Stubborn Mule, page 11
I sank deep into the Necroverse, eased into their susceptible minds while they were otherwise focused, and let a relaxing presence dissolve their desire like the calm after a storm. The Irish Wolfhound was the focus, and once he was snapped back to reality and a gentle reminder that this wasn't acceptable was pushed to the fore, so the others followed suit.
Just in time, as a ten-strong group of soldiers barged their way through the shocked crowd, weapons raised, shouting at everyone to stand back so they could destroy the dogs.
I screamed a silent, "Go!" into the animals' minds and they bolted for the alleys, only just making it before the soldiers could get a shot off.
With the military now focused on the man and couple, the crowd dispersed. Within seconds, it was as though nothing had happened. This clearly wasn't the first time the dogs had gone rogue, and if such things were occurring in a sleepy, quaint town in the West Midlands, what were the cities like? I shuddered as I let my connection go. The shame, fear, and desire for food the dogs felt slowly faded, but left me sad, despairing, and unsettled.
We weaved through the zombies, then once on the empty road Bernard let me ride him again and we left Shrewsbury behind us without saying a word.
The only sound was the constant buzzing of the drones, but even that subsided eventually once we were out of town. Only when it was replaced with birdsong could I finally relax, gradually coming back to myself and letting a calmness settle where there had previously been a tight knot of fear, frustration, sympathy, and worry for all our futures.
Not just ours, but the animals' too. If I could look after them all, I would, but I knew it was beyond me. This was a much bigger problem than one I could ever help to solve.
A SILENT REUNION
Being out in the world once more was bewildering. Always rather insular, preferring my own company and that of my family and the zoo, I often went the full year seeing and speaking to almost nobody else. Now we were in the new place, I saw Job and Shae regularly, and went out more than usual, but life in a sleepy village hadn't prepared me for the wide world at large. And this was just a small town!
People knowing about Necros, potions everywhere, drug abuse, rabid dogs, murderous drones, and on the list went. It was disconcerting and more unstable than I'd expected.
The envious, coveting glances Bernard and I had received as we exited Shrewsbury had also been a real cause for concern. Horses—which is how he appeared to regular folk and even many Necros—were worth an absolute fortune, yet even they were frowned upon by those completely indoctrinated into the propaganda machine that told the young ones that any form of transport was tantamount to setting off an atomic bomb.
But we made it out, and here we were moving sedately through the open countryside, not a soul in sight. Nothing but me, the birds, and a whiny, annoying, dumb unicorn.
"But why can't we go home now?"
"Because we haven't gone anywhere yet."
"But I'm tired."
"No, you aren't."
"And I'm too hot."
"Again, you're a magical unicorn. You don't feel the heat. Or the cold."
"And hungry."
"You're always hungry. But again, you don't actually need food. I'm hungry though."
"Then let's go home," he sulked.
"We have to go make sure Jen and Tyr are alright. And maybe find a way to kill a faery."
Bernard gasped. "You can't do that! She's Queen."
"I know. And she stole my daughter. Again. I won't stand for it. She's gonna pay," I growled, knowing I would do nothing, as what could I do?
"We're here."
"How did you do that?" Bernard the barmy stopped, so I looked up and found we were beside a familiar oak tree in a field with a babbling brook not far away.
"You keep getting distracted."
"Hmm, or maybe you're doing something. A skill you haven't revealed before?"
"Don't know what you mean? Can you get off? Your bum is too bony."
"And yours is too fat."
"That's not nice."
"I know. It smells too." Nevertheless, I dismounted, then removed the packs from Bernard and took them over to the stream where it was nice and cool under the shade of overgrown hawthorn and beech trees. I made a small fire, then set out a rather meager meal for Bernard and a much grander one for me.
"Is that all I get?" he asked, eyeing it dourly.
"You refused to let me load the large sack of food for you, so yes, that's it."
"You should have said it was my dinner."
"I did. Seven times."
