by Amy Cross
Black Annis
Once Duncan and Jess are gone, I'm ready to leave this place immediately and return to the Underworld. But I know I must wait for his visit, and sure enough I sense him soon in the air around me. He inhabits the fog, living in each drop of moisture that hangs in the air. Since he has no body of his own these days, it's the best he can do. He's less dangerous like this, though it still pays to be cautious when he's around.
"I assume you were watching," I say.
"You did a good job," he replies, his voice floating in the fog. "Hopefully this time he'll listen. I would hate to have to give him another reminder."
"Hopefully all will be fine this time," I reply. "I think he understood the importance of the message, and he knows that he would do well to simply go ahead with what he needs to do."
"We'll see," the voice says. There's a pause. "You have no idea how frustrating it was, seeing him again after all this time. I wanted to reach out and destroy him, but for that I'll need a body."
I smile. "I half expected you to borrow mine."
"We both know what wouldn't have worked," he says. "I need a body that Duncan can't destroy."
"Have you identified one?" I ask.
"I have. The girl. I'll take her body."
I pause, not sure whether I've understood him correctly. "Jess?" I ask. "Her body is weak. She's half human."
"But Duncan would hesitate to kill her," the voice continues, "and that moment of hesitation would be enough. When the time is right, I'll take hold of her, I'll rip out our soul, and I'll take that body and use it to destroy Duncan."
"As long as I don't have to watch," I say. "Just give me what you promised, and let me stay out of this from now on."
"Return to the Underworld," he says. "You'll find what you're looking for. It will be waiting for you with Wormwood."
"Thank you," I say. With no time to lose, I turn and start walking away. I have to find the nearest entrance to the Underworld, and get down there as fast as possible. But after a moment, I pause and turn back to face the fog. "Tell me one thing, Lumic," I say. "Have you considered forgiving Duncan? Would it not be better, perhaps, to accept that he's lost to you forever? Why keep fighting like this when it can only bring about death and destruction?"
"He's not lost to me," the voice replies. "Every step he takes from now on, brings him closer and closer. I'll be waiting at the end of his journey, but by the time he sees me, it will be too late for him to do anything but prepare to die."
I walk away. Provided Lumic has delivered on his word, I will find what I'm looking for in the Underworld and I will stay down there. I don't want to be up here when Lumic finally confronts Duncan. Whatever happens, it will be bloody and there will be blood. I would rather retire from the world for now, and go back to the Underworld's warm embrace while I wait for darkness to finally fall. There are terrible things down there, but at least there is not the sadness that exists in the human world. It's the sadness, more than anything, that I cannot bear.
Epilogue
"Are you sure you're not disappointed?" Duncan says as he pulls the front door shut and posts the keys through the letterbox. "I promised you a holiday -"
"It's fine," I say quickly, before he has a chance to change his mind. Getting out of this place is the best idea Duncan's had for a while, especially since he's decided we should head to London. He says there are some leads he wants to check out, some people who might know a thing or two about Excalibur, and he thinks we should get moving as fast as possible.
"That's the spirit," he replies, patting me on the back. "We left London in a hurry last time. Let's try and have some fun this time, huh?"
The fog looks to be lifting from the moor. With Annis gone, maybe a few things around here will get back to normal, though she's still out there in the world somewhere. Duncan doesn't seem to want to talk about her, but I can't help thinking that usually he'd be determined to stop someone who kills so freely, yet with Annis he seems content to let her carry on. I'm pretty sure there's something in their past that means he's not willing to get into an all-out war with her. Or maybe she's more powerful than I realize, and Duncan simply understands that he'd never win such a fight.
As we walk up the garden path, I glance over at the house next door. "Wait," I say as I see a lonely figure walking past the window inside. It suddenly occurs to me that Robert's father has now lost both his children, and he'll never find a body for either of them. "Shouldn't we go and talk to him?"
"Why?" Duncan asks, seeming genuinely bemused by the suggestion.
"Because we know what happened," I say, turning to him. "We can tell him what happened to Megan, and Robert."
"Nah," says Duncan, "he'll be fine." He turns to walk away, but I grab his arm and pull him back.
"He won't be fine!" I say, raising my voice a little. I can't believe Duncan would rather walk away instead of telling an old man what really happened to his children. "He deserves to know what happened to his children. Everyone has a right to know the truth, and we can put his mind at rest."
"And tell him what?" Duncan asks. "That his children were captured by a malevolent witch who skinned them alive? Do you really want to go in there and tell him that?" He pauses. "Be my guest. I'll wait outside."
I open my mouth to argue with him, but then I realize that perhaps he's right. Telling the old man the truth would be cruel. "But we have to tell him something," I say. "We can't let him live with the hope that they're still alive."
"Can't we?" Duncan says. "Maybe hope is all he's got." He sighs. "There's no right or wrong here, Jess. There's no way to make everything okay. But I'm not going into that house to tell that man what happened, whether it's the truth or some bullshit story."
"Because you're scared?" I ask.
He shrugs.
