by Amy Cross
"You will not change your mind?" the Mariner says. "I can send you home, but you must go alone."
I pause. Could I really go back without Duncan? I know he doesn't love me, and he never will. But he's still my friend, and I don't know if I could live with the knowledge that I'd abandoned him. "I'm staying with Duncan," I say as the wave towers over us, although my voice sounds a little undecided.
"Then it is decided," the Mariner says.
And the wave hits...
I try to hold onto the rail, but it's no use: the force of the water throws me across the boat until I slam into the mast. I reach out and grab one of the rungs that run up the side, but I can already feel it starting to come loose. I look across the boat and see Duncan, still in his wolf form, being buffeted as he hangs from the wheel. He looks unconscious, or worse. And when I turn to look the other way, I see the other end of the boat starting to break away. Huge chunks of wood crash into the ocean and with a massive creaking sound the front of the boat falls apart.
The wave subsides, but the boat is listing now and it's starting to slip beneath the waves. I run across the deck as the boat continues to sink. Reaching Duncan, I try to wake him up, but he just opens his eyes and looks at me for a moment before falling unconscious again. I grab his paw and slip it loose from the chain, but the manacle bolted to his tail won't come loose.
I look up and see that most of the boat is now beneath the black water. The Mariner is standing nearby, watching.
"Help me!" I shout at him as the rain pours down, but I know it's useless to expect him to do anything. "Fine," I say, looking down at Duncan's clamped tail. I take a deep breath. There's only one way to do this. I shift into my wolf form and, as we sink, I reach out and take his tail between my jaws, biting down hard and severing it with one crunch that fills my mouth with blood. He's free from the wheel at least, but it's too late and we sink beneath the surface. I spit his tail out and prepare for the end.
There's a moment of blackness; a perfect moment where we're sinking and sinking with pieces of boat all around us. It's so dark down here, I can't see anything, but I can feel Duncan in my arms. All my fears and doubts slip away and I feel totally calm. Even my past doesn't seem so bad any more, and I imagine what it will be like for my family to never have to see me again. They'll probably be very happy. I hold my breath for as long as possible, and then I give in to my body's urge to breathe in. Water floods into my lungs, filling me up, and I hold Duncan closer. And then, suddenly, I feel us start to move faster and faster. Holding my breath, all I can think to do is keep tight hold of Duncan. Finally, unexpectedly, the water smashes against something and Duncan and I are thrown through the air, slamming into a stone wall and then sliding down onto the tarmac of Tower Bridge.
I get up onto all fours and quickly switch back to my human form. I start spewing out water, emptying my lungs until I'm left gasping on the ground. Turning, I see Duncan is still a wolf, soaking wet and bleeding from the stub where his tail used to be. I haul him up and try to give him mouth-to-mouth, but how the hell do you do that to a wolf? I push on his belly, and suddenly he opens his eyes, gasps and spews water out. Coughing and spluttering, he switches back to his human form and we both sit there, panting. Somehow we're alive, and we're back in London, with no sign of the Mariner or his boat anywhere. There's just the dark city all around us, carrying on as if nothing weird has just happened at all.
Jess
"My tail," says Duncan, staring at his pint of beer. We're back in his favorite pub, and I've bought him a pint of beer, but it seems nothing can make him smile. He just keeps staring at the untouched beer. "I've lost my tail," he says forlornly. "I'll look so silly."
I sigh. He's been like this for hours, and it's starting to get tiring. I understand that it was painful, and traumatic, but I feel he should get over it. After all, when he's in his human form there's no difference at all, and when he's in his wolf form it doesn't really matter that much, does it? I mean: what use is a tail really?
"My tail," he says again. "I -"
"Enough!" I say loudly as I fold the newspaper I was reading; the top story is about a freak wave that hit Tower Bridge, and which no-one has been able to explain. "I'm sorry!" I say. "I wish there had been another way, but it's only a tail, Duncan. You can live without it."
