It was the second hour after midnight and the boy walked down the sealed road towards the sprawling federation house. Behind the boy, storm clouds grew quickly from the southwestern horizon, towering thunder boulders lit by an endless flashing display of flickering and dancing sprite-like lightning flashes, and thunder rolled almost constantly at the edge of mortal hearing. The severe line of storms alerted seasoned weather watchers and meteorologists to call emergency services, and rouse from sleep those in authority. However, for the communities over which the storms passed, not a single drop of rain fell, not a single leaf disturbed by the howling gusts of wind. It seemed as if this storm possessed actual confined, conscious and malicious intent, and not just a seasonal product of heavy sultry humidity and oppressive heat, wreaking haphazard havoc along the way.
The boy smiled as he walked - a jaunty step, almost a dance, carrying himself lightly despite his sturdy frame and wearing heavy, leather boots. Behind him shadows danced in time with his jig, shadows surely a product of the nearing lightning flashes, yet some shadows moved out of time with the flashes - shadows growing from tree trunk and bough, easing from rock and stone, and flowing from grass and leaf.
He danced up the short flight of stairs, and onto the wide wooden verandah, his hobnailed boots clattering on the floorboards as light hail upon tin. He paused briefly at a window to peer curiously within, before moving to the great cedar door, raising a clenched fist to knock once, twice then thrice upon the wood.
Listening, he finally heard movement within, and a moment or two later, the door was opened by a man dressed in pyjamas and gown, with pale hair rumpled from sleep.
“Sir,” the boy said, in a burring thick West County accent, “Me ma’s been in accident on road yonder. Might I come in? I’d not impose long upon yer ‘ospitality. Just need yer ‘elp.”
Christof stared amazed at the boy, he seemed scarcely ten years of age, and was dressed in heavy black canvas trousers held up by leather braces, and wore too, a long sleeved dark grey wool shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His dark tousled hair was thick, and flopped across his face in a rural and endearing way. Christof looked back to the mantelpiece clock to check the hour, and saw that it had paused in time.
Half convinced that he was in fact dreaming, he replied, “Come in boy, and we’ll see what we can do. Tell me, what is your name?”
The boy grinned, stepping over the threshold, “Me name is Thomas, I oft go by that name,” he replied pushing back his dark hair from his eyes, “But me real name is Bucca!” Instantly his eyes changed from brown to something else - yellow-gold with a black reptilian iris slit.
“An’ ruth be told,” the boy chortled, “Thieves nev’r prosper,” and so saying, turned and threw open the door, and the shadows and darkness immediately flowed in.
His eyes bulging with fear, Artificer Christof struggled to call out, to warn the others, but the boy leapt forward with movement too quick for human eyes to perceive onto the older man’s shoulders; and then with one quick twist, he broke the man’s neck, nimbly jumping off just before the lifeless body hit the polished wooden floor.
*
The police had set a roadblock at the entrance to the side road leading down to the property, and it was there where the special response team were organising to reconnoitre the Institute. They had been unsuccessful at moving the townsfolk away, and the men of the town clustered in small groups by their cars - Maxwell thought he saw the silhouette of one or two rifles furtively held. He thought about ordering them to put the weapons away, but one look at those hard and implacable faces gave him pause - the town had endured much over the last year, the townsfolk had a right to be angry. He looked away, turning a blind eye. These farming folk were sensible people, he knew them well, and he trusted them to act with propriety.
Trent and Matt stood close by the roadblock. The two men had grown closer over the last few hours and Matt was already seeing a future son-in-law in the young man - that is if Trent and Fiona were to be granted a future. He paced up and down, certain that his daughter was being held against her will on the property below; frustrated that he could not do anything about it. He knew the police would be going in soon, but chafed at the delay. He knew that Trent felt frustrated too, but somehow deep inside he knew that Fiona still lived.
“Bad lot of storms coming on,” Maxwell said, walking up, “You might want to take shelter in the cars.”
Matt stared about him at the coal dark, yet greenish sky, the constant lightning flashes, and rising wind, “Yep, bad storm. Was this forecast?”
The police officer shook his head, “Not that I’m aware of, it’s going to make the recon tricky.”
“When do they move?” asked Trent.
“Soon, twenty minutes, no more. We’re just going over the latest satellite imagery sent up from headquarters. It’s the only hard evidence we have of what was built there and what we might be dealing with when we go in.”
