The Forever Man: Unicorn

by Craig Zerf

  ‘Hey,’ said Peter. ‘What’s that?’

  He pointed at what appeared to be a bundle of red and white rags piled up in a small depression in the ground. The three of them changed course and walked over to the object. As they got closer it became obvious that it wasn’t a pile of rags. It was, in fact, the left over remains of a sheep’s carcass. But the animal had been torn to shreds. Blood was also scattered about the remains in a fine spray, like a myriad of tiny red jewels in the snow.

  ‘Must be wolves,’ said Gareth.

  Tad shook his head. ‘No ways. Men did this. Look,’ he pointed at a wound that ran across the sheep’s skull. It had been split in twain with a blow from a sharp blade. ‘Sword strike,’ continued the little big man. ‘Also here, and here.’ He showed where the legs had been sliced off.

  ‘What about this?’ Asked Gareth, as he looked at a gaping hole that had been torn in the sheep’s stomach. It was obvious that something with large jaws had torn open the abdominal cavity and pulled the internal organs out.

  ‘Maybe wolves stripped the body after the men had killed it,’ ventured Peter.

  Tad shook his head. ‘No wolf tracks.’

  The three of them scouted the ground, lifting leaves and checking out broken twigs and other signs.

  ‘No human tracks either,’ said Gareth. ‘This doesn’t make any sense.’

  Tad pointed at a series of marks in the snow. ‘What are those?’

  They all peered closely at the series of criss-crossed lines that were spread out around the body.

  Gareth shrugged. ‘No track that I’ve ever seen. Looks like someone made patterns with a handful of sticks. Very strange.’

  ‘Well, come on,’ said Tad. ‘Let’s keep to the task at hand. The Vandal’s tracks lead that way.’ He stood up from his kneeling position and set off after the Vandals. Gareth and Peter followed.

  'This is fun,' quipped Gareth.

  'Immense,' agreed Peter. 'In fact I haven't had so much fun since I last tracked down a group of unknown, potentially vicious, flying alien creatures.'

  'With any luck they'll breath fire as well,' enthused Gareth.

  'Just peachy.' Added Peter.

  'Shut it, guys,' ordered Tad. 'You're not half as humorous as you seem to think.'

  'Cruel master,' stage whispered Gareth. 'Not appreciate Peter and Gareth's keen sense of wit.'

  Tad shook his head in mock weariness and they plodded on.

  The going was slow with lots of stopping and checking and retracing their steps. They stopped next to a steam at lunchtime, eating some dried meat, hunks of cheese and apples. They fed the horses some oats and encouraged them to drink their full from the icy stream.

  Tad stamped his feet and rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm up and they stated on their way again. They followed the intermittent tracks through a thick copse of trees and over a small knoll. As they broached the knoll they were greeted with a sight that froze them to the spot in horror.

  The entire area was covered in blood and flesh and fur. Tattered shreds of meat hung from the lowered boughs of some of the trees. Jagged ends of broken bones poked out from the snow and pools of frozen blood lay in puddles of death across the clearing.

  Pete and Gareth drew their swords at the same time and, like magik, a pair of knives appeared in Tad’s hands, ready to throw.

  With Tad at the front, the three formed a V and walked slowly forward, picking their steps carefully to avoid the blood and gore. It took less than a minute to ascertain that the ragged remains scattered about the clearing were not human, nevertheless, the sight was still very disturbing.

  Tad picked up a piece of blood stained fur.

  ‘Wolf.’

  Gareth nodded his agreement. ‘Looks like a whole pack. Ten, twelve. All dead.’

  ‘The same sword cuts,’ said Tad as he knelt and studied the remains. ‘Also more of these strange stick patterns. Once again, no human tracks and no Vandal tracks. Guys,’ he continued. ‘I reckon that we’ve got a third party here. Some sort of creature that we haven’t seen before. And I’ll tell you something for nothing – whatever it is…it’s bad. From what I can garner from the limited amount of tracks, I guess that there was no more than three of them. Against a pack of full grown wolves. And I can’t see any evidence of injury done to them. I don’t know about you but anything that can take on this many wolves with impunity and leave them torn to shreds like this…well…whatever they are, they scare the crap out of me.’

