Stubborn Mule, page 14
With a nod, he clomped forward so I mounted. The moment I was in the saddle he was off like a rocket, tearing along the sunken lane, the hedges looming, until the world became a blur. Lovely visions of puppies and picnics, flavors of toffee and ice-cream, steak and wine made me salivate as the world rushed by and we practically, or maybe actually, flew towards Peth's home.
As suddenly as it began, it stopped. The world was once more as it had been. Hot, perplexing, and mundane in comparison.
But much louder.
"What are they doing?" asked Bernard as we watched the large group of people up ahead on the road.
"No idea. Let's get closer. Why are they shouting? Are those placards? What the hell can they be protesting about out here in the middle of nowhere? There's nothing around for miles apart from the warded area for Peth's."
"They must know about it."
"How? And what are they here for? Shit, some of them have weapons."
Bernard trotted forward, head held high, showing off for the crowds. They might not see the horn, but they'd admire his white coat and his flowing mane, which he shook as he neighed, prancing about like a show pony.
"Stop it," I hissed. "You're making us conspicuous."
"At least that way nobody will think we're up to no good."
"Or they'll recognize me and give me a load of shit. Look, they are protesters. 'For Real is not For Real', is that what they're chanting? And those signs are pretty nasty. 'Down with Evil Witches. Necros Must Die. Only God is Magic.' Fucking hell, what a shitshow."
"Not very imaginative," noted Bernard. "Should we leave?"
"It might be like this around the entire warded area. They must have figured it out. Let me see what the deal is."
"If you're sure."
"Stay back," I warned Bernard as I clambered down, already weary from the shouts and chanting.
"Can I just go home now?" he whined, for once looking me in the eye as he asked.
"Do you want to? It's your choice. Nobody ever makes you do anything. It's just a request. If you don't want to be here with me, then go."
"You sure?"
"Of course. I've told you literally thousands of times that if you'd rather not come when I ask, then don't. You aren't a prisoner."
"But if I leave, I'll feel bad."
"You would?" I asked, surprised.
"Yes, because you need me. You were going to get denim from that witch, weren't you? And you didn't want to morph. Why was that?"
"I could've," I admitted. "I'm not sure. I figured if we found Jen we could take it slow, spend some time together. But Peth said she wasn't there. Doesn't mean she hasn't arrived since we spoke." I shrugged, not sure what else to say. Tired of Bernard's sour attitude.
"I'd like that too. To get to know her better."
"You've known her since she was a newborn."
"Yes, and it was great when she was little. She always came to talk to me. But now it's her and Kayin."
"You miss her, same as I do. They grow up, become independent, get on with their own lives. It's the nature of things."
"I'll stay." Bernard nodded, mind made up.
I wasn't sure if it was a good thing, or a bad thing, but I felt like I needed him. And besides, he could carry the denim if I managed to snag some off Giselda.
"Great. But wait here while I go have a word with these idiots. Look at them. What do they think they're doing? And how did they discover the whereabouts of Peth and her cronies? I thought she had the best wards in the country."
"Easy. Just follow some witches back here, and once you start walking in circles you know you're at the edge of their wards."
"Wow, that was insightful. We good?"
"We are." Bernard crossed the road and stood under a beech tree; I sighed, then headed towards the angry crowd.
The threat of violence hung heavy in the air as I approached. As my presence was noted, so the group hushed, all eyes on me. Way to give a guy a complex. Defiant, I kept cool, ignored Bone Slicer, and only halted when a man stepped forward.
"Stop!" he ordered.
"I already have. Um, should I start again then do what you said?"
"He's one of them," shouted a woman. Murmurs of anger rose, red faces scowling, others brandishing their various weapons.
"What's the problem here?" I asked, keeping my tone light, my face dark. Never show fear, never be intimidated. Make the others sweat while you remain cool until the time is ripe for you to lose the plot and be consumed by the violence within.
"The problem," spat the lanky man wearing ripped jeans, a faded green shirt, and with an unnervingly well-trimmed beard, "is you." He marched forward and poked me in the chest, frowning when he felt the dense muscle.
"Is that so? Why? I'm just having a ride on my horse." I heard Bernard snigger, but dared not turn around to chastise him.
"We know who you are," called another from the group. Everyone murmured in agreement.
"You're related to Peth. We looked you all up. We're here to stop you perverting our kids and trying to poison us with your damn potions."
"That's nothing to do with me. But are you saying you believe?"
"Course we do. And that's the problem, isn't it? People can drink this For Real crap and change things. That isn't right. Magic's too powerful to be let loose. It has to be controlled."
The others shouted their agreement.
"Who gets to control it?" I asked. "Isn't it better if everyone has access and can choose?"
"Peth and her sisters control it all, don't they?"
"Kind of. Although there are other potion-makers now. Not at the same level, but you take your chances." I shrugged, not quite understanding what the motivation was here.
"You're this thing called Necro. People with powers. We don't want your kind around here."
"Then fuck off."
Everyone gasped. Maybe I shouldn't have sworn, but it just came out.
"Mind your language," the leader warned.
