddenly Oisin was there, in front of her, pushing her backwards. The sword struck him, a fountain of blood rose into the air and he landed heavily on the ground at her feet and didn’t move.

  I screamed. I don’t know what I said, or even if it was anything intelligible. I screamed something and the world stopped. Everything about my life distilled into one moment of wisdom. I’d suffered untold agonies to be trained to fight those who needed my protection. I’d been pushed beyond normal limits, until a part of my brain had plumbed such depths it released the monster that no doubt lies dormant in us all. Despite those experiences, even though I’d come through the other side of that training, I’d had to leave Tir na nÓg, because I feared what Oberon would do to those I’d loved. Especially Oisin.

  Since then, not only had I failed to protect others, I’d put them in danger. Even the wyvern had saved us when I couldn’t. I’d risked the lives of the Knights, the kids I’d vowed to their father I’d protect at any cost.

  And now Oisin lay dead, or dying, I couldn’t even protect the man I loved. All my indecision and uncertainty vanished in that moment, to be replaced by crystal clarity. I’d spent too long thinking what was best for people, trying to do right by them, and all it had brought them was danger and death. I had overlooked the basic premise of my role, to destroy anyone who tries to kill those you’ve vowed to protect. I was a killing machine and it was time to do what I did best.

  The world turned red. A roaring sound filled my ears and the pain in my chest vanished. That’s the good thing about adrenalin, it stops you feeling anything. All I wanted to feel was vengeance.

  Puck rose within me, normally a reaction I dreaded but this time was different. I welcomed him. I couldn’t remember ever doing that before, his arrival usually had the effect of making me shut my eyes to his mayhem, of hiding behind the sofa. Now, like a slumbering leviathan rising from the deep, he made his way to the surface while I savoured the horror that was about to be unleashed.

  Puck exploded into action.

  Somehow he was already standing over Keir when his blade clashed with Llyr’s, who looked shocked at Puck’s arrival, an expression that only deepened when he saw the face of the thing standing in front of him, his fear annihilated the shock.

  Somewhere beyond Puck’s vision, which was centred firmly on his adversary, there were gasps and muffled words of horror. I assume Mab and Nimue had noticed the change.

  Puck didn’t care. His blade flashed as it sliced the air in aggressively choreographed moves which pushed Llyr backwards. It was a masterclass of swordplay. There were techniques I didn’t know I knew, presumably from my training which lay dormant in my synapses, like the monster that used them now.

  He was silent, there were no replies to Llyr’s teeth-gritted promises of power or his hastily constructed threats. The sword was Puck’s response, swift, sharp and severe.

  I found myself smiling, an enthusiastic observer to the battle, I felt like cheering as Llyr stumbled or lost his rhythm so that he looked suddenly vulnerable.

  Others arrived. Blades swiped and cudgels swung into view, thwarting Puck’s attack, forcing him to defend himself. It was like watching an exciting film through my own blinkered eyes, Puck’s attention zeroed in on one thing, his victim. Everything else was extraneous. Creatures that got in his way were quickly despatched, though the cost was never clear, weapons appeared out of nowhere, sometimes knocking him to one side or on to the ground. Every time, Puck was on his feet in a second.

  Bodies appeared. Blood gushed. Limbs severed.

  Until Llyr’s face appeared in the diminishing crowd of those who aimed to frustrate Puck from his goal.

  A spriggan appeared in front of him, opened its mouth to roar something but Puck’s sword slammed into it, hit hard skull on the other side. It fell to the ground as the sword drew back to slice across another’s chest that took its place. Puck’s boot smashed against the creature’s thigh, knocking it out of the way. A slicing action and a head rolled off shoulders. With both hands on the sword’s grip a vertical chop opened up a ribcage from sternum to the belly. The whole time Puck’s attention remained firmly fixed on his victim who tried to hide behind the dwindling number of defenders.

  Something hit Puck from behind, pushing him forwards, almost losing his balance. Except he turned the stumble into a quick-footed dance, turning to attack the tusk-faced boggart that looked astonished at the recovery. An expression that remained on the creature’s face as its head fell on to the ground.

  Puck whirled around. Fixed his attention on his victim again.

  There was something new about his behaviour I noticed. It wasn’t just the swiftness of movement in positioning himself in front of the other man, it wasn’t the blur of blades as they clashed, echoing around the Abbey walls. It was the focus on his quarry.

  This wasn’t a fight, it was a hunt.

