by Craig Zerf
He tried the door but it was locked so he grasped the heavy iron doorknocker and hammered it down a few times.
Seconds later the door cracked open. Light spilled out and a bearded face stared at him. But before he could say anything the door closed.
He was about to knock again when the door re-opened and two young men stepped outside into the storm.
‘Welcome, stranger,’ said the one. His voice raised in order to be heard above the raging storm. ‘Please go inside. We shall stable your horse and be back shortly.’
Nathaniel nodded his thanks and stepped into the building, shutting the door behind him as he did.
He had obviously found the local tavern or meeting hall. There was a rough bar against the one wall, a large fireplace with roaring fire and a mixed selection of chairs and tables scattered a round the room. Almost all were occupied.
The marine pulled back the hood of his cloak and upholstered his axe, laying it against the wall next to the door.
‘Greetings all,’ he said. ‘And my sincere thanks for letting me shelter from the storm. Long has it been since I have come across such bad weather.’
There was a general buzz of greeting and one man, short and thickset, stood and walked towards the marine, his hand held out to shake.
Nathaniel shook the man's hand, recognizing him as the bearded face that he had first seen at the door when he had knocked.
‘I am Taylor,’ said the man. ‘Mayor and priest of this hamlet. Please, allow me to get you a drink, we have some marvelous ale. Dark and strong.’
Nathaniel grinned. ‘Many thanks, Taylor. That would go down a treat.’
He followed the man to the bar and the barman handed over a mug of ale without instruction.
It struck Nathaniel that the dark ale was probably the only drink available in the establishment but, after he had taken an experimental sip, he wasn’t bothered by the lack of choice. The beer was excellent. Fruity and bitter with a high alcohol content and an aftertaste of apples.
‘It’s good,’ he said to Taylor. ‘Better than good, actually. It’s exceptional.’
His statement was greeted by a round of wide grins and Taylor patted him on the shoulder. These were people that were obviously proud of their ale brewing skills.
‘Aye,’ said Taylor. ‘It’s what we do. It’s an old Trappist monk's recipe. We call it “Abbey beer”. Although it is technically a Trappist beer recipe, we are not a Trappist monastery. Neither are we Trappist monks, so, legally, we aren’t allowed to call it Trappist beer. Although we do try our best to adhere to the rest of the production criteria. The brewery must be of secondary importance within the monastery and it should witness to the business practices proper to a monastic way of life. The brewery is not intended to be a profit-making venture. The income covers the living expenses of the monks and the maintenance of the buildings and grounds. Whatever remains is donated to charity for social work and to help persons in need. And, finally, we constantly monitor our beer to ensure that its quality is beyond reproach, even though the Fair-Folk seem not to have developed a taste for it.’
‘Legally?’ Asked Nathaniel. ‘I very much doubt that the Trappist monks are going to descend on you from Belgium and sue for copyright infringement.’
Taylor stared at Nathaniel, his face serious. Not a hint of humor.
‘Be that as it may,’ he answered. ‘Right is right. Just because you can get away with breaking the law doesn’t mean that you should.’
The marine was about to argue that copyright laws and brand infringement didn’t actually exist anymore in a world that had been driven back to the same age as when the Trappist monks had originally built their monasteries, but he decided not to. These people had a way of life and who was he to argue against it.
Instead he nodded. ‘Very true, Taylor. Very true.’ He took another sip of the ale. ‘You say that the beer is of secondary importance. What is the primary import of the hamlet?’
‘We are a religious order,’ said Taylor. ‘We live frugally, worship five times a day and try to live a charitable lifestyle. On the whole we keep ourselves separate, only seeing outsiders when we trade our beer. Humans on the whole. We hardly ever see the Fair-Folk or their minions.’
While Taylor was speaking a young woman came over to Nathaniel and offered him a large bowl of soup and a spoon.
‘The marine bowed extravagantly. ‘My sincere thanks, good lady,’ he said. ‘I swear that my stomach was beginning to think that my throat had been cut. Some hot food will be most appreciated.
