Tales of the Horns: Part 1 The Berserk Beast

  Chapter 8

  Explanations

  “I have so many questions! You need to tell me everything, Remy! Everything!” said Mary as she hopped from foot to foot and clapped her hands.

  “Yes. Yes. In a minute. Let’s just sit down first, shall we?” Remy escorted Laedwynn slowly to a low chaise and helped ease her down.

  “Do you have anything to drink? We’re parched,” he said over a shoulder.

  “I could get you some water if you like.” replied Mary.

  “Something stronger, please. Single malt for me. Laedwynn will have wine.”

  “But the baby…”

  Remy rolled his eyes. “Are you a doctor? Laedwynn can handle herself and the baby will be fine. Where she’s from they drink wine like water.”

  Mary stared at the beautiful Laedwynn patting her belly with a simple smile on her face. “If you say so.” She turned and started for the door but stopped. “Oh wait. He keeps the liquor cabinet locked now.”

  Remy raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean now?”

  “Molotov cocktail experiments…”

  “You do know you’re meant to use petrol, right?”

  “Then why do they call it a cocktail?” shrugged Mary.

  Remy sighed and got to his feet. “Never mind, I’ll get it. It’s still in the same place, right?”

  “Yup,” said Mary, nodding.

  “Keep Laedwynn company, will you?” Remy strode towards the hallway, looked left and right as he got his bearings back and disappeared.

  Mary gave Laedwynn an awkward smile and shrugged. “So… do you know what the baby will be yet?”

  Leaning forward to catch the unfamiliar words Laedwynn replied slowly, “Is baby.”

  “Well that’s a relief,” Mary returned sarcastically, “and here I thought it was a dragon.”

  Laedwynn pursed her lips in bemusement. “Is not dragon. Is baby.” She rubbed her belly with motherly affection. “Baby come soon.”

  “How soon?” asked Mary, suddenly disliking the thought of a screaming baby in the house.

  “Tonight.”

  Mary went to Laedwynn’s side and stared at the wiggling lump. “Tonight? Are you sure? We’ll need a doctor or a midwife… Nobody will come in that storm.”

  Laedwynn shook her head primly. “No doctor. Husband say great-father help. Great-father protect.”

  A stab of suspicion entered Mary’s brain. “Protect you from whom?”

  Laedwynn looked up at Mary, her eyes full of fear. “People is want baby.”

  “Who would want a baby?” Mary asked out loud without thinking.

  “Husband and I want baby. Not gift. Not to be stolen,” replied Laedwynn coldly as she looked past Mary.

  Mary felt a presence behind her. She turned to see Remy standing in the doorway, holding a bottle underneath each arm and three glasses pinched between his fingers. He was shaking his head at his wife.

  “Laedwynn was saying someone is trying to steal your baby. Why would somebody do that?” blurted Mary as she started to hop again with anxiety.

  Remy approached a low coffee table and placed a bottle of red wine, a bottle of scotch and three glasses on its top. “We don’t know that. All we know is that we are being followed. That’s what brought us here.”

  He sucked a teardrop of blood from his knuckle. “That thing really was locked, Mary. How big of a fire did you start?”

  “It wasn’t that bad. He overreacted, as usual.”

  Remy shrugged his shoulders and started to pour the drinks. “You want one of these?” He asked, looking at Mary.

  “I’m like, sixteen, Remy. I’m not allowed alcohol.”

  Remy laughed dryly. “You’re kidding, right? All teenagers ever want to do is get drunk and… do... stuff to each other.”

  “Well I don’t,” replied Mary with feigned superiority.

  Remy handed a glass of wine to his wife. She said something in her melodic babble. Remy chuckled and nodded his head.

  “Don’t do that,” said Mary, crossing her arms.

  “Do what exactly?”

  “Talk about me in another language. It’s not nice.” Mary sat in a leather recliner opposite Remy and Laedwynn. “So will you tell me where you’ve been for the last ten years?”

  Remy sighed and took a long pull of his whisky. “Okay. I owe you some answers, I guess.”

  He stared at his glass for a moment, searching for the appropriate words to say.

  “There are quite a few things you won’t understand at first. Not without delving into long, complex histories or metaphysical theories. What I have to say will not be easy on you. I think…”

  Remy looked at his sister, innocent and curious, leaning out of her chair in eager anticipation. He cleared his throat and continued.

