Faerie Tale (13 page)

‘And so am I,’ thought Tamar.

 It would be a glorious battle.

What a pity she would not be there to see it. 

~ Chapter Sixteen ~

T
amar split the army into four divisions and put Denny, Stiles, Hogswill and Florid in charge of the various divisions.  She was a natural born General.  The divisions were necessary to split up those species who naturally did not get on together.  She did not want the Dwarfs (who had trouble with metaphor anyway) to take the phrase “bury the hatchet” to a literal extreme. Which, had they been forced to fight alongside the trolls, might be a real hazard.  Centaurs andMinotaurs also had to be kept apart although the reasons for this were now long buried in the past and possibly the only person present (Centaur and Minotaur included) who remembered them was Tamar herself.

The Vikings (who were technically human and did not annoy anybody – except Tamar) were split up between divisions.

It was assumed that Tamar would be taking charge of the army.  So when she told Denny that she wanted him to do it, as well as looking after his own division (Trolls, Vikings and Unicorns – the most unruly of the warriors you may notice) he was stunned.

‘B-but it’s
your
army,’ he stuttered.  ‘Don’t
you
want to …?’

It was time to tell him the truth; there was no more room for evasion.

‘I won’t be there,’ she told him bluntly.  ‘I have something else I have to do.  And if you ask me what it is, I’m going to lie to you, so don’t.’

Denny knew Tamar well enough to know that this was true.  And that she was not leaving on the eve of battle, as it were, out of fear. On the contrary, she was probably leaving to do something even more dangerous.  If he knew what it was he would probably only worry, so he did not push it. 

* * *

In a few hours, it would be nightfall, time to move out.  Tamar was on the veranda with Stiles. 

‘We could all die you know,’ said Stiles gloomily.  His own division (Centaurs, Satyrs, Vikings and Gnomes) were bickering endlessly and refused to take direction – he would rather have had the Dwarfs, but, much as they liked him, they would only follow Florid in battle.

‘It’s the chance we take,’ said Tamar. 

Stiles nodded gloomily.  ‘It’s the waiting that gets me,’ he said.  ‘I don’t mind the fighting so much. 

‘You’ll be leaving soon I suppose,’ he added.

Stiles had been informed of Tamar’s imminent departure by a bewildered Denny and had decided that it was none of his business.  But old habits die hard so he asked anyway.

‘When you do,’ she said.  ‘In a few hours.’

‘It’s the waiting that’s hard,’ repeated Stiles.  ‘Seems a long time to kill until sundown.’

‘Don’t waste it then,’ said Tamar.

‘What are
you
going to do for the next five hours then?’

‘Say goodbye to Denny,’ she said.  ‘That should take a good few hours to do properly. Go and say goodbye to Hecaté. I should.’

* * *

‘Denny?’

Denny turned in surprise.  ‘Oh, I thought you might have gone already,’ he said. 

‘Not yet,’ she said.  ‘Soon, but I wanted to say goodbye.’

She stood awkwardly in the doorway.

‘Goodbye?’ said Denny. Then a light dawned.  ‘Oh,
goodbye
.  Right.’

He locked the door. 

* * *

Denny was up. He stared out of the window at the falling dusk.  In a few hours they were all going to die, he knew it his heart, there was no way out of this one. It was a hopeless fight,  but they were going to do it anyway.

‘We should have got married,’ he said suddenly.

Tamar sat up sharply.  ‘What?’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ he continued.  ‘It wasn’t that I didn’t
want
to. You know that, right?  It was just …’

‘It was always going to be something,’ supplied Tamar. 
Why did he have to start this now?

‘That’s not a good reason,’ he said.  ‘I realise that now.  I mean, if it’s always going to be
something
, then we should have just done it anyway.  I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ she said.  ‘It was me too.’

‘Yeah,’ he agreed.  ‘But if I’d have …’

‘Forget it,’ she said. 
It’s too late now anyway.

* * *

Tamar watched the troops file away with a sense of terrible hopelessness. Whatever they achieved would only be a small victory, and they would pay dearly for it.  But it was better than nothing.  Better to die fighting than live under the enchantment of the Faeries.  Better to try than to give up.  But this time, there would be no last minute intervention, no sudden twist that would turn hopeless defeat into victory.  No tricks this time, she was out of tricks.  And she had battle of her own to fight.