She laughed and showed the marine to a seat at a table that had two free places, sitting next to him when he sat down.
Nathaniel picked up his spoon and began to eat. The soup was thick and well spiced and he ate without talking. While he did so the young woman appraised him openly, without any embarrassment. The rest of the people at the table, two teenage boys and a teenage girl, said nothing. But they too stared at him as he ate.
Finally, after scraping the bowl, the marine finished his food and sat back in his chair.
‘Enough?’ Asked the woman.
Nathaniel nodded. ‘Thank you. My name is Nathaniel.’
The teenagers all giggled out loud and the young woman turned a stern look on them. ‘Shush,’ she said. ‘Watch you manners. The three youngsters looked contrite and bowed their heads.
The woman held out her hand. ‘My name is Lorna,’ she said. ‘Will you be staying with us?’
The marine nodded. ‘If I may. I feel that it would be unwise to venture out with the storm as it is. Perhaps I might be allowed to bed down in the corner here.’
Lorna shook her head. ‘Never. You shall stay with me.’
The teenagers giggled again.
Lorna turned on them, this time real anger on her face. ‘Go,’ she said. ‘Leave and go to your homes. We will talk later.’
The three stood up and bowed to Nathaniel and then to Lorna.
‘In his name,’ they mumbled together.
Lorna nodded her approval. ‘Forever in his name,’ she reciprocated. ‘Now go.’
The scolded teenagers scuttled off, letting in a sharp gust of wind as they let themselves out.
Taylor stood up and tapped a spoon against his mug to attract everybody’s attention.
‘Time to pray, people,’ he stated.
Everyone immediately got off their chairs and knelt on the floor. Nathaniel, not wanting to offend, did the same.
‘Let us pray,’ said Taylor. ‘Forever faithful are we.’
‘And he shall live forever,’ intoned the congregation.
‘Alpha and Omega shall he be.’
‘Eternal and everlasting,’ whispered the people.
‘By the power of the light eternal and the power everlasting, he shall grant us strength.’
‘Unending and timeless is his wisdom.’
‘Forever is his name,’ spake Taylor.
‘Forever is his name,’ repeated the congregation.
‘We shall now spend five minutes in silent contemplation,’ said Taylor. ‘Let us bow our heads.’
Nathaniel sat in silence and let his mind wander back. He remembered his mother and father. His family. Particularly his sister. None of them had ever been very close. He had joined up as soon as he had left school and, although he had kept in touch with his parents and siblings, he had missed birthdays and christenings. Graduations and anniversaries. The Marine Corps had become his family. Like all marines he gave an oath to God, country and Corps. But also, like all marines, corps often came before all. Semper Fidelis as the motto went. Forever faithful.
Nathaniel frowned as a thought brushed across his consciousness but, before he could pin it down, Taylor stood up and the people started talking amongst themselves, destroying his train of thought.
He sat back down at the table. Lorna brought him another beer and he sipped at it whilst all around him people chatted. Their conversations were trivial. But not meaningless. They spoke of crop
rotation and livestock. Of beer and hops and wheat. Sugar made from beets and the need to fix a leak in the water tower.
It was infinitely relaxing. There was no need to think of tactics, no military decisions. No thought of taxation nor medical help for the people. No raiders, no Annihilators. A wave of jealousy washed over the marine before he quashed it mercilessly. He laughed inwardly at himself. All of this peace and quiet was all well and good but he knew, in his heart of hearts, that it would be a few mere days before he hankered for action.
He picked up his beer and noticed that it had been refilled so he took a deep draught.
Lorna stood up ands took him by the hand.
‘Come,’ she said. ‘It’s getting late.’
The marine stood up and followed her. She stopped momentarily to bid Taylor goodnight.
‘By your leave, holy man,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘Forever in his name, child.’
Nathaniel followed Lorna from the hall and into the howling storm. It was a short walk to her cottage but, if she had not been with him, the marine would easily have gone astray, such was the violence of the snowstorm.