Matt watched Maxwell walk back to his fellow officers, jamming his hat down on his head, and pulling his jacket closer about him against the rising wind gusts.
Trent turned to Matt, “How’s Catherine handling this?”
Matt pulled a face, “As well as could be expected, she’s got a couple of the CLS ladies staying over and when I spoke with her at ten, she was planning to take a sleeping tablet and try and get a few hours rest.”
Trent nodded, staring at the sky, “Those storms are getting closer and to be frank, I don’t like the look of them at all, there’s something odd about them.”
Matt glanced at the younger man, “Paranormal?”
Trent shrugged, his gaze tracking across the night sky, “Perhaps, if Fiona was here she’d know...shit, did you see that? Something big just flew overhead...a Watcher I think. If I can sense it, then I reckon something seems to be coming to a head tonight. Can you feel it?”
Matt nodded, “The night does feel bad. I hope the police know what they are about, in fact, I’d best go warn Jeff - you are right, there’s an odd feeling about tonight. Good God, if we mortals are sensing it then I’d hate to think what might be gathering nearby.”
*
The Bucca Dhu, boy no longer, now revealed himself as a tall and strong man with a monstrous toad head upon his shoulders. He stood by the door of the homestead, the body of Artificer Christof at his feet, watching as the shadows streamed past him and into the house. Most of the shadows possessed no form for they had been called into existence by the Elemental Power present there, but some did have form - beings of light and grace accompanied him, all with long gold or silvery pale hair and beautiful, yet cruel elven faces, and all armoured in cold Faerie steel, and brandishing either sword or bow.
“Your work begins here,” he croaked, “Clear this place of corruption.”
The darkness flowed further into the house and behind them, behind the figure of the silently standing Bucca Dhu, the summoned storm bore down upon the house and valley. The wind, already strong and gusting, rattled the old homestead, lifting tin from the roof, and working its way into cracks of wood and stone, breaking, tearing and parting. Lightning struck and struck again, nearby trees burst into flame and parked cars exploded into balls of gold and vermillion fire, and stinging, billowing black smoke. Claps of thunder rocked the house upon its foundations and deafened all present. The other artificers, who had been deeply asleep, roused now at the noise, wakening to a world of nightmare and fear. Creatures from myth and legend stalked the house, untroubled by the tumult of the storm, killing with claw, hoof, hand, bow or blade. Blood splattered, whipping into the wind, as elementals tore through the building, shattering and smashing priceless antiques and the hopelessly fleeing humans.
Artificer Elena, crouched trembling in the corner of her room, watched the carnage with outraged fear. This was not allowed! This could not be happening, there were laws, covenants against such an intrusion. Spider-like, she attempted to scuttle away, her silken gown torn, and pale hair whipping around her face, but an air elemental passing by the room, noticed, and in one quick spinning movement, tore the Artificer limb from limb, her blood falling like scarlet rain upon the broken boards and furniture. She died so quickly, her bubbling scream caught forever in her throat.
Silently, amid the chaos, the Bucca Dhu stalked through the house. No longer playful, his expression was dark and wrathful. He walked into one room, left untouched by storm or blade. Inside a battered cardboard shoebox sat upon a table. Bending over, he collected it and with a wave of his hand, the darkness waiting behind streamed in, to break, tear and smash.
Outside the ruins of the house, three figures watched the ongoing destruction. Jen and Ionuin flanked the Great Hunter, who towered over them shimmering and translucent.
“She is not there,” Ionuin said.
Jen touched the moonstone at her brow, “She is close by and alive. I can sense her presence but know not where...Great Hunter?”
Turning, the Elemental Power pointed down the road into the small valley beyond.
“Come,” sighed Cernunnos at Jen, its voice part wind, part growl, part word.
Jen nodded, and took the Elemental Power’s hand, she glanced at Ionuin, “The others must be warned not to come closer.”
Ionuin grinned mirthlessly, “It would be bad if they did,” he agreed, “I will warn them.”
Above them, the Watcher circled, drawn instinctively to death and destruction, of which there was sufficient in this place to excite even its ancient desires.
*
“What the fuck is going on down there?” Maxwell yelled to Trent.
Trent shook his head in confusion, his body buffeted by the ferocious wind gusts.