"That's easy for you to say," Duncan replies. "A wolf without a tail is a terrible sight." He pauses. "It won't grow back, you know. It's gone. Forever. I'm tailless." He raises the beer to his lips and takes a sip. "I will never again have a tail."
"At least you're alive," I say, sipping from my own beer. "At least we're both alive. And in case you were wondering, I didn't exactly enjoy biting your tail off. It was gross."
"I'm incomplete," Duncan says, as if he's in shock. "I'm not the wolf I once was."
"You're a baby," I say. "Seriously, you've got to get over it. If there had been any other way to get you off that boat, I would have done it. If I could have found any way at all, I would have rather done anything than bite through your tail. But there wasn't anything else I could do. It was the only way -"
"My tail!" he says. "You bit off my tail!"
I sigh again, slumping down in my seat. It's like he keeps coming back to that one, central fact that he can't get over. "How did we escape anyway?" I ask, trying to change the subject. "How come we ended up back in London?"
Duncan stares into space for a moment. "There are two possibilities," he says. "One is that when the boat was destroyed, and when the Mariner died, our connection to that world was lost and we bounced back to London. It's like we were pulled to the Mariner's world on the end of a giant bungee cord, and when there was nothing pulling us any more, we were just brought flying back here."
"Sounds plausible," I say, "in a kind of crazy way. What's the other possibility?"
Duncan takes a deep breath. "Well, it's nonsense, really. Almost impossible."
"What?" I ask.
"Well..." He pauses. "Maybe the Mariner chose to send us back at the last moment. Maybe, as his boat was destroyed, he looked over at us and decided we shouldn't die after all."
I drink some more of my beer, lost in thought for a moment. Was the Mariner capable of such compassion? "Which idea do you believe?" I ask.
Duncan shrugs. "I have no idea," he says.
"And what about the Mariner?" I ask. "What happened to him?"
"He died," Duncan says. "And by now, he's probably been reborn. He's probably still sailing. His boat will have been reborn with him. He'll be young again, at least for now. His journey isn't going to end any time soon. It isn't going to ever end."
"Maybe he'll find her," I say, hoping that perhaps the Mariner will be rewarded for his faith.
Duncan shakes his head. "No," he says. "She was just a human. She died. That's all there is to it. The Mariner's love can't bring her back."
I drink more beer. "Love can be pretty powerful," I say.
"It's not magic, though," Duncan replies. "Is it?"
I stare at him, wondering if I should tell him that I love him. The truth is, after talking to the Mariner, I've realized that I think I really am in love with Duncan. But I also know that he can't, or won't, feel the same way about me, at least not at the moment. If I tell him I love him, one of two things will happen: either he won't say it back to me, in which case I'll be devastated, or he will say it back to me but I'll know that he doesn't mean it. He might love me one day, but for now I can tell that our relationship isn't like that. Maybe I'm doomed to always be like the Mariner, always searching for a love that can never be real.
"So what do we do now?" I ask.
"We head south," he says. "We go to the coast and follow a couple of leads I might have. There's an old friend who might shed some light on this Excalibur nonsense."
"You still don't believe it's real?" I ask. "After everything that's happened with the Mariner, you still can't bring yourself to believe that Excalibur could be real?"
Duncan frowns. "Of course not.
A magic sword? Rubbish. All that stuff about King Arthur is pretty dodgy. I mean, he was definitely real. He was a fine king, and a werewolf too -"
"King Arthur was a werewolf?" I ask. "Seriously?"
"You'd be surprised how many well-known historical figures were werewolves," Duncan says. "But that doesn't mean they were running around with magic swords. Excalibur's just a myth."
"Then why are we looking for it?" I ask.
"That's what I want to know," he replies. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make sure we go chasing off after something that doesn't exist. I want to know who, and why." He pauses. "We're being manipulated. Someone's pushing us around, shoving us from one place to another, trying to get us into position so they can... Well, I don't know what they want to do. But I don't like it, and I'm going to find out who's behind it." He finishes his beer. "Drink up. We've got to get going, and this time we're not gonna get scooped up by some giant ghost ship along the way."
