The Dark Levy: Stories of the Nine Worlds (Ten Tears Chronicles - a dark fantasy action adventure Book 1)

by Alaric Longward

  ‘The door?’ Charles laughed drily. ‘How mysterious.’

  I shrugged as I eyed the patch of ground. There, below, was a flat stone the size of a man’s head, apparently natural and uneven. The stone felt out of place on the windy hill, small stones were strewn about it, bearing marks of time and the beatings of heat and rain, but it felt peaceful. Old, sad, and holy and somehow, Ferdan’s mockery made me angry as if he was an enemy disrespecting a bravely fallen hero by pissing on the face of the corpse. I was enraged; fell into it so quickly, so very easily that day, having worked up frustration, and my head hurt dreadfully. I wanted to inflict pain, to be spiteful. I turned to Ferdan, snorted in derision, and his eyes narrowed with a warning. ‘You speak of our old gods, yes? Perhaps they are as real as any other … ’

  Ferdan turned on me in anger, and Father placed a hand on his chest. Charles scowled at him. ‘She is seventeen. She is Christian like you and I. She just has opinions and ideas. You will treat her with respect. And keep your hands off the girls.’

  Ferdan eyed him, grinding his brown teeth together, but eventually he nodded as father removed his large palm. ‘I said the door was closed. That door led to hell. I know there were beings once in our fine world, demons really, who served their selfish needs. Cerunnos, Taranis, Manannan, there are stories glorifying them as gods, but demons they were. These are filthy names reeking of blood, and the druids suffered for their sins, I am sure. Hellfire, at least, was eagerly awaiting them. The pretenders, these gods were but mad spirits. Just like Odin and Thor and such of the Northman, or what the Greeks and Romans worshiped, or the Mayas, the Egyptians. All fools serving evil. You speak of things you know nothing of. We are fortunate to have our true God, the real God, the one creator of all, and not the angry, selfish spirits that run around the cosmos creating havoc. Read the Bible, redhead.’

  I smiled at him like one would to an utter fool. ‘Bible? Yes. I’ve read it. I’m a Christian, like Father said. I go to church. But I’m sure all the ancient religions had as much right to claim …’

  ‘God created man, girl!’ Ferdan spat.

  ‘Which god?’ I said and grinned at my heresy. ‘Look, I’m just saying …’

  ‘Ours!’ he glowered. ‘How dare you! Your soul, girl. Think of your soul!’

  ‘Yours? Were you there? Look, there was a book that said that the spread of Christianity has cost hundreds of millions of lives. Pagans, yes, but lives still. Sometimes, that is just impossible for me to understand. They were innocent lives. Most were. Or are you saying they went to hell and deserved it?’

  ‘Perhaps they did?’ Ferdan growled.

  Dana stepped in. ‘Shann, come on. He is right … ’

  ‘Dana shut the hell up,’ I hissed, and she did, squinting at me in surprise. I was surprised as well. Mother put a hand on her mouth, and I sneered. ‘Come on. Why do we have to listen to this disparaging old fool…’

  Father raised a finger. The wind blew suddenly, bringing moist air from the sea as we stood there silently, breathing hard. Then, after a while, Ferdan spoke, tired, not angry, his eyes looking at me warily. ‘No matter the faults of the Bible, everyone should cherish the message, the good and the generous tales and the lord of hope hidden in the texts. Hundreds of millions died for Jesus? Perhaps. But that is the fault of the men, not of our God. And be there a God or no God out there, I’d rather have a fanciful, tale of good than the evil pretending god bastards trying to flay my soul, drain me of hope and purpose. Your grandmother healed me when I was thirty. Lung issues, nearly died, so I did. I helped her later. We have a bond of trust. I know she speaks about the old things. Aye? I know it. I see her in you. Yet you must be careful. You mock God and, of course, you don’t think he is real. Yet I think you believe in the others.’

  ‘I believe in God, yes. But I believe there is more. And you call this miracle a “he.” A man?’ I sneered. ‘I believe, but I do not know what is the truth. Nobody does.’