"Oh." Bernard began to snuffle about sourly, so I told him that Mawr would have plenty of treats tomorrow and he brightened.
With the fire burning bright and clear thanks to the plethora of dry kindling, I rested against the tree and munched on an apple. After I'd had my fruit like a good boy, I delved greedily into the containers and checked out what Phage had supplied me with.
I almost shed a tear to find a wafer-thin slice of beef, and some amazing bread. With a container of pasta, fried mushrooms we'd foraged, and strips of preserved meat of unknown origin, I was beyond content with my lot.
Once finished, I settled back and didn't even bother to open the wine. Which lasted all of five minutes before I sighed, said, "Screw it," and retrieved a bottle from the stream. Maybe it was the kind of day I'd had, or maybe I was becoming desensitized to British wine, but for the first time ever it didn't taste half bad.
The evening passed in perfect solitude. Bernard slept by the fire, feet kicking comically as he dreamed about whatever daft unicorns dream of, and I just enjoyed the quiet. There were no sprites this beautiful night, no surprise werewolf visits, no intruders who would do me harm. Just me, Bernard, the fire, and against my better judgment, a second bottle of wine. This one definitely tasted better than the first, but then, the first had already worked its magic.
I woke to several surprises.
One, Bernard was in a good mood. Two, my head was pounding. The thudding at my temples really shouldn't have come as a surprise, but it always did. Every single time.
"What are we doing today?" he asked brightly.
"You already know!" I snapped. "Sorry, I've got a thick head. I need to be still and quiet for a while."
"You shouldn't drink that filth. It's bad for you," lectured Bernard smugly, doing a little dance about the camp just to wind me up.
"I know that. Everyone does. But it's a failing lots of us have. Even when it tastes so awful."
"That makes no sense. If it tastes awful and gives you a sore head, why do it?"
"Idiocy," I grumbled, then groaned as I heaved myself to my feet, changed my mind, plonked myself back down, and removed my boots and socks. I then wandered to the stream and waded in to cool my feet. Knowing I needed to pay penance and it would wake me up, I sank to my knees and dunked my head under the freezing water.
Gasping in shock, I flung my head back, flattened my hair, and cupped the water and took my fill. Once my thirst was quenched, I stumbled back to the tree and devoured an apple and gave one to Bernard. By the time we were finished and I'd broken camp, my clothes and hair were already dry. The day promised to be a scorcher.
"Time to go visit Mawr. You like him, don't you?"
"He's great. Always has lots of food, never makes me drag carts, let's me sleep as much as I want, and never makes me stand for hours in the rain."
"When have I ever done that?"
"Never. I'm just saying, he doesn't."
I smiled at my long-time companion, amazed yet again how different he could be from one day to the next. I didn't ask, but it was clear he'd entirely forgotten about the conversation of yesterday, and it was best to leave it that way. It would only upset him, and we had too far to go for me to put up with him being in one of his moods.
Just to confound me, and mess with my semi-addled mind, Bernard was upbeat and chatty once we finally took the correct turn and I ensured he knew which way to go. The only thing worse than a grumpy Bernard was a happy Bernard. He chatted away almost non-stop about utterly inconsequential nonsense until I was ready to lose my mind.
For hour after hour, he waxed lyrical about hay, gave a sermon on why straw should be fresh every day, even though I reminded him he always did get his stall cleaned daily, and once he got onto the subject of molasses I was close to whipping out Bone Slicer and jabbing both my eardrums. Or slicing off his tongue. Problem with that was his would grow back, and boy would he give me a world of grief about that!
So I endured my punishment, knowing part of it was the wine, but mostly I was jittery because of Jen and Tyr. It wasn't just the fact they had been away, it was the state of society. Everything was disintegrating at an alarming rate, and I understood enough about the world, having seen it change repeatedly over centuries, to know that it was going to get a hell of a lot worse.