I finish my beer and we head out of the pub, into a rainy Camden evening. Duncan seems to be touching his ass a lot, and it takes me a moment to realize that he's still thinking about his tail.
"Get over it," I say. "It's just a tail."
"It's fine," he says. "I'll just get a fake one made and I can stick it on when I need it."
"Like a toupee?" I ask.
"Exactly," he replies. "A false tail. It might even look better than the original."
"I doubt that," I say under my breath.
"What?" he snaps back.
"Nothing," I say. "Nothing at all."
He shrugs and we start walking along the street. I want to reach out and hold his hand, but I know he'd find that weird. I've got to keep my feelings to myself. Besides, we're busy. It's a long way to the coast. Taking the initiative, I switch into my wolf form and start running. When I get to the end of the street, I glance back and see that Duncan has also switched and is following me. Even without a tail, he still cuts a pretty impressive figure, especially against the backdrop of the London night skyline.
Together, we race through the streets of the city and onto Tower Bridge. We stop in the middle, both of us looking out at the river for a moment. It's hard not to think of the Mariner out there somewhere, his body and his boat reborn, still searching for Clara. He'll never find her, which means he'll never stop searching; he'll also never stop believing that their love was pure and perfect, even though it was probably nothing of the sort.
A late-night pleasure cruiser passes under the bridge, and I spot a child excitedly pointing up at us. From his perspective, Duncan and I are probably framed against tonight's low moon. The kid has probably never seen wolves together in London, and I bet we look pretty impressive. Duncan and I look at each other. He looks strong and noble but also, well, he's right; he does look silly without a tail.
Together, we turn and keep on running.
Part Three
The Children of Herne
Prologue
The door slams shut, and finally - FINALLY! - I'm alone. Peace and quiet at last.
I walk through to the bathroom and immediately start to fill the bath. Meredith hates it when I have a bath; she says it's a waste of both water and energy, and that I'm doing irreparable harm both to the environment and to our personal finances. The way I see it, a few baths here and there aren't going to hurt anyone, and I deserve to relax. Meredith has been on my back all day, asking me when I'm going to get a job and when I'm going to pay her back rent money she had to cover for me this month. She doesn't understand that I've been out all day every day, looking for work. My back aches, my feet are killing me, and everything seems hopeless.
So I guess I've earned a bath, at least.
I stick my ebook reader on to charge, so I can spend the rest of the evening with a book. Opening a bottle of white wine, I pour myself a big glass and wander upstairs to fetch my dressing gown. As I'm walking over to the wardrobe, I glance out the window and spot someone standing in our driveway. At first, I assume it must be Meredith talking to someone on the phone as she heads out, but then I realize it's someone else. Although it's dark outside, I can just about make out the outline of a kid. I can't see his features, but from his size he must be little more than seven or eight years old. God knows why he's standing out in our driveway so late at night, but it's not my problem. I'm sure he'll go home sooner or later.
Heading back downstairs with my dressing gown, I take a long sip from the wine and go back through to the bathroom. The bath is filling up nicely, and when I check it with my hand I find that it's the perfect temperature: not quite warm enough to burn, but close enough. Meredith would go mental if she knew.
Suddenly there's a knock at the door.
I look up. It's almost midnight. There's no way anyone should be bothering me now, but -
Another knock. Whoever it is, they're impatient.
I sigh, walking out of the bathroom and heading towards the front door. "Merry?" I call out, "is that you? Did you forget your keys?" I stop at the door, expecting to hear her tired and bothered voice telling me to let her in. Already, I'm wondering whether there's a danger she might go through to the bathroom. If she finds out I'm going to have a bath, she'll get mad at me.
"Merry?" I call out. I look through the peephole, and at first I don't see anyone. Then I look down and see that the child from the driveway is standing out there, staring straight up at me. The hairs on the back of my neck start to stand up as I realize that the kid's eyes are completely black.