  He shook his ragged head. ‘It. Her. Do as you will. I will believe. But do not mention the demons aloud, do not call for them, nor equal our God with him. The Romans came here to kill the heathen druids. They mostly did. And here, the greatest of them died by the swords of the legions. Aye. As willed by God all mighty. With them, the false gods all but disappeared from this world we live in. Few can call them now, even if they might still reach out for us. Some smatterings of evil remain, but not much. The age of Christ truly began that day, here, in Britain, no matter if he ever even existed. His message is a better one than anything before or after it. Beware of the alluring voices these demons sing with, especially the female ones. You, Shannon? Beware your temper, and your interest in such matters, for if I deemed them dead, I meant dead to our happy world. No matter the evil we do, they were worse. You are too interested in these things, I think. You should talk with a priest.’

  Ferdan turned to go, his eyes feverish as he regarded me. He took the winding path down, and I swallowed the words I had been thinking about. Mother shuddered and pulled me around. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Why irritate him more than you already did? He has known you for a decade.’

  I shook myself free. ‘I have disliked him for a decade. I don’t care …’

  Father shook his head at Mother. ‘Mother is right, but I don’t want Ferdan touching you. He is a greasy old sod. All sailors are strange. Dana, you too, stay away from him. Now, let’s enjoy this view and try to behave.’ His eyes glanced my way, but I was unhappy as I gazed at the spectacular view. They enjoyed it, but I still felt unreasonably upset and stared at the place the old fool had claimed the druids died at with their old gods. Odin. Our relative had prayed to him, perhaps. He had been a free man, strong, striding to claim his place in the world by the strength of his ax and his bravery. I shuddered. That was what I needed. An ax and courage to shape me some freedom, to make a place for myself. With Dana? I caught her eye, and she smiled. Yes, perhaps with Dana. Odin. God, all-father, they had called him. The god who demands little but bravery and an attempt at a life well lived.

  Such thoughts were intriguing. Ferdan was right. I believe in God. I did. I hated and loved him, but sometimes I yearned to believe in something that was wild and full of life, not constricting and wrapped in the fear of death. When Grandmother spoke of them, the old ones, I felt close to them. I felt there was something else to this world of ours, something we had forgotten, as if we were husks devoid of soul, just grinding on, forgotten, lost souls. I went to the spot where the druids had supposedly died, kneeled and overturned a small rock by the large one. Here, they had perished, Ferdan said. The old priests, the ones who knew what we had forgotten.

  I felt a need to put my hands out like the druids had likely done, palms up, and eyes closed. Had they truly worked miracles here?

  I loved history and mythology, and so I dug the names of the gods out of the recesses of my memory. ‘God, Odin, Thor, Tiw, Freya, Freyr, Frigg, Sif and the others, hear me. I, Shannon believe in all of you,’ I whispered. ‘If even one of you is real, save me,’ I added and got up unsteadily. I felt a strange tug in my breast, a fluttering feeling of panic, perhaps, but then I thought I had imagined it. Dana was watching me, her face pinched in a curious look, and I knew she had heard.

  CHAPTER 3

  We marched down the hillside, sweaty and itchy, tired to the bone, and got to the valley only after the sun had set. We hiked the severely eroded rubble road for the brick house, and Mother was making plans for a trip to the moors, up in the north where her uncle lived. I loved the thought of such sights. Moors. They were rolling and foggy, seemingly endless as time, shattered by crags and decorated by clear lakes. Dana was humming close to me, and I knew she would smile like the sun if I looked at her. I did not. Instead, I put my hand on hers as we walked in the cooling night. She squeezed it and I answered, happy for a moment. Some drowsy birds were chirping in the dark, mournfully calling out for spouses they likely did not have, or perhaps, just tired of having one. Coming
to elder Shannon’s own road, we passed the finely crafted wooden arches around the ancient rock walls, entwined with vines that emanated the fragrance of jasmine, even in the dark. Then we smelled lamb cawl and knew the dinner was ready, despite Grandmother having had to herd Rose around.

  Beautiful intro: drowsy birds chirping in the dark – love it!

  We came to the door, an oil lamp swinging in the slight breeze, and Dana was strangely allured by it, leaving it swinging even more crazily, and I stopped it as I passed. The door was slightly ajar, and we could hear Elder Shannon singing with a rasping voice as she was setting the plates and Rose was explaining her drawing to her. Probably she had drawn on a wall with ashes, leaving a horrid mess behind. I smirked. Grandmother had a way with her and much more patience than the rest of the family. We went in through a doorway that was crumbling at the edges, the plaster gone from the walls. The pine floorboards creaked as we came in, Dana rushing ahead. ‘Hi, Grandmother! Rose!’ A shriek as our sibling rushed out, and I heard potatoes scattering on the floor. She grinned at Dana, squeezing her ferociously, her long, blonde hair bouncing madly up and down.