We walk away, heading along the street, with my little suitcase trundling behind us on wheels as I pull it along. I could go back and talk to the man myself, but I have no idea what I'd say. I feel as if Duncan has found a compassionate, logical argument that covers the truth: he's scared. He couldn't go and tell that old man what happened to his children because he's scared of getting into an emotional situation. Everything with Duncan is always a joke; he never seems to take anything seriously, even if doing so would help someone else. Maybe that's the only way he can deal with everything that happens in his life, but it seems like an insane way to go through life.
"Who was Anna?" I ask after a while. I've been holding the question in, avoiding asking until I feel like I can't hold back any longer.
Duncan doesn't immediately respond. We walk for a minute or two. "Let me guess," he says eventually, "Black Annis put that question in your mind, didn't she?"
"Maybe," I say, "but that doesn't mean anything. Did you know someone called Anna?"
"I did," he replies, "but it was a long time ago. Long before I met you."
"Who was she?"
"Long story."
"We've got a long journey ahead of us," I point out.
"The story's longer. It's not very interesting."
"Then why don't you -"
He stops and turns to me, with a look of annoyance in his eyes. "You don't have to know everything about everyone!" he snaps. "Some -" He pauses, as if he's realized he was too sensitive. It's not often that I see Duncan's annoyed, but right now I can see that he really, really doesn't want to be talking about this. "Some things from the past are allowed to stay in the past, and there's no sense in raking them over. I thought you of all people would understand that." He stares at me. "Don't you have things in your past that you don't want to talk about?"
I sigh. "Yesterday, you said you wanted to know why I don't like talking about my past."
He reaches out a hand. "I'll cut you a deal," he says. "I won't pry into your past, and you won't pry into mine. Okay?"
I shake his hand. "Deal," I say, though I can't say I'm entirely convinced. I still want to know who Anna is and why Duncan is so sensitive about
her. I just don't want Duncan prying into my past, that's all. Werewolves aren't the only ones who are allowed to have secrets.
Part Two
Mariner
Prologue
The huge boat creaks as it turns, its timbers straining under the burden of a never-ending voyage. There is no crew, and no wind, and the currents this far out in the darkness are not strong enough. Yet the boat keeps going, driven onwards by the will of the madman who remains on the deck.
An ancient, withered hand reaches out and steadies the wheel. This hand, though it looks weak, pushes the boat further and further through the night. There can be no rest. Nothing - not sleep, not death - shall slow the place. Though the boat was built on the shores of the Atlantic many years ago, by craftsmen who imagined it would be used to carry cargo between the old and the new worlds, the vessel has long since been pressed into an altogether stranger service.
The search must continue.
Where she fell, he does not know. Simple matters such as compass points do not have anything to do with this journey. All that matters is that she fell overboard, and now she cannot be found. She is out here somewhere, drowning in the waterless dark of an eternal night. She must be so cold by now, after... how many years has it been? Ten? A hundred? A thousand? More? They have all blurred into one, all of them occurring at the same time. Pressed together like a concertina, this is the only way time could be forced to keep her alive until she is found. Consequently, time and space in this place have become unmoored from all of reality.
So she is still falling, after all these years. Which means she can still be found.
He steadies the wheel again. This is all he does. If time still existed in this place, he would long ago have died or lost his mind. But there is no time, so he merely waits, his vast and tired eyes constantly scanning the darkness around the boat. He knows that one day he will see her, and that certitude is enough to keep him in his place. He has not stood down from the wheel for many, many years. After all, there is no-one else on this boat - not since the crew mutinied and had to be destroyed - and if he is the only one available to keep watch, then he must keep watch without break. There will be time enough to sleep when she has been found.
He turns the wheel a little, making a small alteration to the course of the ship. The boat creaks again. One day, its timbers will simply give way and the boat will collapse beneath him. He knows that he pushes the vessel beyond its normal point of destruction. His strong will is holding things together for now, but he knows that eventually even this will not be enough. For now, though, he continues to sail on through the black void, still searching for her, still hoping that this might be the day when she is found again.
Jess
Today.
"Best pub ever," says Duncan, raising a pint of beer to his lips. "Best beer ever. Best city ever. Best everything. I could just sit here all day and relax. Cheers."
"Cheers," I say, not feeling quite as enthusiastic. We've come to a dark and gloomy corner of a dark and gloomy pub in a dark and gloomy corner of Camden. Duncan says this is his 'local', though none of the bar staff seems to recognize him. To hear Duncan build this place up, you'd expect him to be welcomed with cheers as soon as he stepped through the door. But no; it's just another pub, albeit one that seems to suit Duncan's temperament down to the ground: this place is so dark, it's hard not to imagine that there could well be creatures lurking in the shadows, watching us.
"So this is where we've come for our holiday?" I ask, sipping from my own pint. "A pub?"
"There are worse places," Duncan says. "Besides, holiday is a loose word. It implies that we ever really work, and we don't, do we? We just sort of drift around."
"Like a permanent vacation," I say, sighing.