  “I think I will leave why I left until last. First, the obvious ˗ Stephen and I had a fight, as you know. I have always known that we have kin outside of Pennysworth. You may recall that I am quite a bit older than you. I was actually born beyond the boundary, in a land far from the New World in a place referred to as the Western Reaches. I remember our mother. And I remember our father…” Remy trailed off, shaking his head.

  “No, I won’t go there just yet. The point is, I knew what was outside. More importantly, I knew what had happened to our mother. I wanted to leave, to try and find her. Stephen, for all of his foibles, wanted me to stay. So, we argued. It came to blows. I bested him and ran away.”

  “You bested him?” asked Mary. “What were you doing? Duelling at noon?”

  “I knocked him out. With my fists,” Remy replied, showing Mary his scarred knuckles.

  Mary gave her brother a look, to assure him that she was not impressed.

  “Well, all I’m going to say is this ˗ he started it,” said Remy.

  “And you ran away,” prompted Mary. “So what happened next?”

  Remy settled beside his wife. “Where to begin…”

  Her brother’s eyes went distant as he thought. Finally he started with an unsteady voice.

  “I was not prepared for the world outside of Pennysworth. I had thought of myself as a man mature and experienced enough for whatever challenges life threw at me. How wrong I was. The world is a dangerous place. Crime is rife. War is perpetual. People are more likely to deceive you than lend a hand. The human race is a horrible, fractious bunch, Mary. I now see why the immortals loathe them so.”

  Remy shook his head and took a swallow of whiskey, almost to dispel the bad taste from his memory.

  “My plan was to travel to Ireland, in search of our mother. Her exact location was not known to me. Foolishly, I had not packed adequate supplies for my trip. After several days on The Road I ran out of food. I stumbled from town to town, ever westwards, stealing what I could to survive. After weeks of scraping by, I made it to a city called Pembroke. There, I snuck on board a ferry bound for Ireland. My plan really came undone once I arrived. I had no idea where to look. There are Sidhe mounds all over the country. Each one is a portal to a private realm for its fairy inhabitants. I combed the country looking for them, hoping in vain, that I would find our mother...”

  Stephen’s expression glazed over, and for a brief moment Mary worried he’d be lost in his head. Suddenly he took a deep breath and was talking again.

  “Each nether-world I located was either deserted or locked in some fashion. In the few mounds that I could access, I found evidence of violence ˗ corpses littering the golden halls and dark ichor staining the streets. Of survivors, there was no sign. With little more I could do, I inspected each body I found, preparing myself for the worst; that she, our mother, was dead.”

  Mary felt herself shaking as she listened. The talk of fairies and magical mounds didn’t make sense, and as such, didn’t register with her. She was desperate for news about her mother. Where was she?

  Remy continued with his eyes locked on the glass in his hands.

  “I lived that way for two years, trekk
ing the mortal lands like a wandering hermit and scavenging through the halls of the dead like a rat.

  At the end of my stay in Ireland, I came across some new information. In the chambers of a fairy prince, was a letter. Its contents declared another, separate kingdom of Sidhe, here in England. Tired, dejected and probably more than a little homesick, I thought I would try my luck one last time. That month, I stole aboard another ferry, leaving the Emerald Isle behind me for good. Back on these shores, I made my way to Olde ‘Wickshire, a forgotten county near the centre of Britain…”

  “Wait! You came back here?! But you didn’t come here!?” asked Mary.

  “Ah, Mary, there are so many things you don’t understand. Be patient. Yes, I came back here, even if I did not come back here… For weeks I searched through dell and over field, looking for the mysterious ‘English Sidhe’. It was there, passed out in a hedgerow, partially mad from starvation and privation, that I found Laedwynn.

  She appeared like an apparition through the trees, shimmering like gossamer beneath the moonlight. She and her brethren were dancing through the forest, singing songs older than mankind. The singing and dancing sparked a memory of my youth. In a bleary daze I followed after them.

  Had I found our mother’s people after all this time?”

  Mary sat forward. She looked at Laedwynn then back at her brother.

  What does he mean? Our mother’s people? Are we related to Laedwynn?