  The sword became a sequence of hypnotic flashes as individual movement was lost so that the eye was drawn into the centre of chaos.

  ‘You’ll. Suffer. For. This.’

  Llyr gasped his last words as exhaustion claimed him.

  His eyes widened and he frowned. Looked down at his chest, at the blade sunk deep into it. Eyes closed. Breath heaved. Stopped short.

  He collapsed.

  Puck stood over him, hilt of sword in one hand. Stomped hard on the perfect face. Bones crunched. Another stomp. More crunching accompanied by squelching noises. He went to stomp again but the effort was too great.

  Puck, his mission complete, receded.

  He handed my body back to me. I wasn’t grateful for the gift. Pain exploded everywhere, I screamed in agony I had never known before. I looked down at my body where my blood merged with that of my victims.

  Just feet away from me lay Oisin’s body. I thought I saw his chest rise and fall, just the shallowest of movements. Nimue was examining him; clinical, calm, dispassionate.

  ‘Save him. Please?’

  It was no more than a croak but she glanced at me.

  ‘And if I do?’

  I wanted to scream at the bitch, he’d saved her life and she demanded reasons. But this was Nimue, she did nothing unless there was gain to made. With my final glimmer of energy, I found the breath to make yet another vow.

  ‘I will serve as your paladin.’

  Her gaze intensified, scrutinised me for any signs of mischief. When she found none, she nodded very slightly.

  ‘I will heal him.’

  I think I may have smiled. Not just because I’d ensured Oisin would live but because I’d fooled Nimue. Death waited. I reached out a hand, ready to be led to wherever he wanted to take me. I didn’t care where. I’d had enough of life. It had taken a long time to find Death but now, at last, I held his hand and I wasn’t letting go.

  Chapter 24 - Epilogue

  There was light.

  It filled the room, blinded me with its brilliance. There was comfort too. Plus, there was no pain. If this was Death, I approved. I sighed with satisfaction.

  ‘He’s awake.’

  I recognised the voice and satisfaction vanished.

  Death had forsaken me. With that realisation came a terrible sense of emptiness and loss. I’d felt his cold grasp and been comforted by it, I’d given in to him like a lover, only to be rejected.

  Brea’s face hovered over me, frowning.

  ‘Finally.’ An accusation by someone kept waiting.

  Her silver hair was longer. She’d lost the unhealthy pallor and the dark circles around her eyes but none of the hostility.

  ‘Thirsty.’r />
  My voice sounded hoarse, my throat burned.

  I got a nod as though she’d expected the request. A glass of water appeared in front of me, I lifted my head towards it and she held it while I drank thirstily. She poured more from a jug on the bedside table and I downed that too and thanked her. She gave me a quick shoulder shrug of indifference.

  Her double appeared on the other side of the bed and smiled at me.

  ‘Welcome back to the land of the living.’

  I had no interest in being in such a place, it offered me nothing. I’d hoped to escape from it and somehow, at the border crossing, I’d been turned back.

  ‘What happened?’

  The twins looked across the bed and held eye contact for a second.

  Suddenly Amelie was in front of me, bustling, busy and business-like, re-arranging pillows and tucking in well-ordered sheets.

  ‘I’ve got soup ready. You must be hungry after all this time.’

  I wasn’t hungry. With my thirst slaked I wasn’t anything. Except alive.

  ‘All this time?’ I croaked.

  My eyes felt heavy and suddenly the effort of being awake overwhelmed me. My eyelids drooped and I let darkness take me, hoping this time it would be final.

  Except it wasn’t. The next time I woke the room was dark. I drank from the glass of water positioned ready for me to reach easily. I was alone. For the first time I became aware of my body, of the injuries healing, of the bandages that covered almost every part of me. It surprised me there wasn’t any pain.

  Instead they brought back memories and the avalanche began.

  Memories of Oisin’s body, covered in his blood, limbs at awkward angles. Memories of my plea to Nimue to heal him.

  Memories of my vow to be her paladin.

  Fuck.

  I’d made that promise expecting them to be the final words of a dying man.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  My eyes burned and tears formed, they rolled down my cheeks in big salty globules. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried. It had to have been as a kid. A vague recollection of a beating from Commander Taranis. There had been so many of them, they all merged into one long punishment. They were silent tears, there was no blubbing or heaving of breath, I cried for the unfairness of everything, of the frustration, the knowledge that I had no escape from this life.