  ‘This isn’t right,’ agreed Gareth. ‘This wasn’t self-defense, it was simply butchery. Killing for killings sake.’ He spat on the ground in disgust as he sheathed his broadsword. ‘It’s unnecessary.’

  ‘Let’s forge on,’ said Tad as he grabbed his horse’s reins and led it from the bloodied clearing, eyes darting from side to side as they warily searched the surrounding shadows.

  After another hour of trudging through the snow Tad raised his hand, fist clenched in the traditional stop warning.

  ‘We’re being watched,’ he said. His voice only a little above a whisper.

  ‘Where?’ Asked Gareth.

  ‘Not sure,’ answered the little big man. ‘Can’t actually see anyone. But I can feel it. They’re close. Real close.’

  All three scanned the surrounds, eyes slatted in concentration.

  And then suddenly and without warning a creature appeared in front of them, seeming to simply pop into existence out of thin air.

  Tad let out a grunt of surprise. Peter and Gareth went for their swords but Tad held his hand up.

  ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Don’t draw your weapons. Remember, we’re here in peace. Fact finding not fighting.’

  Tad stared at the creature; it stood about five foot tall, much the same height as the little big man, a triangular face, big eyes, a scrawny body with thin arms and legs. And a pair of large leathern wings draped down from its shoulders like a long brown cloak. Judging by JJ’s descriptions this was definitely a Vandal.

  Tad took a step forward, his hands held out in front of him, palms up to show that he had no weapons. But the creature hissed in fear, shrank back and promptly disappeared.

  ‘He’s gone,’ exclaimed Peter.

  Tad squinted at the place where the Vandal had just been. He tilted his head slightly and then he saw it. ‘No,’ he denied. ‘He’s still there. Look closely. Sort of use the corner of your eye.’

  Both Gareth and Peter did as the little big man had advised.

  ‘Well I’ll be,’ whispered Peter. ‘I think that I can see him. How the hell is he doing that?’

  As soon as you knew that the Vandal had, in fact, not disappeared it was possible to see, not so much him, but the evidence of him. The air around it wavered slightly. Like a heat wave, or mirage. If you squinted just right you could see a vague shimmering shape that outlined the creature.

  As the Vandal realized that he was no longer invisible he flashed back into focus.

  Tad clapped his hands in delight. ‘Damn, that’s clever,’ he said.

  The Vandal looked surprised at Tad's reaction and then it preened itself, shivering its wings and standing tall, a look of pride on its small, weasel-like face.

  Tad approached again, both hands held out, palms up. The Vandal stared at him, cocked its head to one side and imitated Tad, holding its claw-like hands out.

  ‘Greetings,’ said Tad.

  The Vandal shrieked and then chattered back with a series of clicks and pops interspersed with more shrieks.

  ‘Damn,’ said Tad. ‘I thought that JJ said that we could understand them.’

  The Vandal stopped babbling, stared at Tad and then spoke.

  ‘Gree-tings, hu-man.’

  ‘We have come in peace,’ continued Tad.

  ‘Take us to your leader,’ quipped Gareth sarcastically.

  The Vandal looked at Gareth. ‘Lea-der,’ it repeated.

  ‘Shut up, Gareth,’ snapped Tad. ‘This is serious.’

  ‘G
a-reth,’ said the Vandal. ‘Shut-up.’

  Both Peter and Gareth burst out laughing. The Vandal made a strange chirruping noise, like a tin full of crickets. Tad rightly assumed that this was his version of laughter.

  ‘Come, hu-mans,’ said the Vandal. ‘Fo-llow me to lea-der.’

  The creature scuttled off, turning its head every now and then to check that it was being followed. The three warriors trotted behind it.

  Every now and then the Vandal would stretch its wings open and flutter forward, taking off and landing ten yards forward. This strange combination of flying and walking moved it along at a pace and the three humans and their horses had to shift to keep up.

  After ten minutes the Vandal took a sharp right into a thickly wooded part of the forest, ducking below hanging boughs. The smell of wood smoke and roasting meats assailed Tad’s nostrils and set his mouth watering. He was still hungry after their less than satisfying trail lunch.

  They entered a clearing in the trees. Rude shelters had been constructed from branches and leaves and a row of open fires lay across the center of the clearing. Braces of various birds and rabbits had been spitted over the fires and over twenty Vandals were squatting around the fires, their wings curled about themselves for warmth.

