The Forever Man: Unicorn

by Craig Zerf

  The council stood and bowed as they filed out, leaving the Fair-Folk commander alone.

  ***

  There were six of them, including the twins, Donny and Lonny, ex-SBS soldier Jack Olsen and three people from Axels Abbey. Paul Jansen, Patrick Smith and Betty Parker.

  At first Jack had been a little reticent about Axel assigning Betty to their small elite group but the captain had insisted. And she had proved to be a more than worthy companion. Tough, quiet and an excellent medic,

  she pulled her own weight and more.

  Over the last couple of months the two teenage brothers had grown up. Life in the shadows, being constantly on edge and always at war had honed their personalities to an edge. They communicated in short, spare sentences. Their eyes had gained the thousand-yard stare of veterans. But they still joked and laughed. They had lost their innocence but not their humanity.

  Jack was the same as he had ever been. Sharp witted, dry and unforgiving. The other new boys, Paul and Patrick, had been born pre-pulse but were only in their mid twenties. Both at the peak of physical fitness. Jack was in no doubt that, had they been his age, they would both have qualified for either the SAS or SBS. Together the six of them were a formidable team.

  The day before, they had flooded a chine clay mine in Cornwall. The clay was essential for making the birthing and development pods and baths for the Orcs and any disruption to clay production was high on Jack’s list.

  The mines were worked by humans so any sabotage had to take place at night so as not to do any physical harm to the laborers.

  Flooding a pit mine back in the old days of explosives and electronic detonators would have been a relatively simple task. Nowadays, however, it took a lot more patience and skill.

  Fortunately, clay mining uses an inordinate amount of water, so vast dams had been built above the level of the pits to provide water under pressure to turn the clay into a slurry ready for transportation to the drying troughs. The team had spent the week before sawing all of the retaining logs for the dam walls half way through. Working in the pitch black of night with wood saws and copious quantities of oil to deaden the sound of sawing. On the seventh night they had sneaked a team of dray horses from the stables, killing both Orc guards as they did so. Then they had attached ropes to the weakened timbers and used the horses to simply pull the dam walls down.

  The results had been spectacular. Millions of tons of water had cascaded into the open pits, smashing the troughs and gangways and ladders and filling the pits to the top, rendering them useless for the foreseeable future.

  The team had followed up by burning the stables and releasing all of the horses into the wild.

  They probably could have killed more Orcs if they had burned down the barracks. Especially if they had nailed the main doors shut beforehand.

  However, Axel had been very strict on that point. Their job was to sabotage. They were to keep loss of life to a minimum. They were treading a fine line. They wanted to create maximum disturbance, but not to spur the Fair-Folk into full mobilization.

  So they burned, they released cattle, they poisoned wells and then left notes saying that the water was poisoned, forcing the Fair-Folk to have new wells dug. They flooded mines and stole food and weapons. But they kept killing to a minimum. Even though they knew that the same rules would not apply to them in return.

  If they were captured it would be the rope. A very public hanging and a shallow grave.

  They had been out in the field for almost a month now and Jack was taking them back to the Abbey for some well-earned R&R.

  Soft beds, hot water, plentiful food and unlimited quantities of alcohol.

  And then, after a week of rest, they would be back on the road again. Doing what they did best.

  Chapter 15

  Nathaniel and his troops had set up camp on a flat field next to a large steam that ran strong and clear with ample water. Carrig had provided a small herd of goats that his men had dressed and spitted over a large fire. They had combined this with their own rations to provide a good solid meal for all.

  The ex-marquees had been placed in the town jail and Nathaniel and Carrig had spent much of the evening visiting ranking officers and various townsfolk of note explaining the new status quo.

  The military men were happy and in agreement, something that convinced Nathaniel that he had made the correct decision.

  On the whole, the town noteworthies were also on the same page. One or two voiced concerns and Carrig considered them and allayed them. Two men, the town treasurer and the ex-marquees' cousin, the High Lord O’Shea were both vociferous and threatening in their disagreement, both seeming to believe that, if there was to be a change of leadership, it should fall to them.

  Before the evening was out they were both keeping the ex-marquees company.

  The next morning Nathaniel, Tad and The Ten were up before sunrise to met with Carrig and two of his ranking officers, colonel Liam Brogan and colonel Oisin Riely.

  It was Carrig’s plan to show The Forever Man the enemy.

  The Desolaters.

  The platoon left the camp on foot. Nathaniel’s two hundred men plus another two hundred men under the direct command of Carrig, the new marquees. Nathaniel, Tad and Carrig marched in the van of the formation but Nathaniel’s men marched at the rear, giving way to the locals with their local experience.

  They marched five abreast and the long column of golden shields shone in the rising sunlight like the scales of a many-legged beast of legend. Like England and Scotland, the Irish forests had flourished and the land was thick with majestic Ash, Oak, Yew and Elm.

  Bird life was plentiful and Nathaniel noticed many massive wild boars flitting through the shadows, their tusks glistening with saliva, skin bristling with short hard tufts of hair.

  Tad noticed a track on the side of the trail and broke ranks to look at it.