  She opened her mouth to speak but her brother was still talking. Mary thought it best to listen.

  “I don’t remember much of that night. The dancing, the wine, the women… it all went straight to my head. Near dawn, the party started to depart. I recall being entranced with Laedwynn’s beauty. Her face had haunted me all night. Laedwynn was – is – the most captivating creature I have ever seen. Without thinking, I followed her. At that point, everything went dark.

  When I woke, I was deep beneath the ground. I was a captive of the Dökkálfar, or Dark Elves as we would say. I had inadvertently broken an unwritten law by carousing with the elves. As punishment I was taken as a slave for a term of seven years.”

  “Wait a second!” said Mary, as her hands gripped her knees tight. “They made you a slave? Because you made an idiot of yourself at a party? What?!”

  Remy held Laedwynn’s hand. “Calm down, Mary,” he said. “Slave was probably the wrong word. You must try to understand that things are done differently with the magical races. They have certain covenants in place, set down by their creators. One of the chief laws they live by is that mortal men and women cannot willingly consort with Elven-kind without a price; it being either madness, a curse, or imprisonment for a maximum term of seven years. So you see, the way they responded to me was not their decision. Now, may I continue? Or do you want to interrupt me some more?”

  Mary folded her arms and slumped into her chair. “Go on then.”

  Remy rolled his eyes. “As I was saying, I was imprisoned in the Dark Elves subterranean realm. The Dökkálfar elders learned of my heritage through the arts they practice. Instead of toiling in a mine for ore, I was given an honourable role in the Royal Court. They treated me fairly and with respect. I was allowed many freedoms, so long as my duties were fulfilled. Nonetheless, I was still their captive, and there was always an element of suspicion and the threat of danger. It was made very clear that at any moment they could kill me should I displease them.

  I did what I was instructed to do without hesitation. I served the King and Queen their meals, and poured their wine. I trained with the army in the military and magical arts. I sat at conferences with lesser nobles and visiting dignitaries. I was always on display, for any and all that enquired.

  After years of living in pseudo-captivity, I learned of their true intentions for me. My treatment was purely political. I was to act as an insurance policy. A hostage, if you will.

  Our blood ties are with some very powerful people, Mary. Some people the Dökkálfar were very desperate to ally with. I was nothing more than a bargaining chip. Things changed when they learned Laedwynn was pregnant…”

  Mary had to cut in. “So you got all kissy-kissy with the women who made you a slave. Have you heard of ‘Stockholm syndrome’?”

  Remy and Laedwynn shared a knowing look.

  “You have a lot to learn, Mary. Strange times… can call for strange bed-fellows.”

  He took Laedwynn’s hand in his and squeezed it gently.

  “Yes. We had been seeing each other in secret for years, stealing kisses and trysts whenever we could. Our initial lust for each other had developed into a concrete love.

  Her family eventually found out. They were furious at first, but when their tempers cooled, they saw an opportunity. Our union bore them another, stronger bargaining chip. Our father’s kin gave in to their demands and a deal was made. The Dökkálfar had an ally in their war against their ancient enemy, the Ljósálfar.”

  “Lollies-alpha?” asked Mary.

  “Light-elves,” said Remy, frowning.

  “The Dökkálfar and the Ljósálfar have hated each other for millennia. Their enmity goes back to a time before common Man, during an age ruled by the Ӕsir, the gods the Norse worshipped. The Dökkálfar will stop at nothing in their last gasp attempt at toppling the Ljósálfar before their time on this plane is over.

  Laedwynn and I don’t want to be pawns in the coming war. More importantly, we don’t want our child to be a part of that conflict. When my seven years was up, we fled, sneaking out of Dókkalheim. We knew we would be pursued. Both of us and the child are important in the deal struck between our two peoples. I knew we would be safe, here in Pennysworth, if we could only find it...”

  Remy’s voice trailed off. His hands trembled as he reached for the whisky. Uncorking the bottle he took a long pull on the amber liquid. Coughing, eyes watering, he slammed the bottle back on the table. When he looked up at Mary, she was snarling, her skin flushed red.

  “You knew!? About our mother! And you didn’t tell me anything!” she snapped. “How could you do that to me? How could you keep that a secret!?”