  As the three humans entered the clearing some of the creatures went invisible. Some stayed where they were for all to see and one stood up to greet them.

  He stood slightly taller than the rest and when he unfurled his wings it was apparent that he had a much larger wingspan.

  The first Vandal that they met pointed at the larger creature.

  ‘Lea-der,’ it said.

  Tad stepped forward and bowed. Peter and Gareth followed suit.

  ‘The leader pointed at himself. ‘Char-rek, lea-der. Chief.’ Then he pointed at the other Vandal that they had met. ‘Grim-son. Not lea-der. Scout.’

  Tad touched his own chest. ‘Tad. Warrior-chief of The Ten. He pointed to each of his friends in turn. Ga-reth of The Ten, not chief. Peter of The Ten, not chief.’

  ‘Well met,’ said Char-rek. ‘Please, eat with us.’ He showed them to a spot next to the fire and clapped his hands. More Vandals appeared from the shelters. They looked the same as the other Vandals. Naked but for a brief breechclout. Except for the fact that the new Vandals were obviously female.

  They lay rough wooden serving platters next to the men and served out the roasted game, fruit and raw vegetables together with wooden bowls of a milky liquid.

  Char-rek started to eat and gestured for the humans to do the same. The meat was delicious, lightly spiced and cooked perfectly. Tad picked up a bowl of the milky liquid and sniffed it. His nostrils tingled slightly from the smell. Astringent, vaguely spicy. He took a sip. The raw alcohol evaporated inside his mouth and went straight into his nasal cavities making him throw his head back and sneeze. All about him the Vandals erupted with the strange cricket-like sound that showed that they were laughing.

  Tad smiled embarrassedly and took another sip, ready for the shock this time. The drink burned like fire but wasn’t altogether unpleasant, leaving an aftertaste of cinnamon and cloves.

  ‘What is it?’ He asked Grim-son.

  ‘Is drink.’

  ‘I know that,’ countered Tad. ‘What is it made from?’

  ‘Sap,’ said Grim-son. ‘Sap from that tree.’ He pointed at a Birch. ‘We fer-ment and dis-till.’

  Both Peter and Gareth tried the drink and nodded appreciatively. Grim-son looked pleased that they enjoyed it.

  While they ate, Tad used the time to study the creatures more closely. They were obviously fairly primitive. They appeared to be nomadic and had little in the way of clothing or ornaments. Their weapons, such as they were, consisted of short swords of bronze; daggers of either bronze or flint and light wooden spears with flint tips. He could see no evidence of steel nor ranged weapons such as bows or slings.

  ‘Do you not posses steel weapons?’ Asked the little big man.

  Grim-son shook his head. ‘The gray metal hurts us.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Please pass small knife,’ asked Grim-son.

  Tad drew a small throwing dagger from his sleeve and passed it handle first to the Vandal.

  Grim-son took it with a look of distaste on his face. Then, carefully, he held the blade close to his skin. Light shimmered about the naked steel and Grim-son’s skin puckered up beneath it. He drew the blade away and a raised red weal stood out on his arm where the metal had been.

  ‘It hurts,’ he said. ‘Also. No can dis-appear. Gray metal hold the light so we cannot bend it.’ He handed the dagger back.

  Tad nodded. ‘I see.’ He turned to Gareth and Peter. ‘Their cloaking skills are effected by steel. They must be based on some sort of magnetism. Using a magnetic field to bend the light around them so that they appear invisible. The iron in steel would prevent that. Interesting.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Peter. ‘Or not. Ask them about the wolves that we saw all chopped up. Was that them?’

  ‘You ask them,’ countered Tad.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t dare,’ continued Peter. ‘What with being a “not-chief” and merely a simple warrior. I’d rather leave all of the wordy stuff to the chiefs, if you don’t mind.’ He tugged at his forelock to reinforce his argument and added a ‘Kind sir,’ on the end of the sentence to rub it in further.

  ‘Stop being such an ass,’ smiled Tad.

  ‘Pe-ter,’ said Grim-son. ‘Ass.’

  Once again the air was filled with the high-pitched chittering of Vandal laughter.