  ‘I ate already!’ she said, turned to us and rushed to me. I grabbed her and let her kiss my cheek, and then she went to Mother, who snatched her up. ‘And washed my teeth.’

  ‘You washed your teeth? Not Grandmother?’ she asked with some amusement. ‘How …’

  ‘Yes!’ she piped in.

  ‘I’ll take you up and to bed and wash them one more time, just in case,’ Mother said with a grin.

  ‘No! Not …’

  Grandmother popped her fat face into the foyer. ‘Hi, lovely Dana! Did you enjoy the sights? Rose, go with Mom. Brush the teeth. The powder is in the desk.’ Rose nodded and did go with Mother, singing happily. Grandmother was a miracle. What we could only accomplish by cajoling and begging, often accentuated by a raised voice, she managed with a smile.

  Dana walked to the elder Shannon, grabbing her hand and she was soon constantly chatting about the excellent sights of the afternoon. She called Ferdan an exceptional guide. My brief happiness was gone, and I cursed her under my breath, for my headache was throbbing angrily. Father grabbed my shoulder and pulled me around. ‘Let it be, love. She is not trying to annoy you, she’s just happy.’

  ‘Must have gotten all the damned happy genes in the family,’ I told him savagely.

  ‘Still, let her be happy,’ Father said abrasively. ‘You have been terrible for months and months. Today? The worst day ever. You have the problem, not she.’

  ‘I do,’ I agreed and nodded them away, stumbling with my jacket. ‘But that Ferdan …’

  ‘Shannon!’ Grandmother yelled, wisely interrupting my explosive answer. ‘Come and help us out, dear girl.’ I calmed immediately, and I felt like Rose must feel when she did her magic.

  ‘Sure thing,’ I managed without a smile and went to the kitchen that was simple plaster walls adorned with beautiful if faded azure and red flower paintings. Grandmother smiled at me knowingly, as Dana was chatting amicably. She was still praising old Ferdan’s guidance as if to annoy me and then we carried out a bowl of herb-sprinkled, delicious stew.

  Soon, with Rose sleeping soundly, we ate and Grandmother was listening, occasionally asking questions while smiling. Her face was fat and bloated; most of her body was entirely covered. She was armed with keen, coal-like eyes that seemed to take in everything. I stared at her and she stared at me, and it seemed she was struggling with something, which was unusual since she seemed the most carefree person in the whole world.

  ‘How long are you staying, love?’ she asked Mother when Dana was finally quiet. ‘There will be an exciting market held by the Red Lamb, down in the village next week. Food and ale. Soldiers will be drunk, but there will probably be some good deals to be made. Your grain and my contacts? Cannot lose.’

  Mother was nodding, making calculations in her intelligent, organized head. ‘We sell everything we have to the army as it is, but it might be useful to check the fair out. If the war ends, who knows if they will buy?’

  ‘Napoleon is doomed,’ Father chipped in. ‘We should prepare.’

  ‘Ferdan will set up a table, and I’ll make some kidney pies and tarts …’ Grandmother was saying, and that’s when my head throbbed, my hands twitched with pain. Grandmother’s eyes turned my way, and I swore there was a flash of pity in them.

  They all turned to stare at me. I fixed my eye on Grandmother. ‘Why are you friends with Ferdan? He’s a gross bully. Filthy as a pig. I bet he talks about fish guts, the quality of his farts and the quantity of the ale he guzzles down daily in the Codir’s Tavern.’

  ‘Shann!’ Mother said. ‘That’s enough. Grandmother’s known him for ages. Behave yourself.’

  Grandmother was nodding sagely, while placing a calming hand on Mother’s arm and raising another finger to silence Father. ‘He is a bit coarse, love,’ she confided in me with a kind whisper. ‘A tad fanatic in his old, set ways. He was in the war. Fought in Trafalgar, he did. But he has respect for me, and I for him. You should pay attention to his stories, not his opinions.’

  ‘I liked him fine,’ Dana said. ‘He is nice enough if you don’t …’

  ‘You batted an eye at him,’ I spat. ‘The bastard probably thinks you wish to bed him. He likes to squeeze you, run his filthy fingers over your shoulders, and you purr like a slut.’