"Says the guy brandishing a knife and saying he doesn't like my kind. Look, I was in two minds about the potions too, but it's for the best. People are accepting magic. Surely that's a good thing?"
"No. Not like this. It's too potent, and people shouldn't be allowed to make others do what they want just because they drink some gross concoction. It should be banned. And Necros should be locked up. You can do things to us." He frowned, then clutched his head, and gasped, "He's inside my mind right now. What are you doing to me?"
"Nothing, so cut the crap."
The rally surged forward, angry, afraid, and unwilling to accept something new they saw as dangerous. Maybe it was dangerous, but this was more a fear of the unknown than anything else. These weren't the first to shout about the potions, but mostly it had been nonbelievers, although there were plenty like these who refused to accept it was open to all.
"He's a wizard. A dark magic user who wants to take our freedom and twist it," an old man shouted. Then he ran forward brandishing a kitchen knife, and swung at me. The others roared, worked into a frenzy, and screamed and shouted abuse as they came for me.
I punched the leader in the face as he slashed, breaking his jaw. As he fell back into the crowd, I elbowed the old man in the nose, slammed a fist into the side of another guy's head who chopped at me clumsily with a cleaver, and had no choice but to kick a woman in the kneecap as she screamed whilst attempting to garrote me with what was, admittedly, a very nice paisley scarf.
With a row of downed fools at my feet, the remaining group of about thirty gave pause, allowing me to compose myself. I relaxed into things, the bloodlust there but not all-consuming. I let my hands hang limp, no sign of violence, and simply watched how they reacted.
At first it was anger, then confusion, then fear. Then something else. Hatred. They hated me more now because they'd been beaten. Because I didn't act afraid or bow to their orders. I defied them and it made them despise me with an intensity that was astonishing despite my years on this planet—I knew humans were never far from extreme acts of violence, and could readily succumb to the crowd mentality and lose their own sense of self.
It had played out time and time again over the centuries. Numerous wars, religions, cults, schools of thought, propaganda of every sort had taken people from a path that was right, just, or even merely understanding and accepting, and driven them to acts of horror that they themselves could never have imagined they were capable of.
This would not end well.
For them.
"Can everyone please calm down?" I sighed. "I don't want to hurt anyone, but you attacked me. That was uncalled for. Just because you don't like something, doesn't mean you can act like this. You're lashing out because you don't want this, which I get. But this won't change anything. I'm not making the decisions, and even if I were, this isn't the way to go about things. Haven't you learned anything since the riots, and the rationing, the shortages we're suffering?"
"We've learned not to trust you bastards," spat the old guy, touching his broken nose. "You're just like all the rest. Pushing things on us we don't want. Forcing us into a corner, making us act this way. We've had enough!" He pumped a fist into the air, the others joining him, chanting abuse at me.
"Fine, think what you like. I'm not about to argue. But why are you here? How did you know to come?"
"See?" hissed the woman who was interacting with me the most. "He knows about this place. I bet he can get us inside. We've been following the cursed witches. We know they're in there somewhere. But we can't use our drones, we can't get satellite images, and we keep going around in circles. It's wicked magic is what it is. It isn't natural."
"Magic's the most natural thing in the world," I blurted, surprising myself.
A shot rang out, and with instincts born of too many battles to recall, I found Bone Slicer in my hand, his blade flattened to deflect the bullet as it aimed for my heart. It pinged off, careening into the crowd. Someone screamed as it pierced their flesh and the gunman raced forward, weapon aimed at me, face full of hatred.
Bone slicer pleaded for blood, and I granted him permission as I lunged, feeling the true power of my elven blade as the runes flared into orange life and the steel lengthened past the point of visual, becoming infinite and utterly deadly. As the man's finger twitched at the trigger, Bone Slicer cut through both the gun and his hand, severing his thumb and fingers above the knuckles.
As the gun dropped, I slashed down, taking a large section of his side and part of his hip off as easily as cutting through air. I felt only the slightest resistance as Bone Slicer howled with glee into my head and flesh, bone, and clothing slumped to the ground.
The man stared first at his hand, then at the exposed ribs and organs of his own body in mute, uncomprehending horror for a second before his eyes rolled up and he collapsed, dead.
Nobody moved for a moment, aghast and uncomprehending at what had just occurred. Then the woman who'd been shot screamed from the road, her leg mangled, unable to see what had happened. Everyone else looked from the corpse to me, then back again, trying to process what this madness was. That they were truly seeing the insides of a human body for the first time.
I strode forward, bent, and wiped Bone Slicer on the man's shirt. As pointless as always, but it gave the right impression, and ensured nobody else would try to screw with me.
"You… you killed him," stammered the woman.
"He shot me. What else should I have done?"
"But… but… but he's dead. You cut his hip off. You murderer! You killed that man!" She dropped to her knees, still focused on the lump of flesh and bone, and sobbed.
Others consoled her, while the rest just stood there, mute, unable to look away from this most visceral of images.
"Remember," I shouted, to ensure they all heard, "we're meant to be in this together. There's nothing wrong with having an opinion, everyone should, and disagreement is good, but just because yours is different from someone else's, doesn't mean you have to hate them."