  Peter laughed. ‘We saw some wolves on the way here,’ he addressed chief Char-rek.

  ‘What is wol-ves?’ Asked the chief.

  Peter thought for a few seconds before he answered. ‘He held his hand out in front of him to show the approximate height. ‘About this high. This long. Furry, big teeth. Like a dog. A hunter. Carnivore. Travels in packs’

  Char-rek nodded. ‘Beasts that eat and hunt together, hunter-eaters. Yes we know them.’

  ‘Well, we came across a pack of them. Big pack. But they were all dead. They’d been chopped up something horrible. Pieces everywhere. I was wondering, was that anything to do with you guys?’

  Both Char-rek and Grim-son reacted immediately, breaking out into loud hoots and shrieks, bouncing up and down as they did so. The rest of the tribe joined in, screaming and hollering, their squeals so high pitched as to cause the humans actual pain.

  Eventually they calmed down to a level that Tad could pose a question.

  ‘Hey, what the hell is going on?’

  Chief Char-rek stared at the little big man, his face a mask of desolation.

  ‘It is the En-emy,’ he said. ‘Only the En-emy could kill a pack of hunter-eaters so easily and with such violence. We thought that we had es-caped from, them,’ continued the chief. ‘A-cross the great divide we came, hi-ding and run-ning. Al-ways staying in sha-dow. But they have found us. They are here.’

  ‘Who are the enemy?’ Asked Tad

  The Vandal turned to face the little big man and he took a deep shuddering breath before he answered.

  ‘We call them the Annihilators. They are death,’ he said. ‘Death to all. To you, to me…all.’

  Chapter 21

  The three humans had stayed the night with the Vandals but, after they had found out that the Enemy had arrived the creatures had become uncommunicative. Sullen and tense.

  Tad had risen before the sun and kicked Peter and Gareth awake. They needed to set off with some margin of speed as there was a lot that Nathaniel needed to know.

  The little big man had invited the group of Vandals to accompany them so that they could come to the Free State and meet with The Forever Man. But Char-rek had refused, saying that they would stay in the deep forest. Hiding.

  Tad tried to get more information about the Enemy but Char-rek would not clarify nor expand on anything. He merely warned Tad that the Enemy was plentiful and very dangerous.

  P
repare for war, he had told Tad. And when it comes, we will help. I will gather all of my people, he had said, and we will find you.

  They had just had an unappetizing trail lunch when they came across a pile of mutilated cows. The wounds were consistent with what they had seen before. Massive sword strikes and savage tearing bites. Some flesh had been consumed but, once again, it seemed that the primary reason for the killings was simple butchery.

  The three humans rode past the bloody site and continued on the trail, eyes peeled for any would be attackers or sightings of anything out of the ordinary.

  Eventually the forest started to thin out slightly and the trail became easier to follow, straighter and wider. As they turned a gentle curve, a cottage came into sight. A trickle of smoke rose from the chimney as well as from two large piles of hay and mud on the right hand side of the abode.

  ‘Charcoal burning,’ said Tad, pointing at the two smoldering heaps. ‘They get cords of wood, stack them up, light them and then cover the whole thing with damp hay and mud. Lets the wood burn very slowly and makes charcoal.’

  . As they rode closer they could see that the door was hanging open, canting crookedly off its hinges like a drunken sailor propped against a bar. The top corner looked as though it had been sheared off with an axe or massive sword.

  Both Peter and Gareth drew their blades and Tad flicked a throwing knife from his arm sheath into his right hand. They walked their horses up close to the cottage and dismounted.

  Tad took point and pushed the broken door fully open, keeping to the one side so as not to outline himself in the doorway.

  ‘Hello,’ he called out. ‘Is there anybody there?’

  He could hear the faint crackle of the fire burning in the hearth, the wood popping and hissing as the flames consumed it. But no other sound was apparent.

  The little big man stepped inside and surveyed the room.

  It was a complete charnel house. Vaguely recognizable pieces of human were scattered about the room as if someone had torn the charcoal maker apart in a fit of childish pique and thrown his body parts all about the room.

  The now familiar hack-wounds were prevalent as were the ravening tooth marks. It was obvious that this poor charcoal burner had fallen victim to the Enemy. The Annihilators.