The special response team were primed to go, helmets on, weapons in their hands, body armour equipped - then suddenly the storm had struck, and all hell had broken loose. All the power and fury of the storm seemed focussed, concentrated on an area just out of sight of the road and those who waited. The noise was incredible, bone shuddering, as lightning bolt after lightning bolt tore through the air rocking the ground, followed by teeth juddering explosions further down. Conversation proved impossible. Everyone had drawn back away from the roadblock, fascinated yet deeply afraid of the sheer power of the storm. Even the police special response team had uncertainly drawn back, unwilling to face what was happening below.
Suddenly in a lull in the storm, a figure stepped out of light and shadow, a figure wreathed in incandescently glowing robes, his pale and beautiful, yet deadly elven face serious and subdued.
“Ionuin!” called out Trent, immediately recognising Jen’s lover, “What is happening?”
“Vengeance,” replied the man of the Fae, “Go no closer.”
Maxwell stepped up, his face a mask of surprise and awe, “Who...what...are you?”
The Fae man stared at the police officer with his soul piercing leaf-green eyes and veiling them, inclined his head, “I am called Fionn, or Ionuin, and I am of the Fae Seelie Court. I come with a message for you all - to remain here until the storm has passed by. It would be dangerous to venture further, for down there great Elemental Powers are waging war against the warlocks who took Fiona, and your people might well be mistaken for the enemy.”
“Is Fiona alive?” asked Trent.
Ionuin inclined his head, “Yes, my lady Jenny senses that she lives still. They go to her aid.”
Trent sagged with relief, “I will tell Matt.”
*
Jen and Cernunnos stood outside the Institute, doors closed fast against their entry; silhouettes of figures glimpsed at windows.
“They wield guns,” Jen said, glimpsing the unmistakeable outline of weapons in the hands of defenders.
“Fools,” whispered Cernunnos, and turning its stag face he blinked once with his golden avian eyes, and called aloud a name that was not a word, but instead seemed just primal sound and earthy scent. Instantly there was a ripping, rending sound, and then reality tore and a great figure stepped through the crack into the mortal world
The creature that entered through the rift was primitive beyond belief and toweringly tall, yet broad too about its girth. It resembled an oak more than a man, with wood-like skin, and branches and leaves for hair. It spoke not, for it possessed no mouth, or nose - just tiny eyes of the brightest emerald green set within rough and hoary bark.
“Green Man, Lord of the Forests,” said Jen bowing, “We welcome your presence here.”
Cernunnos inclined his head to the other Elemental Power.
The Green Man blinked its eyes, and there was a great tearing, rending sound and the ground buckled and thrashed, for behind the Green Man a great forest of trees grew strongly from the red volcanic soil of the Hinterlands.
“Rip, tear,” commanded the Great Hunter, and slowly, from the slightest twig, to the great oak, pine and eucalypt giants, the forest moved forward. In between the great trees danced slight and feminine figures, with eyes of brightest leaf green, and skin and hair of bark and moss. Each figure wielded a sharpened stake or a coil of creeper. At first, they looked benign, almost childlike, but their eyes spoke of savage and inhuman madness.
One by one, the Great Trees surrounded the steel, glass and concrete Institute, each sending massive roots through its foundations, cracking the concrete, buckling steel and shattering glass. Figures behind the glass and steel scattered, and the chatter of gunfire was heard. Instantly bullets were scoring welts across bark and chipping fragments from wood. The trees flinched, but continued their tearing.
“I am come,” spoke a voice from behind them, and the Bucca Dhu appeared, with his legion of elven warriors, whirling elementals and formless shadows.
“What of the house beyond?” Jen asked.
“Destroyed, and all within it,” croaked the Bucca Dhu. “None of the warlocks draw living breath. Do you need my aid here?”
Cernunnos inclined his great antlered head.
“The girl is within,” Jen warned, “Can you feel her?”
The toad headed man nodded, “Aye, I sense her, but there are defences still. The old wardings remain and deny us entry.”
“Can we open a rift?” Jen asked, “And take her through into our realm and to safety?”
“It will mean her death,” the Bucca Dhu replied, “She could pass through an old Gateway yes, if one existed here. But the rift itself would tear her apart, separate her flesh from bone, render her into minute pieces; they are not designed for mortal use.”
“What about the Fae Road?”
“She cannot Travel without our essence,” Cernunnos answered, “Patience. We wait.”