  ‘Cat?’ He questioned Carrig.

  ‘Puma,’ answered the Irishman. ‘No idea where they came from. There have ever been rumors of brown Puma living in this part of Ireland and it seems as though they were correct. Now many of them roam freely. We lose a lot of sheep and goats to them but they are canny creatures. Impossible to trap and very difficult to hunt down. The best way to keep them at bay is by using dogs. Lots of dogs.’

  At midday the platoon stopped for a quick trail lunch of water and dried rations. Desiccated fruits and leather-hard cured meat. After twenty minutes they were once again on the march.

  ‘Where exactly are we going?’ Enquired Nathaniel.

  ‘Nowhere specific,’ answered Carrig. ‘I merely want you to see evidence of the Desolaters. As long as we continue heading in this direction we will come up against them. They will attack, we will drive them off.’

  Even as Carrig was talking Nathaniel noticed a subtle change in the atmosphere. It had become quiet. Unnaturally so. No bird song, no susurration of bugs and beetles. Even the wind had dropped, leaving the leaves on the trees still and silent.

  Carrig raised his right hand above his head, his fist clenched. The platoon stamped to a halt.

  ‘They’re coming,’ he said to Nathaniel, his voice rough with suppressed fear. ‘Shield wall,’ he shouted to his troops. ‘Three deep. Move it.’ The Irishmen ran to position, lining up, linking their golden shields and laying their long spears over the top of them. ‘Tell your men to take the left flank,’ said Carrig.

  Nathaniel nodded and ran to the left. ‘Form up on me,’ he commanded his warriors. ‘Shield wall, two deep on the left flank.’

  Although the men of the Free State were primarily cavalry, they had also trained intensively for hand-to-hand combat and they maneuvered into position with grace and purpose.

  ‘Steady men,’ shouted out Carrig. ‘Keep your shields high. You need to keep gold between them and us at all times. Stab hard and fast. Remember, when they go down they aren’t out. Keep stabbing them until they fade away. If the man next to you succumbs to the Desolation and attacks
you, do not hesitate to slay him. He is no longer your friend. He has been Desolated and he will destroy you unless you kill him. Good luck, people.’

  ‘This sounds like it’s gonna be fun,’ mumbled Tad to the marine.

  ‘Stick with me,’ said Nathaniel. ‘No way some non-human is going to get the best of me. Hooah!’

  ‘Hooah!’ Shouted the rest of Nathaniel’s men.

  And the Desolators attacked. They flowed out of the forest in their hundreds. Wraith-like and shadowy, their maws open impossibly wide to expose row upon row of shark teeth. As they came they screamed, a high-pitched sound that set all on edge and was painful to hear.

  Then the Desolation hit them. A wave of unadulterated emotion. Terror, loathing, disgust and despair all rolled into one gigantic, all consuming tsunami of bottomless despair and hatred. Hatred of oneself, of the world, of those around you. Of the very air that you were breathing and the light that you saw. Depression.

  Two of Nathaniel’s men on his right attacked each other. Two friends wordlessly hacking at each other with a fury born of absolute hatred. All down the line men let their shields drop to the floor and tore their hair from their heads, screaming and ululating in terror and horror.

  Then the Desolators struck them physically. Their slightness of build and apparent lack of substance was belied by the strength of their blows. They carried no weapons but fought with fist and tooth, bludgeoning soldiers into senselessness and tearing their throats out with rows of razor-sharp canines.

  Nathaniel struggled to clear his mind, fighting against the surfeit of horror and hopelessness that he felt.

  ‘Stop fighting,’ said a voice in his head. ‘They feed off your fear. Your anger.’

  ‘Who is this?’ Thought Nathaniel.

  ‘That is not important. Relax your mind. Let their hatred flow around you like a rock in a stream. Do not fight it. Make no attempt to stem the tide. Leave it. Ignore it.’

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ said Nathaniel as he swung his axe at a wraith, surprising himself with the solid feel as it struck.

  Next to The Forever Man, Tad fought like an automaton. The relatively large size of his golden shield protected him more thoroughly so he was less affected by the Desolation. He was stepping forward, slipping his shield briefly to one side, stabbing upwards and repeating. All around him Desolaters were falling to the floor and then fading to nothingness as he delivered the coups de grace.

  Carrig’s men were faring well, they had been exposed to this before and they had kept their shields high and tight. Two or three of them had been taken down by their own men as they turned on each other, and perhaps ten by the Desolators.

  Nathaniel’s men, however, were not faring well at all. They had not fully appreciated the need to keep the shields high. They had approached the battle in the same way that they would have approached an Orc or goblin or even human opponent. This was different. In fact fully ten of them had actually slain each other and another twenty had gone down under the ravening of the Desolators.

  Nathaniel swung has axe again, fear driving his arm.

  ‘Stop,’ repeated the voice. ‘Be calm. Think.’

  The voice shimmered in The Forever Man’s head like a shaft of light. And Nathaniel picked his golden shield up high to protect himself and he obeyed the voice. He purged his mind of anger and retribution. He stood solidly, feet planted securely on the earth. Then he sheathed his axe.