As the last of her army disappeared into the night, she turned and headed for the basement. 

Basements in any large house are interesting places.  Full of gloomy, mysterious corners and odd shaped dustsheets, hidden doorways often leading to the wine cellar or occasionally outdoors onto a small patio.  The hidden doorways in this cellar led to much more interesting places than that. Just about anywhere you could think of actually.  This was due to the fact that the whole house was only nominally on this plane of existence and below the house was access to the mainframe central offices.  Clive, the clerk who had previously owned the house had used it to get to work.  From there one could also access all the files from mainframe, if you knew how to do it of course.  It was still stuck on the hall of images, the file that Clive had last opened before he had left the house to Tamar and Denny.  No one, not even Denny, had been able to figure out how it worked. 

The hall of images was actually a repository for the image of any being that’s existence was focus of belief (gods for example).  People need an image of something to believe in it, and this was where the images were stored.  They looked like statues.  Many of them had been destroyed.

Tamar walked past the dusty images and the broken statues, some no more than a pile of dust, until she found the one she wanted.  Funny that none of the others had noticed it.  Yet it made sense in a strange sort of way.  She was a mythological creature generated by belief although not by anyone else’s belief in her, just her own belief in herself, which had been unshakable for 5000 years.  Until now. 

Now the image was showing cracks and soon, if she did not do something, it would crumble like all the others. 

Probably the only thing holding it together at all was Denny’s continued belief in her.  And that would die with him, she thought grimly.

Under the pedestal was a small door.  She opened it. Inside was a dusty, grimy bottle, which she gingerly removed.

She stared at it unwillingly for a long time then she closed her eyes and concentrated.

And vanished inside the bottle. 

* * *

The Faeries had been expecting them, but of course, this was anticipated.  The army had, in fact, simply marched out in the full expectation of being ambushed.*

*[
Allowing your troops to be ambushed is, in fact, a standard military manoeuvre, just not one that any army in the world will admit to (presumably, because it does not sound very tough).  It gives you the advantage, however, of not having to bother to go and find your enemy and choosing the battleground yourself.
]

Denny raised his sword above his head as Faeries swarmed them from all sides. 

‘All right lads,’ he yelled.  ‘Let’s get ’em.’

A forest of swords appeared raised in the air. The Faeries whooped and attacked.

All else was drowned in the sound of clashing steel. 

Part 2

~ Chapter Seventeen ~

Six weeks later…

T
here were bodies everywhere. The streets were littered with the remains of Tamar’s army, left just as they fell among the rubble of now deserted streets. A macabre and careless graveyard over which lay a ghostly white fog as if to soften its grisliness.  But no one ever went there now to see it.

Almost no one …

The white robed figure who drifted among the slain did so with a sense of purpose, as if she knew exactly who she was looking for. 

She found Denny first. He was lying in a twisted position, his head flung back awkwardly, his legs awry, a gaping wound in his side, there was no doubt that he was dead.  The sword he had carried was still gripped tightly in his hand.  He looked strangely uncorrupted for a six week old corpse. He might have only just died that night. 

The figure bent over his body reverently, touched him lightly and passed on. 

 Next, she found Jack Stiles, and here she hesitated.  His body was in a much worse condition, badly wounded in many places and it appeared that his neck was broken – the head does not usually sit at a 90° angle to the neck.  But he also appeared very recently deceased. A pathologist would have been extremely confused.  The robed figure bent down and touched him lightly and this time waited for a few moments before passing on. 

Then Cindy, who had somehow managed to achieve the neatest death ever seen.  Not that she was not badly wounded – she was.  It was just that she did not have a hair out of place and she was lying on her back with her arms folded as if she were already in the casket. Even her lipstick had not been smudged. There was something fundamentally unshakable about Cindy’s pride in her appearance, even in death she had to look her best.

If it was not so unthinkable, it might have seemed to a detached observer (had there been one there) that, as the figure bent to touch Cindy, the shoulders were shaking slightly; that she was, in fact, laughing. 