She opened her front door and the two of them bundled into the room, slamming the door behind them as quickly as they could. Nathaniel noted that the door was unlocked and mentioned it.
‘We are too isolated to worry about strangers stealing from us and the locals would never stoop so low. We are like family.’
Lorna placed some kindling on the low embers that sat in her fireplace and blew it to flame, adding some heavier logs on as soon as the blaze rose up. Within minutes the room was well lit by the dancing orange flames and the cold was driven back as the room filled with heat. It was a small cottage. A single room with a door leading to the bathroom. An alcove for cooking, an old sofa and a single bed. The bed was piled high with cushions and blankets.
Without talking the young woman pulled the cushions and blankets off the bed and lay them down in front of the fire. Then she stripped her clothes off, folded them and laid them neatly on the back of the sofa.
She turned to face the marine, her body a symphony of curves and shadows as the light from the fire flickered across her naked skin, painting it in a wash of oranges and pinks and reds.
She tilted her head to one side and smiled. ‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘Your turn. Or are you too shy?’ She joshed.
Nathaniel blushed and then grinned. ‘No,’ he denied. ‘Not shy…just…’ He shrugged and then disrobed. Throwing his garments onto the floor next to the sofa and kicking his boots into the corner.
Lorna stared at his nakedness with an expression akin to awe.
His dark hair tumbled to his shoulders and his face was framed with his customary short-cropped beard. His shoulders tapered down in a wedge shape to his slim waist and the muscles of his thighs stood out like corded ropes wrapped in velvet.
Barely an inch of his body wasn’t scarred in some way or another. The scars were all well healed but still visible. Long ragged slashes of sword cuts, short indented knife scars and the dimpled puckers of bullet wounds. Muscles of whipcord and steel stretched across his chest and shoulders and his abdominals stood out like two rows of pebbles on a beach of white sand.
She took a step towards him and his arms enveloped her and held her tight.
And outside the wind howled and screamed its fury.
***
When Nathaniel woke the next morning it was to the sound of the never-ending storm. The wind still thumped at the shutters and doors and the sun was a mere suggestion peering through the complete white-out.
Lorna had already risen and dressed. She brought him a hot cup of herbal tisane, sweetened with honey. He sat up and sipped at it. It was good. A blend of dried dandelion, hibiscus and ginger.
After he had finished, he stood up and got dressed.
‘What now?’ He asked.
‘Communal prayer,’ answered Lorna. ‘At the hall. Then we can stay on or come back. There will be no work whilst the storm rages.’
The marine nodded. ‘Okay. You guys sure do a lot of praying.’
‘Does that bother you?’ Asked Lorna.
Nathaniel shook his head. ‘No. I believe in God. As far as my worshipping has gone I have slipped, but I reckon that He’s got bigger things to worry about than my piety.’
Lorna smiled. ‘So, you follow the old religion?’
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. ‘As opposed to?’
‘Well,’ said Lorna. ‘We don’t follow the old Judeo-Christian myths. As a group, we figure that the appearance of the Fair-Folk and their Orcs pretty much disproves the old Christian legends. If there was a god and we were created in his image, then what are Orcs? Or goblins? No – we follow the new religion. It is small at the moment but it is gathering momentum. And that is as it should be, because forever faithful are we.’
‘Semper Fidelis,’ said Nathaniel.
‘What?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. Tell me more about this new god.’
‘Alpha and Omega shall he be,’ said Lorna. ‘Eternal and everlasting and Forever shall be his name.’
The marine grasped the back of the sofa for support. ‘You gotta be joking,’ he croaked. ‘Are you talking about The Forever Man?’
Lorna’s face lit up. ‘You have heard of him?’ She asked joyfully.
Nathaniel nodded. ‘You could say that. Yeah.’
‘So you know that he is immortal? He has been created by the universe to guide humanity and return us to our former glory. He brings with him the light and the truth and he is capable of great and powerful magiks. It is said that he is a giant, standing head and shoulders above the tallest of men, and that he can travel through time at will and, even as we speak, he is in all places at the same time, guiding and controlling. Even here his influence can be felt.’