I didn't want my little girl to have to endure such a frightening mess, and lamented that there was absolutely nothing I could do to change the direction we were seemingly headed in.
But we would make it!
That was the one overarching consolation to this utterly fucked-up mess. Somehow, my family line made it. We all did in one form or another. Our descendants would be out there amongst the stars one day. I knew this with absolute conviction now. That I, along with Phage and Jen, somehow waded through this mire and our lineage, my lineage, seeded an incredible future.
The eye had shown me this much, and more. Almost as if it spoke to me, it told that I survived to see my child grow old. Did that mean I could do whatever the hell I wanted? Doubtful. Like Mawr said, this was but one possible future. Could I change it? Sure, I could stab myself in the heart right now and put an end to this suffering. But would I? Of course not. So maybe this was all set in stone after all.
I shook away the dark reverie. I'd been over shit like this many times before, and it led nowhere but to doubting your own sanity.
"Just keep on keeping on, Soph," I reminded myself. "That's all you can ever do."
Bernard was still chattering away as I zoned back in to the present. I smiled at the absurdity of this life, praying for it to be different, knowing I didn't want it to be. Fact was, I got off on the dark side of my nature. How could it be otherwise? To survive in this kind of environment, you had to embrace the truth. And the truth was that I was hard, confident, and wouldn't take shit from anyone. It had been the one constant in my life, and I would never, ever change.
As we took a turn that led south, the fierce sun beat down relentlessly. My forearms were blistered despite so many years of sun exposure, and my face was so dry I was sure I could peel strips off my cheeks and cook it like bacon. We needed shade, and we needed it fast.
We paused for a light lunch under the glorious cover of a garish weeping willow, the drooping branches so low they trailed over the ground. Under the canopy, it was almost cool enough to make me shiver, the moisture of the leaves keeping this micro-climate perfect for a weary traveler to delight in such simple pleasures.
Bernard munched on several apples and tugged the lush grass that grew in our little slice of paradise, seemingly content with the silence. I dared not speak for fear he'd go off on one again, but at least my hangover had vanished, replaced with a growing excitement about seeing Jen and Tyr once more. What could possibly have made him sick? He hadn't been poorly a day in his life since a wyrmling. Not that I could remember, anyway. What had they done? Where had they gone? What crap had Malka led them into?
Guess I'd find out soon enough, and it made my heart sing to know we'd be reunited. I hoped she wouldn't be cross with me for arriving a day early, but there was no way I could hold out any longer, and Phage would have a fit if I didn't check on them today.
All too soon, we were on the road again. Me sweating and grumbling, Bernard not sweating, but very much complaining. Everything was back to normal. If you can call riding a unicorn to go get your daughter and dragon who have been off with the Faery Queen normal. Which I did.
We reached the spot in the hedge that gave access to Mawr's own private world, so I dismounted, stretched out my legs and back, then pushed through the hawthorn that gave way to allow me to duck through the tunnel of thorny branches.
Bernard came through behind me, complaining about how much it hurt, even though he felt no pain and the hedge widened to accommodate him.
Once through, we were immersed in Mawr's domain. A serenity hung in the air like the promise of a warm fire and a tumbler of fine scotch on a winter's evening. My worries faded the deeper we got into his ward-protected zone. Only those with access privileges could ever find, let alone enter, this sacred place, and there were very few people who Mawr entrusted with such an honor.
Phage's father had done so much for me over the years, and I loved him dearly, but I always reminded myself that he was a tricky old bastard too, and had manipulated me and Phage into coming together, never mind that it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Her too, hopefully. Damn it, why did I do that? How many times did she have to tell me before I believed?
We followed a narrow path leading deeper into the heart of Mawr's sanctuary. Birds sang with joy, deer and boar crossed our paths without fear, having been raised in an environment that for many generations had offered security and safety, their fear of man easing until it was non-existent. It made me beyond happy.