*
Shielded by the isolation of the room, Fiona heard only dimly the fury of the storm outside. Her head ached terribly and she hoped that she did not have a fractured skull. Gingerly she touched the egg-sized lump and came away with fingertips stained red-brown with drying, sticky blood. Thank God not a fracture, instead a bump bad enough to bleed - at least the swelling rose outside her skull and not inwards, constraining the brain. Her throat too continued to burn her, and every so often blood flowed as the abrasions opened afresh on her neck. Tears threatened to flow, but she willed them away. She needed anger now, not weak self-pity - for self-pity meant despair and giving up all hope, and hope remained with the remembered image of Cernunnos standing before her.
Her fingers sticky with blood, she grasped again the pendant, the gem trembling at her touch. Slowly and remarkably, her head cleared and she began to see with a greater clarity - observing in the dark and for the first time unaided, the flows of power that enveloped and marked all living and created things, even things created by the Artificers. Fiona intuitively guessed that her blood was the key, the link that infused the pendant, opening more Fae power to her - it was no wonder that the Artificers desired the gem so greatly.
Remembering Ionuin’s words about humanity dreaming the Fae into existence, she closed her eyes and imagined drawing the power into her, strengthening her will. She imagined too the flows strong and vibrant, and visualised defences falling. With her imagination, she created a great glowing gateway opening wide, admitting entrance. She did not know if what she did was useful, but it was something, and something, anything was better than sitting here doing nothing and losing hope.
For a moment, she heard the storm outside clearly, as if the storm itself had penetrated the confines of her cell, then her head spun again, she was immediately consumed by pain, and the storm again receded beyond her awareness.
*
“Now,” called out Cernunnos suddenly, and his voice was like lion’s roar, “The way lies clear. Protect the girl.”
“We will preserve,” replied the Bucca Dhu, and then he too strode into the affray, his troops at his back, the storm front flowing across and down the hill towards the Institute. Within moments, the lightning strikes recommenced and the wind gusts tore apart what the trees and roots had weakened. Almost immediately the screaming started and figures began to stagger out, their bodies covered in elfshot, only to fall victim to the rampaging trees and dryads.
Jen watched the building slowly crumble, break, tear and shatter with the onslaught of the elemental forces battering against it and into it, and she wondered why there were not more defenses and spoke aloud her confusion.
“Arrogant fools,” answered Cernunnos in a whisper, and Jen immediately understood.
“They will learn from this,” Jen stated.
Cernunnos inclined his head, “Yes,” he breathed, and his voice was a feline growl. He glanced at Jen, “Come.”
Leaving the Green Man to oversee the forest attack, together they walked across the buckled and torn ground, the wind gusts blowing around and through them. They reached the damaged building, great holes gaped and shards of glass continued to fall in a shattering waterfall. Bodies lay everywhere, some intact, others missing limbs or heads. At times, all that could be seen was a great spray of arterial blood on wall or floor, the only indication that death had lingered. Jen delicately stepped across the ruinous landscape, her feet scarcely touching ground. As she passed by, she wove threads of light, casting webs of radiance over the scene of horror, diminishing it, camouflaging it. The shielding was not for own benefit, but rather for the eyes of others, mortal eyes, unused to such devastation. It was only a scarce few months since she had walked the earth as a mortal woman - she understood, protection had to be afforded to the innocent. Behind her walked Cernunnos, and to his rear moved the trees, roots, leaf and bough breaking the Institute to the ground.
*
Vomiting her pain onto the floor, Fiona raised her head as she heard a commotion outside and suddenly the door crashed open, and Artificer Dalca burst in, his normally expressionless face a twisted mask of horror and rage.
“You!” he screeched, “Stop it! Call your hounds away.”
“I cannot,” she whispered, her throat afire, “This is your fault.”
Enraged, he threw out his hand, and she saw for the first time that he wielded a silver dagger, a dagger that she sensed harboured powers beyond ordinary human manufacture. She shrank back against the wall, her hand protectively around the moonstone pendant. There was something very wrong about the dagger he held, something that made her skin crawl, and it set the pendant to juddering anew in her hand.
Grinning insanely, ghoulishly, Dalca advanced towards her, the silver knife in his hand glowing with a sickly dull and purplish light.
*
After a few minutes, Jen paused at a door, still holding intact upon its hinges. Her fingertips touching her pendant, she motioned within, “Great Hunter, she is there.”