"Can I come in?" the boy asks with a kind of blank, dull voice that seems totally at odds with his appearance. Like I guessed earlier, he looks to be about seven or eight, but there's something very creepy about the way his gaze is fixed on me. It's as if he can see through the door and straight into my eyes.
"What do you want?" I ask. I feel bad for not just opening the door, since he's a kid, but he's creepy enough to make me hesitate.
"I want to come in," he says. "Can you drive us home?"
I pause, wondering what to say. Normally I'd go out of my way to help a kid, but I've got a really uneasy feeling about this kid. "Where do you live?" I ask.
"Not far," he replies. "Can you drive us?"
"Sorry," I say, "I've been drinking. It wouldn't be safe." It's kind of a lie, since I've only had a sip of wine so far, but it's a good excuse. "You can try -" I suddenly stop speaking as I look over at my car and see there's another kid standing there. This other kid is a girl, about the same age as the boy, and she's got the same black eyes staring straight over at me. "Try someone else," I say.
"You have a car," the boy says. "Can you drive us home?"
"No," I say. "I'm sorry. Goodnight." I double-check that the door is properly locked, and then I turn and walk back through to the bathroom. Closing the blinds, I take another sip of wine and then I look over at the door. The thought of those kids maybe still being out there is creeping me out. Taking a deep breath, I walk back through to the hallway and head over to the door. I pause for a moment, and then I look out through the peephole again.
They're still there, but they've swapped positions. Now the girl is standing on the other side of the door, and the boy is over by the car.
"Can you drive us home?" the girl says, as if she knows I'm looking at her.
I step back. There's no way in hell I'm opening that door now. I try to decide what to do. Calling the cops would seem to be overkill, and my friends would laugh their asses off if I told them I was scared of a couple of kids. But there's something insanely creepy about them. I walk over to the coat rack and pull my phone out of my pocket. Switching it to camera mode, I hold it up to the peephole so I can get a photo of the kids, but suddenly they're gone. Putting the camera aside, I put my eye to the peephole and see that there's no sign of them.
I sigh, relaxing a little, then I go around the house and check every door and window, pulling all the blinds and curtains. Then, just to be certain, I head upstairs and double-check that there's no-one el
se in the house with me. Damn it, I even go to the window and look out over the driveway, but there's no-one there. Finally, I come to the conclusion that the kids - whatever they were and whatever they wanted - have really gone.
"Fuck it," I say to myself, smiling. I go through to the bathroom and dip a hand into the bath to check that the temperature is still okay. It'll do. I get undressed, smiling as I catch my own reflection in the mirror. Fuck, those kids were creepy. I can't wait to tell Merry about what happened. She'll laugh, but that's okay. It's pretty funny.
Suddenly I notice something strange in my eyes. It takes a moment for me to realize that I look... sad. Like not just a little bit unhappy, but seriously, truly miserable. Seconds later, I'm overwhelmed by a memory that I've tried for many years to ignore: the time I was fifteen and found out that my mother was dying. Seconds after that, I'm overwhelmed by the memory of the last time I saw her, and the phone call that told me she'd died. I turn away from the mirror, but the bad memories keep flooding into my mind. It's as if someone has reached in, opened a door and released every awful feeling I've ever felt, all at once. I take a deep breath, trying to clear my mind, but I can't do anything. Eventually, to stop the nightmare, I run over to the cabinet and pull out a razor blade, slashing at my wrists. All I want to do is die, so I don't have to think about these things any more.
I turn back to face myself in the mirror, dropping the razor blade to the ground. Blood is pouring from my wrists. When I came into the room, I was a happy, married guy with a great future ahead of him. In less than a minute, every negative memory and thought I've ever had came rushing back to me and... I hold my wrists up, but I've already lost so much blood, I'm starting to feel faint. It's not over yet. The negative memories swarm in my mind, and I grab the blade again and start digging into my chest. There's so much blood, but it's not enough. I have to get my heart out, to stop it beating. All I can think about is that I have to die. Life is too cruel, and hopeless. I just want the blankness and blackness of death. Digging through to my ribcage, I collapse to the ground, splattering down into a pool of my own blood.