by Craig Zerf
The crowd that had followed the short rotund official down to the beach all knelt in supplication to their king.
Then one spoke out. ‘Apologies, my king,’ he said. ‘We had no idea it was you. We’ve never actually seen you before. In fact, some weren’t even sure if you existed.’
‘Well, at least we can put a stop to that particular argument then,’ said Nathaniel. ‘I definitely exist. Now, what’s your name?’
The man stood up. ‘Duncan Manning, sire. I’m the blacksmith.’
‘Well, Duncan Manning. Who was that?’ Asked Nathaniel, pointing at the prostrate fat man.
‘That was aldermen Thomas, sire. Town leader.’
‘Not anymore,’ said Nathaniel. ‘He is now Thomas the town fool and you, Duncan Manning, are the town alderman with all duties and privileges that go with that position.’
The man bowed. ‘Thank you, my king. I won’t let you down.’
‘Good. Now, your first official duty is to take us to the town inn, bring doctors to treat all of the wounded, and that includes the raiders, and provide us all with food and drink. Your second duty is to organize someone to take care of the town fool. See that he doesn’t choke to death on his own blood or something. Okay?’
The new alderman nodded and turned to immediately start giving orders. Another man approached Nathaniel. ‘Please follow me, sire,’ he said. ‘I shall show all to the inn.’
***
Nathaniel took another swig of mead, held it in his mouth for a second and then swallowed.
‘Good stuff this,’ he said as he held his mug up for more.
A young woman scuttled over with a jug and refilled for him, curtsying frantically as she did so.
‘So, Carrig,’ said Nathaniel. ‘Talk to me. Tell me, am I correct in assuming that you lot come from Ireland?’
Carrig nodded his affirmation.
‘So,’ continued the marine. ‘Why the raiding? Seems a bloody inefficient way to collect goods and supplies. I mean, you’ve got the whole of Ireland to scavenge from and, if your rate of attrition was similar to ours then there must be more than enough of everything to go around.’
Carrig looked ill at ease. Uncomfortable with what he was about to say. Eventually he simply took a deep breath and started. ‘Initially, sire, there was enough to go around. And more than enough. In the first year I’d say that we lost close to ninety percent of the population. Maybe even a little more. But those who survived began to claw their way back. After the initial waves of lawlessness, people like the marquees of Donegall, men who were used to power and comfortable with leading, banded people together. Stamped out violent crime and started farming collectives. Times were harsh but no one starved and crime became virtually non-existent. And then…’
Carrig paused and his eyes took on a hunted look, darting from side to side as if, even the thought of what he was about to talk about filled him with fear. Or perhaps not fear, more like, trepidation.
‘Carry on, man,’ prompted Nathaniel. ‘I need to know.’
‘Do you know the standing stones at Carroareagh?’ Questioned Carrig.
‘No,’ responded Nathaniel. ‘Why, is it important?’
Carrig shrugged. ‘It gives a geographical point to the story but never mind. The thing is, some ten years after the pulse-light something started to happen around the stone circle at Carroareagh,’ again Carrig hesitated.
‘Carry on,’ insisted Nathaniel. ‘And be not embarrassed if what you are about to reveal seems less than believable. I can assure you, since the pulse we have all experienced our share of the bizarre.’
‘It’s not that,’ continued Carrig. ‘It’s simply so hard to explain. You see, we started getting reports of disturbances. Strange happenings. People murdering their entire families. Mothers setting their children to flame and laughing whilst they did so. Fathers raping daughters, brothers killing sisters, cows attacking other cows and feasting on their flesh. Stories of absolute horror and bedlam.’
The Irishman paused while he took a drink of mead. Nathaniel noticed that the warriors hand shook slightly, such was the strength of his emotions that the telling of his story evoked.
‘The marquees commanded a group of twenty warriors to investigate. I was one of them. Bear in mind, this was some twelve years ago so I was still a junior, not an officer like I am today. We traveled on horseback to the area of Carroareagh and we were but a mile from the standing stones themselves when we first saw evidence. Whole villages burned to the ground. Bodies torn limb from limb.
That late afternoon we came across the first survivor. A woman, late forties I would guess. She stood in the middle of a small village, totally naked. Covered in blood and excrement. Her eyes…’
Carrig shuddered. ‘Her eyes were like windows into hell. As soon as she saw us, she attacked. Like a ravening beast, she was. Her strength was such that she pulled our captain’s horse to the ground and, before we could intervene, she had ripped his head from his shoulders. We ran her through with our lances but even then she took a while to die, all the time screaming and cursing us.
We wrapped the captain’s body and head in blankets and strapped him to his horse, then we continued in the direction of the stones. After another few minutes of riding we saw them.
Not human nor animal were they. Although their basic shape was humanoid. More shadow than flesh, they stood as high as a man but they were almost transparent. And thin as a wraith. The only part of them that was easy to see were their teeth. Their mouths unusually large and full of shark-like rows of canines.
But that was not what made them so dangerous. No. It was their ability to enter the human mind and instantly drive from it any semblance of goodness or sanity. As soon as we saw them we experienced waves of debilitating nausea and then, almost as one, we turned on each other. Friend against friend, brother against brother, soldier against officer.