  ‘Shannon!’ Father yelled, getting up. ‘What the hell is the matter with you? Can’t you behave? Apologize! Such words ...’

  ‘Ferdan is soo great!’ I mimicked Dana and threw a napkin on her plate.

  Mother shouted: ‘Get up and go!’

  I did get up, not looking at their eyes. I felt near unquenchable rage swelling inside. I tried, hoped to stem the tide and to apologize, but I could not. ‘I’m just so sick and damned tired of this crap. I wish someone died so we could stop the polite shit talking and endure sorrow in silence for a change!’

  ‘If you do not like our happiness, go to bed,’ Mother told me thinly, barely keeping her tone under control. ‘Will do well for you. And us.’

  ‘You know, Mother. I never liked you,’ I said and saw that hurt like a cut by a knife.

  ‘Shannon,’ Father said softly, perhaps afraid I would say a similar, terrible thing of him. ‘Please …’

  I shuddered, rubbed my face and took a staggering step away. ‘I’ll sleep alone, so take Dana with you, and perhaps Ferdan,’ I said, while Dana was quiet, her eyes appraising me carefully, in total control of her pretty self. My eyes scoured Mother, who did not look at me, but at Grandmother, and I think she nodded at her. That was strange, and I felt robbed as they ignored me. I stormed up the stairs and ran to the sparsely furnished guest room. I pushed open the creaky window, the moonlight filling the room with its pale light, and curled up on the bed without undressing. I felt sick, and I cried, and I did not understand what was wrong with me. I heard them laughing downstairs, content and happy, and that made me feel even more terrible. A part of me wanted to go and apologize to Mother and Dana, to all of them really, but I could not for it was only a minuscule part of me.

  I fell into sleep, sort of, full of nightmares.

  At some point in the night, an owl hooted outside the window. I woke up with a breathless startle; my head throbbing painfully. I gazed at the squat bird that took off from a dark bough, hooting again as it went away in search of a rodent. I massaged my head and wondered if I had a stroke. I could not lie still, or breathe properly. I sat up in a panic, feeling nauseous and climbed out of the bed, stumbling in the dark for the door. I opened the heavy thing, yearning for cool water. I made my way to the end of the hallway, cursing softly in pain and fear. I stumbled downstairs, struggled to the kitchen. There was no hot water to be had, but I wanted none. I found a bowl of water, lathered my face with the blissful, chilly drizzle, enjoying every second of the beautiful relief.

  It was only a momentary relief, for the insidious stabbing pain conquered t
he fresh pleasure of the water and came back with a renewed force. It all reminded me of the shitty evening two years before, the night I had tried to kill myself. Judging by the furious pain, this bout was going to be terrible.

  I leaned down, whimpering, vomiting briefly. I moaned and put my face against a wall, where there was a tall mirror and I stood there, eyeing myself. I thought I looked like a lost ghost, a dreadful stranger. My mouth distorted into a gaping maw, my eyes were sinking into my skull, and the sound that came out of my terrified mouth was not of this world, but rather like a whisper from a deep well. That was the face I had seen in the window that day I had tried to kill myself. I remembered it then. I stared at the mirror in the near dark while trying to close my mouth, but instead it opened wider, and I sobbed in terror. I could neither stop the sound coming from the impossibly open maw nor look away.

  Then, a grave-cold hand grabbed me and dragged me away from the mirror, and guided me out the door. In the haze of pain, I stared at the figure. Its great bulk was moving cumbersomely, yet with energetic purpose. I let her guide me for it was Elder Shannon, her eyes betraying deep worry. She gazed at my face, she was wondering at my pain, and I swear there was a bout of panic in that look. She was pale, very pale, and her fear made me even more terrified. We stumbled through the paths in the woods, moist grass wetting my dress to the knees and then suddenly we stopped. She spoke to me kindly as we sat on a mossy rock with a light stream running near.

  Birds, especially some nightjars with their churring calls were still active in the woods. The crashing ocean waves could be heard across the hills and woods as Grandmother soothed my ears with a willow voice of comfort. She spoke to me in the language of the old people. ‘Bydd yn iawn, cariad,’ she said easily, stroking my hair, pulling me onto her lap. There was no warmth in me, or in her. Her fingers were ice cold in the night as my wondering mind tried to grasp the meaning of her words until I got it. It will be all right, indeed.