But of course, that was unthinkable.

The figure touched Cindy and passed on. 

*

Denny was the first to awake.  He stood up shakily and looked around at the carnage. ‘Oh God!’ he gasped.

‘What happened?’

Denny turned.  It was Stiles. 

‘I think everyone’s dead,’ said Denny sardonically.  ‘I could be wrong of course.  Maybe they’re just having a kip.’

‘Why aren’t
we
dead?’ asked Cindy emerging suddenly from through the fog. 

Denny looked intently at her. ‘Good question,’ he said eventually.  ‘Why just us three?’

‘You think Tamar’s behind this?’ said Stiles, who was prepared to believe Tamar capable of anything.’

Denny shrugged.  ‘The thing is,’ he said.  I think I
was
dead.  And Tamar just doesn’t have that kind of power.  Not to raise the dead’

‘Who does?’

‘Well,’ Hecaté does,’ said Cindy unexpectedly.  ‘Only she’s not allowed to use it.’

‘Not allowed?’ asked Denny.

‘The other gods …’ began Cindy.

‘Ha!’ said Denny.  ‘
What
other gods?’

‘Ah.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Stiles.  ‘Are you saying that
Hecaté
did this?’  That my wife can
raise
the
dead
?’ 

‘Standard godly power,’ said Denny.  ‘But we don’t
know
it was her.’

‘It could have been Eugene,’ said Cindy. ‘Angelic intervention.’

‘He’d be thrown out of Heaven,’ said Denny.  ‘Again.’

‘He’d do it for me,’ said Cindy stubbornly.

The fog was beginning to lift, and the ghastly scene was taking on a disturbing clarity in the early morning light.  Cindy shivered.

‘Yes,’ said Denny.  ‘Let’s go home.’

* * *

The house was deserted. That is, all the recent guests had departed, but Hecaté was still there, waiting in the hallway calmly with Jacky on her knees. 

The changeling bounded over to Cindy and grasped her firmly round the neck when they arrived and Hecaté, rather more sedately embraced Stiles leaving Denny feeling rather adrift and alone.  Wasn’t anyone glad to see
him
? 

‘Where’s Tamar?’ he asked, more to himself really, he was not actually expecting an answer, but Hecaté looked awkward. 

‘Ah,’ she said.  ‘I’d better show you. You are not going to like it,’ she added. 

Denny felt his stomach sink in anticipated horror. But it was worse than he imagined.

Hecaté held up the familiar bottle and sighed. ‘She’s in here,’

‘
What
?’ Denny was more furious than he had ever been in his life.  It was because he was afraid. He took the bottle gingerly in shaking hands and looked at it in revulsion.  Tamar’s prison.

‘Why?’ he managed to whisper.

‘She knew you were going to die,’ explained Hecaté gently.  ‘She made a bargain.  Your lives for her freedom.’

‘
You
, you knew about this?’

‘Yes, I was the conduit.  I brought you back.  Part of the bargain.’

Denny sat down suddenly.  There was no chair behind him so he just sat on the floor.  He suddenly felt as if he had no strength in his body. The world drained away, and he was alone in the dark.  Of all the things that had happened this was the worst. 

He looked at the bottle. ‘Go away,’ he said.  His voice seemed to be coming from a long way off.  ‘Leave us alone.’

Hecaté nodded.  ‘I think she would have wanted
you
to let her out,’ she said.  ‘That’s why I did not do it.’ she turned to leave.

Denny looked up suddenly.  ‘Don’t tell the others,’ he said.

Hecaté hesitated for a moment then said. ‘As you wish.’

* * *

Tamar emerged from the bottle yawning and stretching and apparently unconcerned about her self-inflicted plight.  Until you looked at her eyes. 

‘That’s better,’ she said flippantly then she saw Denny’s face.  ‘Oh.’

‘It’s just us,’ he told her in hollow tones.  ‘You can drop the act.’

‘It’s not an act,’ she said.  ‘I’m fine, really.’

Denny moved like a snake grabbing her wrist and dragging the sleeve back to reveal the manacles there. 

Tamar winced.

‘
Fine
are you?’ he snarled.  ‘You’re a
slave
!’