  He could still sense the anger and the fear and the horror all around him but it no longer affected him. It rushed by him like wind over a mountain.

  ‘Good,’ encouraged the voice. ‘Now, pull in the power of the pulse light. Fill yourself with it.’

  Nathaniel did as he was told, drawing in power like a deep breath. Filling his very essence with it.

  ‘Now,’ continued the voice. ‘Do this…’

  A series of complex images flashed through the marine's mind. A confusing welter of facts and information. He struggled to keep up. To understand what was being imparted to him.

  ‘Stop struggling. You know this. You are The Forever man. This is knowledge that you have always had, that you will always have. I am merely reminding you.’

  And then, in an instant, Nathaniel knew that the voice was correct. He knew what to do.

  The Forever Man raised his hands high and, with a gesture, unleashed untold power.

  Shafts of lightning flashed overhead, crackling across the sky with forks of blue-white fire. Without warning, they started to strike the ground. First singularly and then in increasing numbers. Hundreds and then thousands of individual lightning strikes marched across the field, moving in from behind the Desolators like a rampaging army of heavenly fire.

  The ragged bolts of plasma leapt from wraith to wraith and, as each Desolator was touched by the fire, they simply exploded in a welter of flame and smoke, screaming in absolute agony. Fear was an emotion that had never affected them before, but now it overcame them and they tried, desperately, to escape. But there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. The lightning skittered and scattered across the vast ranks of the Desolators, killing time and time again without pause nor mercy.

  The ranks of human soldiers simply stood still and watched, mouths slack and eyes wide with shock and awe.

  Black smoke boiled out from the ground around Nathaniel’s feet and the air reeked of brimstone.

  Then the lightning stopped as abruptly as it had started and The Forever Man slowly sank to his knees in utter exhaustion. Just before he passed out he saw, in his mind, a fleeting glimpse of a creature of myth and legend.

  Blindingly white hide with eyes as deep as oceans and a single horn of coruscating light.

  Unicorn.

  Chapter 16

  Milly lived by herself in a small thatched cottage that Nathaniel had organized for her. It was close to a stream, had a good fireplace and Nathaniel had ensured that she always had a ready supply of firewood, food and water.

  In return she helped the local children with their lessons. Although she had received very little formal schooling, being very young when the pulse had struck, she had been involved with figures and bookkeeping when she was a Worthy Human under the Fair-Folk, in charge of her district. So she taught figures to the children. Basic math and the practical uses thereof.

  She was often alone. But more than that, she was lonely. Although no one actually disliked Milly she was not an easy person to like. Aloof and moody, she was prone to sinking into dark depressions, followed by shiny happy moments of upbeat joyfulness that was impossible to sustain for any length of time.

  Most of her idle moments were full of thoughts of Nathaniel. Some of them were merely practical ones, should she bake him a pie? Make him a new jacket? Help him with his admin work?

  Other thoughts were less than practical and verged on fantasy. Herself and The Forever Man being married and her being crowned Queen. The names of the children that they would have and the castle that Nathaniel would build for her.

  Others thoughts were darker but no less fantastical. What she would do if Nathaniel spurned her? The people that she would kill, the buildings that she would burn. Retribution. But these dark imaginings would fill her with guilt and she would retreat into herself for days on end. Hiding from all.

  And the times that Nathaniel was away were the worst. Like now. Once again he had deserted her. Run away up north to follow some rumor involving bandits from across the sea or such what.

  Milly smiled to herself. She wasn’t overly worried. He would be back soon and she would take care of him. She had just finished sewing a new dress. Tissue thin green cotton, low cut. She would talk to him and cook for him and, finally, she would take him up to his room and they would be one. She could wait. Patience was a virtue that she had spent much time cultivating.

  She hummed a song to herself as she cogitated. It was a favorite of Nathaniel’s. Milly was too young to know it, but the song was by an old time band called The Beatles. She didn’t know the wo
rds or the name of the song, only the melody.

  And so Milly hummed to herself and thought her thoughts of love and abandonment.

  “Look out Helter Skelter

  She’s coming down fast

  Yes she is

  Yes she is coming down fast”

  Chapter 17

  Nathaniel spluttered and shook his head as he sat up, cold water streaming from his face and hair.

  ‘Oh good,’ said Tad. ‘You’re awake.’

  ‘That’s freezing,’ complained the marine.

  ‘Yeah well, had to make sure that you woke up. One never knows what’s going to happen when you pass out. You could go back to the pixies for all that I know. Best to get you up and about as soon as possible.’

  ‘It doesn’t work that way,’ said Nathaniel. ‘And it’s Picts, not pixies.’

  'Whatever,’ shrugged Tad. ‘Didn’t want to take any chances.’

  The marine rose slowly and painfully to his feet and looked around. Soldiers were taking care of each other, binding wounds, setting bones. Some more experienced ones were helping to stitch deeper cuts and lacerations. Some simply lay on their backs, resting. Others stood staring blankly. Some laughed. Some talked. Some wept softly over a friend’s dead body.