I sensed Bernard's presence beside me, so climbed onto his back. With a flick of his tail, he trotted forward. The dumbstruck protesters parted as we passed. Nobody said a word.
Nobody even dared look me in the eye.
A LOST SOUL
"That was weird," noted Bernard as we rounded the corner then moved with relief into the ward-protected area the subdued outsiders had no hope of entering.
"Nothing more weird than people," I grunted, ignoring Bone Slicer's keening for more blood.
"What about dipping celery in malt extract? That's very weird."
"True. But at least it doesn't try to kill you because you don't like it. Not that anyone does like malt extract."
"Jen does. And Phage."
"No, they don't. They pretend they do, but they don't."
"You sure?"
"Yes. They're wrong. It's gross."
"Why were they so hostile?" asked Bernard, genuinely not understanding the true nature of humans.
"They were afraid. And they felt confident because they were part of a group, so they acted out of character. None of them would have been like that if they were alone, but together, humans can change."
"Shape-shift, you mean?"
"In a way, yes. They can become something truly terrible. Monsters of a kind. Do the worst things imaginable. They think they're doing the right thing, but mostly it's just fear. Fear of being singled out, fear of being ridiculed, of being forced into a way of life they don't want or believe is right, and a million other reasons. But mostly it's fear."
"You're all so dumb."
"We are. Bloody hell, I hope Jen hasn't had to deal with any more of those jokers. I bet they've surrounded the warded area, waving their banners, trying to catch themselves a witch. It's like the old days when people were executed for being witches."
"You saw that?"
"I might be old, but I'm not that old." I thought for a moment, then admitted, "Yeah, actually I did see it a few times."
"I saw a different time, long ago," said Bernard dreamily.
"Really?" I asked quietly, having picked up on his tone, and that this was another of his memories surfacing that he most likely hadn't recalled since it happened.
"Yes, long ago, back before big roads or houses, when the human race was still sparse. Magic was everywhere. People believed in the Necroverse, and witches and wizards were revered. I… I lived with a witch, a powerful one, and the whole tribe treated her with respect. She could make potions, knew how to heal, saw things in the future that let them thrive, and yet…"
"What?"
"People started to get angry. There was a fight. They said she had too much power, that they wanted to do what she did, and they killed her. I left then, and wandered again, like I had so many times before, and it…" Bernard gazed into the trees, distracted by a bird.
"Bernard, you were saying?"
"What? Oh, was I talking?"
"Nothing of interest," I murmured, not wanting to push him too far.
"Right."
We continued in silence, following the trails that criss-crossed the large protected area of woodland and more cultivated areas that comprised Peth's domain. I felt the wards weigh heavy, almost like a physical weight on my shoulders, but it was the way they prodded at my mind I always found the most disconcerting.
As though I wasn't quite myself, that my usually closed thoughts and emotions were being subtly manipulated. Which, of course, they were. Wards stopped those who weren't welcome from entering, meaning, the magic had to reach inside and read you to ensure you were a friend.
What else did they do? How else did Necro minds become subtly corrupted by this strange conglomeration of power formed on the lips of those adept at changing what most took as reality?
All I knew was I hated this fucking shit. I didn't want any of it. No eyes, no portals, no fights with elves, or daemons in my kitchen. No monsters hunting my little girl, no training her to be a killer. But my opinion counted for nothing, and it never had. I just went along because what else could I do?
Defy. That's what. And finally, I was. Petty, inconsequential, or epic and future-changing, I just wanted out, no matter the result. I had to get out.
I had to get my daughter to a safe place.
This wasn't just about bringing her home because I missed her. This was to ensure that once she returned she wouldn't have to leave if she didn't want to. I wasn't idiot enough to believe defying the notes meant she'd skip hers, but it was a step in the right direction. It opened up possibilities. If it could potentially lead to something positive, then I was willing to give the finger to my whole way of life.
I had to.
"Why have we stopped?" I asked Bernard, realizing we weren't moving.
"There's someone in the way."
I glanced ahead and saw a figure standing, defiant, in the path. Our eyes met, and I felt the pain reflected in her eyes. "Elsie?"
"Do you know her?"
"Yes, it's Elsie," I whispered. "She was banished from the compound for killing Peth's favorite horse when they were shooting the advert. You have met her several times at Peth's in the past."
"Don't remember," said Bernard with a shrug.
"Just be nice, but I don't know why she's here. They won't let her in, and it's been a while. She shouldn't be here. Peth will go nuts if she finds out."
"Should we say hello?"
"Of course. Come on, but don't say anything stupid."
"I'll leave that to you," snorted Bernard.
"Sometimes you're quite insightful," I sighed.
Bernard moved forward cautiously on the narrow track, then stopped in front of Elsie. I slid down and let him wander off, then nodded to the poor woman.
She nodded back, head hung a little low, her long hair unkempt and tangled with bits of grass and twig. Her clothes were clean, but a mess, and her hands were grubby.
But it was her face that was startling as she snapped her head up and locked her eyes on mine.
"You've been practicing hard, I see," I noted, her unstable condition more than evident.
"What of it?" she asked, defiant with her fists clenched but an underlying nervousness I knew the signs of only too well.