And then, my excitement bubbling over, we passed from the cool of the forest into the blistering heat at the edge of the trees. Loath to step out onto the exposed ground, I leaned against a tree and took a moment to check things out and compose myself for the reunion.
I was itching to reach out to Tyr and say hello, but forewent the telepathic conversation as I wanted to be sure everything was as it should be here. It looked fine, but looks could be deceiving. Just like me.
The orchard was flourishing thanks to expert land management and a slightly magical touch. The gardens were in full bloom, a dazzling array of bright flowers that lifted my spirits so high I felt like my feet were hovering above the grass. The vegetable plots were brimming with fresh produce. Huge ruby red tomatoes hung like giant baubles from lush green vines, grapes grouped in fat clusters, squash, carrots, even melons grew fat and delicious under the sun and water that irrigated the rows direct from his well. A gentle breeze gave me just a hint of the sweet fruits of Mawr's labors, and my stomach rumbled as I imagined biting into a sweet melon, the juice dribbling into my beard.
But where was everyone?
Still reluctant to reach out mentally to Tyr, I followed Bernard who wandered into the compound and sniffed.
"Can you smell them?"
"No, can you?"
"My sense of smell is good, but nothing like yours. So, no, I can't. But we should, right?"
"Tyr always stinks."
"Says the unicorn who shits where he eats."
"I do not! You take that back."
"Only if you clean out your own stall."
"I shall let your insult pass. But only because I am a gracious and magnificent creature."
"Gee, thanks. I'm honored."
Bernard turned, nearly impaling me, but I was an old hand at avoiding unicorn horns so jumped back in plenty of time. "I hope that wasn't sarcasm."
"So do I."
Bernard sniffed and snorted again, then whinnied, and trotted over to Mawr's house then around the right-hand side, somewhere I couldn't ever recall having gone before. I stomped after him, already sweating and longing for the shade of the deep forest.
As we turned along the side of the house, I got the unmistakable familiar smell of sulfur and the essence of dragon. A smell I would never tire of, because it meant one thing. Tyr. My child, raised from an egg, born on the day my daughter was, and a constant in our lives ever since. I stopped short when I came up beside Bernard and we gasped as we took in the sleeping form of Tyr.
Even Bernard remained quiet, and I placed my palm on his flank in thanks. He nodded without turning, head lowered, and we both sighed with both relief and concern. Relief he was alive, concern that Tyr was very different to how he used to be.
His normally glowing body, the individual scales rippling and shimmering with reflected light and the inner fire always making him seem like he'd swallowed a pack of light bulbs, was dull. A faded, nondescript brown that allowed him to blend in naturally with the backdrop of trees.
His long sinewy neck was curled around so his head rested on his forelimbs, and his eyes were closed. I ached to stare into those strange orbs, to see the light of life flickering there so full of joy and confidence, but he wasn't quite himself and didn't even stir as we approached silently.
"He's alive," noted Bernard.
"Yeah, but not fully recovered from whatever happened," I whispered.
We stepped closer cautiously, not wanting to wake him as he obviously needed the rest. His breathing was deep, a good sign, and I caught a strong tang of his acrid breath as he snorted in his sleep. The fire was still burning inside, which was a relief, and even as I smiled, tiny wisps of smoke drifted from his dilated nostrils and trailed up like a smoke-signal.
Most disturbing was his size. He was much larger than I recalled, and I wasn't sure at first if it was my memory playing tricks on me, or he really had grown a great deal in the intervening weeks. What had he done? I searched my mental library for a comparison, and was in no doubt that he was at least a third larger, but clearly not the dragon he once was.
Maybe he'd fed on someone he shouldn't have and grown, unless there was another way. I racked my brain, tried to recall the book on dragons I'd devoured here with Mawr, and the research I'd done on the Necroweb, but couldn't recall any other reason for such a rapid increase in size.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and was instantly alert, Bone Slicer already zinging as I released him. But I relaxed as I stared into the eyes of Mawr.
With a sympathetic smile, he said, "We should talk."