  “I wanted to tell you. Please believe me,” Remy spoke to the table, unable to look at his sister’s face. “Stephen forced me not to. I swore a three-fold oath.”

  “I don’t care if you danced a jig with the devil! You could have told your own sister where her mother was!” roared Mary, standing.

  Laedwynn got to her feet. Her ashen skin was a darker shade of grey. As she pointed a finger at Mary, the shadows around her deepened. “You not speak my Prince that way!”

  Mary returned Laedwynn’s stare. “I will talk to my brother any damn way I like!”

  Remy stood up and put his body between the two growling women. “Calm down, the two of you!”

  Laedwynn stood rigid with her pinkie finger pressed to her thumb and the beginnings of a curse on her lips. Mary fought her way through a wave of pain as she grew two inches in girth, her tracksuit bulging around her waist and shoulders. As her emotions soared, she felt ready to break something with her fists.

  Remy gently lowered his wife’s hand and steered her back to the chaise. Laedwynn reluctantly sat, mumbling under her breath.

  Mary started her breathing exercises. After the pain eased and her rage abated, she sat back down.

  Remy wiped the perspiration from his forehead and sat beside Laedwynn. “Okay, Mary. I’ll tell you the truth. It will hurt, and I’ll likely owe Stephen my soul after breaking my oath…”

  “Tell me,” said Mary through gritted teeth.

  Remy took another hit of whisky and pointed an accusatory finger at the ceiling. “That man,” he said coldly, “Is not our father.”

  Mary imagined that she should have been shocked to the point of hysterical tears. She briefly wondered if other people would be grieved or pained to hear such news. But she felt nothing. Stephen Horn didn’t have a paternal bone in his body. To learn that he wasn’t her sire actually
made a lot of sense. She hadn’t felt any warmth or compassion from him in all her living memory. He was one of the driving forces behind her desire to quit Pennysworth for good. To learn it was all a lie was distressing but what about the truth? She turned her thoughts from him to something new and exciting, the prospect of finding her true parents.

  “So who is?” was all she could finally reply.

  Remy cocked an eyebrow. “What? You’re not angry?”

  “I’ve had suspicions. He’s a hard man to like…” Mary said sadly.

  “Yes…” said Remy tilting his head and eyeing Mary with caution. “Our father is Themus, King of the Western Reaches.”

  Mary nodded dumbly. Nothing was making any sense. “Our mother?”

  “Her name is Maighdlin Derg, princess of the Sidhe.”

  A tear tracked down Mary’s cheek. “Why did they abandon us?”

  “I wish I knew,” Remy replied morosely. “Stephen may tell you. Probably not though…”

  Mary wiped the tears from her eyes. Her voice was surprisingly unbroken. “What is he to us? An uncle? Orphanage overlord?”

  “He’s our maternal grandfather. He is family, even if he may not show it,” said Remy.

  The lights suddenly flickered then went out. The only light in the room was cast by the untended fireplace, washing everything in fitful orange hues. From above them came the sound of an explosion. It echoed through the stone house, shaking anything not nailed down. Small trails of grit streamed down from cracks in the ceiling.

  Remy leapt to his feet at once. “We’re under attack!”

  Laedwynn stood with a speed that should have been impossible under any circumstances, pregnant or not. She clenched both fists and bowed her head. The room went darker and darker still. The fire guttered, reduced to a dull glow. Mary thought she saw the shadows move and shift around the ashen women. Suddenly Laedwynn raised her head and the darkness fled. “Not attack. Nothing in shadow.”

  “What was that then?” said Remy, running a hand through his hair.

  Mary’s first impulse was to make sure the ceiling wasn’t going to collapse while also glancing sideways to see if armed gunmen would break through the windows. The shock of her brother’s revelations and the subsequent explosion had her thoughts in a jumble. Soon her mind settled and she knew of one explanation for such a noise.

  “Father!” Mary got to her feet and ran out of the room.

  “Don’t call him that!” shouted Remy as he moved to follow.

  “It’s a habit, okay?” Mary shouted back.

  “I help,” Laedwynn said, stepping forwards.

  Remy shook his head, his eyes automatically looking at his unborn child.

  “Stay please, darling. At least until we know what’s happening?”

  Laedwynn shrugged and took another mouthful of wine.

