Post by James on Oct 28, 2009 22:23:50 GMT -5
Chapter Two
“Do you really think a Gathering is necessary?” Anthony asked, watching the trees slide past the car’s window in the darkness. “I mean we don’t normally call one every single time someone is killed. They’re meant to be rare events.”
“Yes,” grunted Colin, keeping his eyes on the road. His thoughts churned like butter as the car hit another bump in the poorly laid country road. Why did they kill Benjamin? How did they find him? And what did the sign of the crow mean, Colin wondered.
“You’re not telling me something,” Anthony muttered.
Colin sighed as he heard the annoyance in Anthony’s tone. The boy always thought he needed to know everything, Colin thought, but sometimes ignorance was bliss. What they had stumbled across at Benjamin’s home could be the heralding of an ancient threat. And Anthony didn’t need to know about that, yet.
“It’s that crow, isn’t it?” Anthony continued, his eyes still glued to the window. “What on earth does it mean?”
“Don’t know,” Colin replied bluntly, refusing to tell Anthony more than he needed to know. “A crow can mean anything, could be something important or it might be nothing. And that’s why we need to call a Gathering.”
“Bull…stop, there’s the sign,” Anthony ordered, pointing to a small sign telling the distance to Glastonbury.
Colin pushed down upon the brakes, the green Range Rover sliding to a stop on one of the narrow roads of the English countryside. While Colin had the sense to park as close to the farm as possible, Anthony had walked several miles across swampy land from his vehicle.
“Why on earth did you park so far away?” Colin asked, watching as Anthony slipped out of the passenger door and down onto the road.
“I wasn’t taking my beauty in the mud,” Anthony answered, his tone clearly suggesting that he was shocked that Colin even suggested such a thing.
The young man moved forward, his body illuminated by the headlights of the Range Rover, as he walked towards the sign. His hand slipped to his back pocket, reaching for his wand as he brought it across in a figure of eight motion. A spot under the sign began to shimmer as if the air was churning, colours melding together as Anthony’s motorcycle appeared, a helmet hanging upon a handlebar. Colin watched as Anthony clambered onto the machine before slowly creeping the car down the road.
“Look, you’re going to have to come off the road to reach the Wolaeth,” Colin said through the open window. “Just leave the bike here and I’ll take you, you can collect it later.”
Colin knew that the last thing that he and the rest of the Gathering needed was a needless death, especially one as needless as a traffic accident.
“Nonsense,” Anthony replied, revving the engine of the bike, the sound breaking the otherwise silent night. “I’ll see you there.”
The bike kicked up a cloud of dirt as it roared into life and shot off onto the road, leaving the dusty side of the road and Colin behind. He sighed as he saw the three sixes placed around Anthony’s bike shoot past him before Anthony completely disappeared from sight. The first time Colin had seen the numbers he asked Anthony about them. His reply was that it was a needed silent act of rebellion.
“Just like his mother,” Colin muttered, pulling the car over to the side of the road as he shut off its headlights.
Colin sat in the complete darkness for a moment before he flicked on the inner light, the interior of the car bathed in a warm yellow. He had time to waste and his curiosity was growing as he reached for the box that had been shoved under his seat. Anthony had continuously asked about the box on the trek back to the car, but the boy didn’t need to know about it. For now anyway, Colin decided.
Two slight metallic clinks echoed through the car as Colin’s staff nudged the hinges of the box. Each melted upon contact with the wooden staff, the liquid metal drooling down the surface of the box. With ease, Colin snapped the lid of the box off and threw it into the passenger seat, his eyes now glued to the contents of the box.
Photos and letters lined the inside of the box, some letters yellowed and crumpled in age and some photos still with that gloss of a newly printed photograph. A boy stared back at Colin from the top photo, brown leaves littering the ground he stood on. There were brown locks of hair covering a face that looked much like Benjamin’s, long nose and hardened cheeks. His teenage arms were wrapped around a pretty girl, her smooth kind face and brown eyes staring lovingly at the boy, her long black hair windswept from the autumn wind.
“Robert Milner,” Colin said aloud, picking up the top photo and staring at it. He had grown since the last photo he had saw six years ago, the baby fat now completely drained from his face and his body less awkward than before. Rebecca had also changed, her face growing into her nose and mouth and her body had now developed the subtle curves of a woman. They really were a beautiful couple.