Someone struck me on the head and I passed out. When I awoke, the sun had gone down and night had fallen. Around me lay the corpses of my compatriots. Every one was dead. I can only assume that they had ignored me, mistaking my unconscious form as death. Even the horses had experienced the terrible madness that had overcome us all. They had turned on each other, kicking and biting and killing.’
Carrig shook his head, as if trying to drive the memories from his mind.
‘I walked home. It took me three days and, when I finally got there and reported to the marquees, he did not believe me. The next day he sent another detachment out. Not one returned.’
Nathaniel stood up and fetched a jug of mead, filling Carrig’s mug before he sat down again.
‘There was nothing that we could do against them. They came to be called The Desolaters and, over the coming years they spread like the vilest of cancers, eating up both the land and the people. They took the whole of Ireland from the lake Lough Neagh southwards. And we were forced onto the northeastern coastlines from Ballycastle to Kilkeel.’
‘How is it that any of you have survived?’ Asked Nathaniel.
‘At first we ran. We hid. But then we decided that it was fight or die. After time we learned. They fear flame. They burn like kindling. They can be cut with sharp steel. But, most importantly, a wall of gold weakens their Desolation powers. Presented with a golden shield wall their power is lessened to such and extent that a well trained and determined group of warriors can get in amongst them. In fact, to fight without the protection of gold would be madness.
That left us with only two problems; firstly, there is only a very limited amount of gold and, secondly, even with that advantage, they are incredibly hard to defeat. Now we keep our small strip of coastline and they control the rest of my beloved Ireland. So, over time we decided to form raiding parties and pillage like the Vikings of old. We had little other choice given the lack of mineral recourses and such left available to us.’
‘For God’s sake,’ exclaimed Nathaniel. ‘Why did you not simply send a delegation asking for help? Or why didn't you simply leave Irel
and?’
Carrig smiled wryly. ‘Actually, we did try. Some eight years ago. We sent two ice skimmers out. Neither came back. It took us a couple more years to perfect our designs and then we sent another two. One in this direction and one further up the coast, the other side of Hadrian’s Wall. That one came back. And they had the direst of tales to tell. They claim that they were attacked by creatures that could only be described as Orcs. Grey-skinned, well-armed and ferocious in combat. They saw no sign of any human beings. We decided that the United Kingdom had experienced a similar fate to our own and had been taken over by alien creatures. It was only after a few more years, when we started to become really desperate, that we began to send explorers out once again. The raids are the results of that.’
Carrig took a deep breath. ‘If it counts for anything…I am sorry. Men do strange things in desperate times.’
‘A sad story well told,’ said Nathaniel. ‘Nevertheless, something has to be done about this. Tomorrow two thousand of my cavalry will be arriving. I will select one hundred and seventy men to accompany The Ten and I and we shall set forth to see this marquees of yours. I think that we need to talk. You shall come with and I need you to select one of each of your men to be in each boat. I have no time to train my men in their use. I want you to know, Carrig, that this is a peaceful mission. I simply want to bring and end to the raids and I see no reason why we need to go to war. As the last of very few humans left we should all work together.’
‘I agree,’ said Carrig. ‘Unfortunately, you will find the marquees is rather a strange man. Obsessed with his rank and power. I am not sure how he will react.’
‘Carrig,’ continued Nathaniel. ‘Never mistake my friendly attitude for one of weakness. If the marquees defies me then I shall destroy him and his people, your people, utterly and without mercy. You saw how easily a mere handful of us defeated almost two hundred of your best. Imagine what two thousand can achieve. He will listen to reason or he shall be cut down.’
The Irishman nodded. ‘Sire,’ he said. ‘May I ask a question now?’
Nathaniel nodded.
‘When your men attacked us…that lightning bolt…?’
The marine nodded.
‘How?’ Asked Carrig.
Without saying anything Nathaniel held out his empty hand, palm up. And then a ball of incandescent fire appeared above it, the heat so hot that all around had to pull back.
Carrig went pale.
Chapter 12
Orc sergeant Kob was in the Free State. As it happened, he had found it fairly simple to enter.
After a few days of studying the actual wall from a distance, he had concluded that there was no way through it or over it. So that left the choice of under or around. He had chosen around.
Then he had simply waited until spring tide, waded out into the ice-choked sea and walked around the wall. It hadn’t been easy but Orcs were tough and almost impervious to the cold, so he had made it.
Also, he was confident that he could achieve the same infiltration with a small group. Maybe four or five, no more. Of course he was now stuck inside the Free State for two weeks, until the next spring tide, but that didn’t bother him. He had a lot of work to do.
Kob spent the following two weeks working mainly at night. Hiding in the day. Using the vast forests and the mountain grottos to secret himself during the daylight hours and then scouting, carefully and thoroughly for the rest of the time.
He made detailed maps, took note of any major, and even many minor, happenings. He noted who lived where and guesstimated the sizes and importance of any villages and military depots that he came across.