‘Especially here,’ agreed the marine.
‘So you believe?’ Asked Lorna.
Nathaniel nodded. ‘Yes. Intimately. Not sure about him being so big, though. And all that other stuff sounds a little exaggerated.’
Lorna shook her head. ‘Please don’t talk like that, Nathaniel. It sits too close to blasphemy for my comfort. Question not your faith. Simply believe and you shall be rewarded.’
‘Do you mind if I stay here?’ Enquired the marine.
‘You would prefer to pray alone?’ Asked Lorna. ‘To spend some time alone with your god?’
Nathaniel nodded. ‘Umm…yep. In a manner of speaking.’
‘Of course,’ agreed Lorna. ‘I shall be back in half an hour.’
The young woman closed the door behind her as she left.
Nathaniel collapsed on the sofa.
‘A god,’ he whispered to himself. ‘If Tad were here now he would laugh his socks off,’ the marine continued talking to himself as he attempted to get his head around the current information.
He took a deep breath. ‘I must tell them.’ Then he laughed to himself as he envisaged breaking the news. ‘Hi. That god that you all worship…well…actually that’s me. Tah Dah!’ Nathaniel snorted. ‘Bloody ridiculous, that’s what that is.’
He stood up and went over to the kitchen area where he made himself another cup of tisane. It wasn’t as good, as he had no real idea on what quantities of each dried ingredient to put in. ‘Some sort of god I am,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Can’t even make a decent cup of tea.’
He sat back down with his bitter brew and though hard. He could use magik to convince them. He could fight them. He could get someone to stab him through the heart and show them his immortality.
Or he could simply wait for the storm to blow itself out and then leave. After all, they were an isolated group in the middle of nowhere and there was little chance that their weird religion would grow to any appreciable size.
The door opened and Lorna let herself in, shaking the snow from her jacket as she did so. She placed a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese on the table in the kitchen alcove.
/> ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Eat.’
Nathaniel smiled and shook his head. Not that hungry at the moment.’
‘I don’t care,’ said the young woman. ‘You’ll need to keep your energy up.’
‘Why?’ Asked the marine.
Lorna smiled and started taking her garments off.
Nathaniel hacked off a large slice of bread and cheese and bolted it down before he too stripped off once again.
And outside the storm continued unabated, pummeling the small cottage with snow and sleet and ice.
Chapter 31
Tad craned his neck back as he watched the masses of Vandals flying in. There were more than five thousand in the air and, massed on the parade ground behind him, there stood another ten thousand plus.
The little big man was amazed in their numbers, as he had suspected that there would be perhaps a thousand or so of the skinny flying creatures. But such was their skill at remaining unseen that he had vastly underestimated their presence.
Chief Char-rek of the Vandals stood next to Tad and watched his people fly in.
The massed flyers reminded Tad of old black and white movies of World War 2 during the Battle of Britain when the English skies had been filled with both British and Nazi fighter planes and bombers.
And, like the olden day flights of Spitfires, the Vandals flew in V shaped formations of ten or twenty, wheeling above them in stacked layers, waiting to land.
All around the parade ground stood hundreds of humans, watching wide-eyed as the new alien creatures shuttled in.
Roo strode over and tipped his hat in greeting to Tad and the chief.
‘G’day,’ he said. ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’
Tad nodded his agreement. ‘I had no idea that there were so many of them.’
‘Used to be many more,’ said chief Char-rek. ‘War with the Annihilators dim-inished our numbers. Be-fore, the Vandal race would block out the sun. Now we are mer-ly a small cloud. Still, we can-not stand idly by. We have come to assist hu-mans. To fight alongside. For time long before we have fought the Enemy. They have de-feated us. We fled. Using the power of the source-light we opened a gate and we ended up here. But now they have followed. So, we fight again. You fight. We are to-gether.’