A smile now playing across his lips, Colin placed the photograph on the passenger seat and reached for the letter that now laid upon the top of the pile.
Dear Benjamin
You really should write more. And I don’t care if you’re in a hideout. He’s your son I’d like to point out.
Since you have bothered asking about the welfare of your son, he is fine. He’s passing school and playing sports and looking at some wonderful universities. I expect you’ll arrive soon to crush all those dreams.
And since you asked, and I am shocked that you’re taking such an interest, Rebecca is doing fantastically. She’s now Head Girl and is looking at a place at Oxford. It’s so cute to see them worry about splitting up.
I suppose you’ll be the harbinger of bad news, again.
Edith
Colin sighed as he read through the letter twice more. He could hear the screeching of Edith’s voice as if she was sitting next to him, her disapproval oozing from every inch of her body. Colin always believed that she was an old crone but apparently she kept the children honest. And at least the children were safe.
Another letter caught Colin’s eye, the neat cursive handwriting unlike Edith’s squiggles, which ran across every other letter in the box. Snatching it from the box Colin began to read, his eyes rapidly darting across the page.
Benjamin,
It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter to you. Last night news reached my ears that Harvey had died in his home in France. The home was searched.
Harvey was our bait, our decoy. It is clear now that the Phantoms are after the blood of Myrddin as we suspected. And therefore they’re now going to be after you.
Stay alert.
Mictmas
With each word his grip upon the paper tightened until eventually it crumpled beneath his fingers.
“Damn you Benjamin,” Colin muttered, letting the crumpled letter fall to the floor of the car.
Colin stared into the box of photos, the eyes of a young Robert staring back as his mind turned the new information. As always, another question had followed in the wake of an answer. Colin knew now that the Phantoms had killed Benjamin, believing him to be the blood of Myrddin. But why? The descendants of Myrddin were no stronger than anyone else, why choose to attack them?
‘Circles within circles,” Colin whispered, repeating what his mother always used to say when a mystery occurred.
Carefully placing the box in the passenger seat, Colin flipped off the lights as the headlights beamed down the road once more. His hand settled down on the gear stick as the car rolled forward and back onto the road, his foot pressed down upon the pedal. Colin needed answers and he knew that he would find them at the Wolaeth.
The Wolaeth was one of many sites of great magic within England, the place where both Myrddin and the Morrigan had perished. Magic flowed within every single blade of grass within the Wolaeth, the air crackling with the energy of it all. It was where new half-fays were bound and where Gatherings were called. And it was within the faerie realm.
The Range Rover had twisted through several small country lanes before Colin slowly brought the car to a halt near a great oak tree. Its large wizened old trunk was seated next to the road, its gnarling roots already creeping beneath the damaged road. The tree was the entrance to the Wolaeth, an ancient piece of magic wielded by the oldest and most powerful of faeries.
A slam echoed in the darkness as Colin stepped out of the car and closed the door, his staff drawn across his body protectively as he walked toward the tree. He was always prepared for an ambush after fifty years of fighting. The ground crunched with each step, the silent night now replaced with the sound of wild animals hooting and whistling as Colin walked into their territory.
The oak tree stood in front of him, Colin catching sight of the stained blood that decorated the surface of the great tree. He wondered how much of it was his as he placed his palm against a rough piece of bark. Gritting his teeth Colin brought his palm down sharply against the bark, his flesh tearing against the wood. Pain pumped from the wound as he placed his hand against the trunk of the tree, letting the blood sweep against the wood.
Colin’s eyes turned to the side of the road where a large hedge stood, greenness towering over both road and man. For a moment it stood silently with only the wind rustling the leaves of the plants. And then it began to move, Colin watching as first one branch snapped back and then another, the hedge creating a gap as the two sides pulled away from each other. He didn’t find himself staring at another damp farm though, instead the gap revealed a long dusty trail flanked by two walls of plants.
Magic whistled out of the trail in a crescendo, the hedges bristling as it swept around branches and leaves. The hair upon Colin’s body rose as the strands of magic wrapped around him, clinging to his clothing and running through his skin. He felt refreshed as he bathed in it. Blood stopped pouring from his open wound as the skin began to heal, the skin fusing together leaving no sign of the wound but raw skin. Colin stood still, his mind blank as he let magic run its course, healing him and making him ready to enter the Wolaeth.