  The hall was starting to fill with smoke. Mary stepped unsteadily over the broken coat stands and picture frames, the ones Stephen had broken on his journey to his study. She cupped her jersey to her mouth and tried not to inhale. The smoke got much thicker as she climbed the stairs to the second storey. Her eyes stung and she began to cough uncontrollably.

  Remy was right behind her.

  “Wait. I can do something about this, I think… Fire and water aren’t my specialty though.” Coughing, Remy rubbed his hands together then clapped. A fine mist radiated out from his palms, smothering the smoke and making the air more tolerable to breath. He kept his arms held before him as he advanced up the stairs, blowing the bitter smoke away from him and Mary with his magic.

  Mary watched him in amazement.

  How was he doing that?

  Soot-stained water began to puddle beneath their feet and condensate in black droplets on the stone walls and steel suits of armour. Ahead of them they could see the door to Stephen’s study hanging on one hinge. Smoke billowed out like a furnace chimney, the glare of the fire casting a yellow glow like clouds of sulphur.

  Mary screamed and pushed her brother faster down the hallway towards the unhinged door.

  “Don’t rush me! I’m trying to concentrate!” Remy barked over his shoulder.

  As they made it to the door they felt the heat of the blaze. Both siblings balked at the intensity. Remy gritted his teeth and summoned a greater reserve of his power. All Mary could do was watch as the veins in his neck swelled to triple their normal size. Remy seemed to expand as the mist turned first to a drizzle and then rain. Rain at his fingertips!

  Remy’s coat seam popped at the shoulder and he cried out in pain. Mary stood there at his side, amazed at her brother’s talent and frightened for Stephen’s life at the same time.

  Slowly the fire abated. Mary steeled her courage against the flames and slipped past Remy and into the room, crouching low. Fire still raged in the corner where a large metal contraption had been blown apart. Sparks flew out of control panels and torn electrical cables. Large pieces of shrapnel were embedded in the walls and ceiling. A collection of chemicals and powders had been knocked to the floor, their glass containers broken and the contents bubbling and fizzing as they mixed.

  Mary surveyed the room in horror, a scream barely held in check. A smashed podium box shifted slightly and Mary saw a bloody hand reaching out. Mary scrambled forward on her hands and knees and began to sweep the debris away. Underneath, she found Stephen’s battered and broken body, his breathing shallow and laboured. Long vicious splinters were stuck in his left arm and shoulder. Bright red blood had soaked through his clothes and onto the floor.

  Stephen’s head lolled about. “Help me,” he wheezed.

  Mary grabbed him beneath his armpits and hauled him backwards towards the hallway. Stephen howled in pain at every bump and jolt as he slid along the floor. Remy was now standing by the machine, arms outstretched, his magical rain dowsing the fire directly. Several stubborn fires were turning his rain to steam

  “I’m going to need your help to move him downstairs!” Mary screamed over the noise.

  “In a second,” snapped Remy, “I need to get this fire under control first.”

  Mary felt a tug on her hand. She looked down and saw Stephen pointing back into the room.

  “My cane, child. Bring me my cane.”

  “You’re too hurt to walk, Father. I’ll get your cane later.”

  Stephen gripped Mary’s hand tightly. “Not to walk… For the fire,” he gasped.

  “You want me to burn your cane?” said Mary, pursing her lips in puzzlement.

  “Just bring me the damn thing!” Stephen yelled before lapsing into a coughing fit.

  Mary sighed and went back into the room. She found the cane after kicking her way through piles of singed papers and splintered wood. She dumped it at Stephen’s elbow unceremoniously. Stephen fumbled the cane into a usable position with his left hand and waved it at sections of the machine. Valves opened or closed at his gesture, trapping the burning fuels and releasing coolants. The blaze quickly died. Remy relaxed his pose and withdrew his magic. His swollen body eased itself back into his normal frame. He looked like a veteran beggar. His shirt had split down his back and along the seams of his arms while his pants had torn around his thighs. Black soot covered him from toe to top.

  Panting hard, he drooped and rested his hands on his knees. Jets of steam whistled into the air, blowing ash and papers around the room. “What on earth was that thing?” he said to no-one in particular.

  Stephen crumpled back onto the floor with a thud, left hand clutching his cane tight.

  “I’m no doctor but I think I need medical attention.”