All in all, he did a very un-orclike reconnaissance, showing deep insight and a natural grasp of both politics and tactics.
And then, after two weeks, at the depth of the next spring tide, he ghosted back through the icy seas and headed back to his Fair-Folk masters to impart his newfound knowledge.
***
The young man was officially named Michael Campbell Junior Junior. His father was Michael Campbell Junior and his grandfather was simply Michael Campbell.
But all called him JJ. His father was Junior and the grandfather was mister Campbell to all.
JJ had been born three years before the pulse into a family that owned a chain of motor garages that had been in the family since 1901 when there were only 900 cars on the roads and the bulk of their work was done on agricultural motors. As a result, the family had lost, overnight, almost one hundred and fifty years of tradition and knowledge.
Undeterred the Campbell family, particularly Junior and mister, decided to specialize in the next big thing. And they decided that the next big thing would be the ability to hunt and gather food. As a result, the three Campbell males were now counted as the best fieldsmen in the Free State. Their hunting skills were second to none and, between the three of them, they could name, find and cook, or utilize in some fashion, just about any wild spice or food-type that grew.
Like many professional outdoorsmen they were taciturn by nature, hard working, tough and honest. It was widely accepted that a Campbell’s word was his bond.
But, as JJ stared at what he saw in front of him the first thing that came to his mind was – there is no way that anyone is going to believe me.
He had been hunting for venison and, as was often his custom, he had ventured on the other side of the wall. Some species of game were more plentiful on the Fair-Folk side and thus easier to hunt. He had been tracking a large roe deer when he had come across a set of tracks that he had never seen. There were similar to bird tracks but were far too large. Human child sized. Also, the animal was too heavy to be any member of the avian family that he had ever seen before. He had heard tales of African Ostriches weighing in at almost 300 pounds but the largest bird that he had ever come across was the Great Bustard at almost four feet tall and weighing 80 pounds. Whatever this bird was, JJ figured it to weigh about 100 pounds and stand at four or five feet in height, judging from the length of its stride.
Regardless, he had followed the lone set of tracks, keeping under cover and ensuring that he walked slowly and silently.
After twenty minutes of tracking he had come across the rest of them.
They were not birds.
They were not people.
They were…bird-people?
JJ watched them from the shadows. It was a group of six. They appeared to be adult males, between four and five feet in height. Humanoid in appearance, clawed bird-like feet, normal arms with taloned fingers. He noted that, unlike humans, they had only two fingers and a thumb.
They were painfully thin, but that appeared to be by design and not due to starvation. Their musculature showed like steel cables under their sin and there was not an ounce of body fat. Likewise, their bones appeared to be much finer than a human.
Their faces were small and triangular in shape. They did not have beaks, as such, but their jaws did protrude forward and their teeth were a row of needle sharp fangs.
But the thing that made them stand out the most were their wings. At least ten foot in span, they looked exactly like a bats'. In fact, the more that JJ studied the creatures the more bat-like he found them. In his mind he christened them bat-people.
They were sitting around a fire and were clad only in rough spun loincloths. Several small game animals, rabbits and pigeon were spitted over the flames and the bat-people squatted close to the warmth, their wings wrapped around their torsos when they were at rest. Like cocoons of finest leather.
They were communicating via a series of chirps and low whistles. Almost birdlike in quality but less musical.
JJ was about to slip away when he realized that he could understand what they were saying. Not in any detail, but the general gist of the conversation.
They were happy that game was plentiful. They found the weather to be colder than they were used to. There were many more of them scattered about the forest. They had no idea where they were in either time of spa
ce.
And finally, they were more than relieved at having escaped the enemy. When JJ heard, or more closely, perceived, the mention of an enemy, he paid closer attention. However, he could glean little more from his rudimentary understanding of their conversations apart from; the enemy was ruthless, plentiful and was referred to as either The Enemy or the Annihilators.
After a while he also learned that the bat people called themselves Vandals. Not wanting to take any chance of being discovered, JJ slipped backwards into the trees and left, heading back to the wall and the Free State, away to tell his father what he had seen.
***
Time does not run in a linear fashion. That particular concept is a man made concept governed by our ego and our desperate need to quantify and control. Man has come up with concepts of time ranging from time-as-a-forth-dimension, through to the unbelievably complicated concepts of super-string theory and time-as-an-eleven-dimensional-construct. But all of these theories are simply mankind attempting to bottle time and eke it out in understandable, controllable increments. We may as well try to bottle a thunderstorm.
Time is unquantifiable. It happens all at once. Everything that has ever happened, that ever will happen and that ever might happen, is all taking place at the exact same concurrent time. To effect the past will affect the future and, conversely, to affect the future will effect the past.
Thus the Unicorn stood in the center of the confluence of ley lines next to the standing stones circle of Stonehenge and sorted through the nodes of time around it. Slicing parcels of it into usable sizes and extrapolating them into possible outcomes and effects.
The Forever Man was in danger. He was always in danger. But, at the moment, it was not the correct time for the Unicorn to help. It was too early.
And time spooled out in all directions at once, bringing with it the beginning and the end of all that we shall ever know.
Chapter 13