"Like an itinerant lifestyle," Duncan says, apparently trying to correct me. "For me, at least. I don't know about you. The first time I met you, you were homeless. Either you weren't trying to be itinerant, or you were doing it very badly. I wouldn't put either past you."
"The first time I met you," I remind him, "you were eating a dead homeless guy in an abandoned building."
"He was dead when I found him," Duncan says. "I'm sure he wouldn't have minded." He checks his watch.
"Who are we meeting again?" I ask.
"An old friend," Duncan says, seeming a little distract. "An old friend who's never late."
"When's he supposed to be here?" I ask, wondering whether I might go for a walk and check out the market instead of sitting here all afternoon.
"Half an hour ago," Duncan says. "He's late."
"I thought you said -"
"I did," Duncan replies tersely.
I take another sip of my beer. "Do you really have old friends?" I ask, smiling. "I'd have thought you'd have chased them all away."
"I resent the implication of that statement," Duncan says. He pauses. "I suppose 'friend' isn't the right word, but he's definitely someone I know very well. We certainly go back a long way."
"Is he a werewolf too?" I ask.
Duncan shakes his head. "Believe it or not, some of the people I know aren't wolves at all."
I sigh. Stupidly, I'd assumed that being a werewolf meant adventure, and romance, and sex, and passion. Instead, so far it seems to mean that we sit around in dodgy pubs, hang out with questionable characters, and occasionally nearly get killed. It's exciting in its own way, but I can't help feeling that, well... Duncan's doing it all wrong.
"And this guy's going to help us find Excalibur?" I ask.
Duncan shakes his head. "Don't be silly."
"Silly?" I ask. "I thought the whole idea was that we're supposed to be looking for Excalibur."
"There's no such thing," Duncan says. "Excalibur's part of the old Arthurian legends." He stares at me, a look of incredulity on his face. "It's a magic sword. Do you seriously believe in magic swords?"
"I'm part-werewolf," I say. "My horizons have been challenged lately."
"It's a load of rubbish," Duncan continues. "There's no such thing."
"Then why have we been sent to find it?" I ask.
"That's what I'm wondering," he continues. "The people who've sent us know full well that Excalibur's not real, so why would they go to so much trouble to make us go looking for it?"
"And who are these people?" I ask.
"You don't need to know," he says. "Trust me. They're not very nice. If they were nice, I'd still be hanging out with them." As Duncan is speaking, I notice a short, round, dirty man entering the pub, looking around as if he's here to meet someone.
"Is that your friend?" I ask, nodding towards the man.
Duncan turns. "Yes!" he shouts, jumping to his feet and rushing over. He leans down and gives the short man a hug, though the short man doesn't really seem too thrilled. "Where have you been?" Duncan asks as the hug ends and he leads the man back over to our table. "I've been waiting to hear from you."
"You said to wait until I had some news," the man says. He turns to me. "Hello again, Anna."
"Jess!" Duncan blurts out, too late to stop him. "This is Jess, Frequenot. Jess. You really should wear your glasses."
"Apologies," the little man says, shaking my hand. "Nice to meet you, Jess."
"Jess," says Duncan, seeming a little annoyed over the mention of that name Anna, "this is Frequenot."
I shake Frequenot's hand. "Frequenot?" I ask. "That's a pretty cool name."
"Thanks," Frequenot replies.
"It's not cool where he comes from," Duncan says, interrupting. "In fact, where he comes from, it's a really boring and vastly over-used name. Like Bob or Bill. Where he comes from you can hardly move in the street without bumping into someone named Frequenot."
"And where do you come from?" I ask Frequenot.
"Around," he says. "London, mainly."
I smile. "I've never heard of anyone else named Frequenot in London."
"Not in this London, no," Frequenot replies, looking a little aggrieved. "But it's quite common
in the other one."
"I guess so," I say, deciding that I'm not going to get a sensible answer out of either of these two. Not unless I get them drunk, anyway. "Would you like a drink?" I ask.
"No, he's fine," says Duncan.
"I'm fine," Frequenot says.
I frown. "Do you always let him answer for you?" I ask Frequenot.
"He's my familiar," says Duncan, "aren't you, Frequenot?"
Frequenot nods.
"Familiar what?" I ask.
"My familiar. That's his job title. Like a man-servant."
"You have a man-servant?" I ask, my eyes widening.
"Useful thing to have," Duncan says. "I've had him for decades. I won him in a game of poker. Him and some chickens. I haven't got the chickens any more."
"What happened to them?" I ask, struggling to keep up.
He looks a little awkward for a moment. "I'm a werewolf..." he says, by way of explanation. "What do you think happened to them?"
I turn to Frequenot. "Are you a werewolf too?" I ask.
Frequenot shakes his head. "I'm an Ungent."
I frown. The word means nothing to me.
"An Ungent," Duncan says, leaning close, "is basically a type of human that lives forever. No special powers, not even particularly strong or intelligent, but they just keep on ticking forever. No-one's ever managed to kill an Ungent. People have tried. They've ripped them up. Boiled them. Burned them. Thrown them into space. Fed them to dragons. None of it works. An Ungent just keeps on living."