Suddenly the magic stopped, the few remaining wisps of it disintegrating in the air as everything once again returned to silence. Colin looked down at his hand with renewed life, the skin already returning to its normal colour. He knew the entrance wouldn’t stay open for long and bounded back towards his car, clambering nosily back into the driver’s seat. Colin spun the wheel around hurriedly, his foot slamming onto the pedal as the car lurched past the hedges as they began to close. As Colin drove down the trail he could hear the snapping of branches as the hedge merged together as one and the way to the Wolaeth was once again hidden.
His eyes took in his surrounding as he drove, the window of the Range Rover slowly being opened. In the sky there was only blackness and on either side of him walls of flowers and bushes towered over him. Despite the blackness of the sky though there was still an eerie green light that lit up the trail as if Colin was looking through tinted glass. It was the same in every faerie realm Colin had been into.
The Wolaeth was by far the largest of any faerie realm that Colin had been into. Usually they were nothing more than caves or hilltops, hidden away from human eyes. They had all been created long ago when the human world and the fay world collided for the first time. They had been created as places for the faeries to hide in and avoid conflict with the first humans. Several though were created through huge extended use of magic, like the Wolaeth, and were in Colin’s mind, mini-worlds.
The car stopped beneath the watchful gaze of a larger than life statue that had appeared from nowhere. Smooth polished marble portraying a calm and commanding face atop a long slender body dressed in a long cloak. It was the watchful gaze of Myrddin Wyllt guarding the Wolaeth and the Gathering. The very first half-fay that had fought against the faeries that sought to enslave humanity. His story and victory was the rallying call for every half-fay, including Colin.
Colin climbed out of the car and walked past the gaze of Myrddin, staff in hand as he saw the trees that encircled in Wolaeth. There was no sign of Anthony’s bike and Colin wondered which village the boy had decided to fool around in this time. With a heavy sigh, Colin began to weave between the low-lying branches of the trees that were his last remaining obstacles. The small wood would have looked like any other wood except the greenest tint that coloured Colin’s visions and the lack of the music of wildlife. It was devoid of life.
Sidestepping one final tree Colin arrived within the Wolaeth, a large stretching green meadow within the middle of the woods. Even with no wind the blades of grass and the petal of flowers shook as magic coursed through the entire clearing. Dotted around the field were small slabs of rock, almost like seats and within the middle was a huge boulder buried within the ground.
Colin tentatively stepped into the meadow, feeling the magic once again clinging to his body, and began to walk towards the centre of the clearing. With each step the weight of Colin’s burden lessened as the strands of magic began to retreat from the half-fay. He knew that soon they would return after the Gathering was called but for now Colin was at peace with the world and his place in it due to the magic of the Wolaeth. With a contented smile Colin marched up to the boulder that stood in front of him and placed his palm upon it.
Colin felt the boulder begin to vibrate before he yanked his hand back, his body stumbling backward as the ground shook. The boulder rose into the air, leaving a crater to contrast with the green field as it began to twist and turn like a rubric cube. Rocky legs shot out from the bottom of the boulder, landing with a thump as they touched the dirt of the crater. Arms slowly extended from the stone body, joints grating against each other as the body moved. Finally a face appeared above a small polished neck, its features were as if carved from a famous sculptor.
“Grend,” Colin greeted.
“Colin, it is good to see you,” Grend replied, his voice gravelly as he stood in front of Colin. His sharp rocky torso contrasted with the rest of his smooth and polished body. “I see past the calming nature of the Wolaeth and I see that you are worried.”
“Yes,” Colin replied, knowing that Grend needed no answer. The faerie could see past disguises and expressions and see the heart and soul of a person. He was the Guardian of the Wolaeth. “I need to call a Gathering.”
“I hear in your voice that this is urgent, Colin,” Grend said, unmoving from the crater he stood in. “I will call it at once and you will tell the Gathering what rest heavily on your conscience.”
Colin watched as Grend finally moved, the grating sound of stone against stone echoing throughout the Wolaeth as the faerie kneeled to the ground and placed his rocky palms against the ground. Colin knew what he was doing.
He was calling the Gathering.