Cernunnos nodded agreeing, and at a gesture, two dryads skipped forward and embraced the door, their fingers growing green tendrils that rapidly expanded to heavy vines, covering the steel and wood. At once, they pulled back and the door ripped from its hinges to expose the cell-like room and its two occupants.
“Stop!” the command from within was imperative, and Jen and the Great Hunter involuntarily halted.
Inside they could see an older brown haired man with cold dark eyes and ash pale skin holding a darkly glowing silver blade to a young woman’s throat - a throat already marred by bruises, abrasions and blood.
“Grant me safe passage from here or she dies,” hissed Dalca, his dark eyes wild and insane, the skin on his hands that grasped the blade and the woman, bubbling and smoking as if exposed to acid.
“Warlock,” Cernunnos growled in distaste.
Fiona looked up at Jen and Cernunnos, and her lips moved, but no words could be heard for her throat was like shards of glass. The cold silver of the ensorcelled dagger too bit hard, and worse still seemed to inflict her with a sense of utter hopelessness. She could bear the blood flowing anew down her throat and onto her chest, but she could not bear this new despair. Her long held back tears finally broke and flowed down her cheeks, carving wet tracks across her dust and blood smeared face.
“You broke the covenants,” Dalca accused, “Why? Why is this girl’s life so important to you?”
Cernunnos stepped forward, and gestured at the dryads, immediately vines flowed from their feet covering the hard concrete, spreading towards Dalca and Fiona.
“She is our Champion;” Jen said simply, “You were foolish, by taking her you attacked us directly - besides, you are wrong, no covenants were broken. The Elemental Powers move outside the Laws, they are not allied to any Court or held to any rule - they were free to intervene. If you truly knew the nature of the power you steal, then you’d understand that.”
Dalca stared at the woman of the Fae with insane hatred. He had lived an abnormally long life and to see his life and dream come to such a conclusion was abhorrent to him.
“This is not the end,” he hissed, “This is just the first of many battles.”
“War,” agreed Cernunnos, gesturing again, and as his fingers moved, the vines grew up Dalca’s legs imprisoning him, its tendrils swiftly working their way into ash-pale skin. Slowly, inexorably, the vine grew across him, consuming, eating and devouring his flesh. The Artificer muttered agonised words of power, words of destruction and protection - even though he guessed that his magics were useless against such a foe. Soon though, he could not mutter a single syllable, for vines and leaves grew into his mouth, nose, eyes and ears, choking him, blinding him, and deafening him. The cold silver dagger fell clattering to the ground, as deep within his chest, his heart took one last failing pump, then an agony of pain overcame him, and his heart stilled and beat no more. Slowly he toppled forward, seemingly now an inhuman construct of leaves and vines, and fell onto the leaf-covered floor - within a moment, he too had vanished into the tangled green growth, to never again be seen in the mortal world.
Unsupported, Fiona sagged with exhaustion and the remains of her despair, her legs collapsing beneath her. Moving as quick as thought, Cernunnos caught her in his arms, and Jen wove protective light about her - stemming the flows of blood, soothing bruised and torn skin, and weaving loving thoughts into Fiona’s mind.
“Done,” Cernunnos said turning, Jen a shadow at his heels.
*
The storm eventually stilled, although above them the clouds scuttled, driven by strong wind gusts.
Finally, the word was given to move on down the road. Firstly, the special response team, and led by the shining elven figure of Ionuin. The police did not know what to make of the Fae man, but with practical acceptance born of the hour and the situation, they grimly and prosaically accepted his lead. At a short distance behind walked Maxwell, Trent, Matt, Bill and Deven, who with quick and enterprising thought, had brought with him a full spectrum camera from the house, filming everything he saw. Behind them, the townsfolk followed, guns now openly held, or hefting large spanners or crowbars from car toolkits, or even branches modelled into makeshift clubs.
As they turned the corner, they stopped as one. The storm had flattened and twisted the old federation homestead into a rough caricature of its original shape, and nearby burning oily wrecks were all that remained of prestige European cars.
Horrified and amazed, they passed by the rubble, eyes averted from the bloodstained gore, a few less hardy townsfolk heaving their sick distress upon the ground.
“Do any live?” Maxwell asked the man of the Fae.
Ionuin shook his head, “Retribution was swift and final.”
“What about the new building below?”
“The same - but look now,” Ionuin cried, pointing down the road, “There are four here who wish you no ill, and they bear with them the woman you seek.”
Maxwell stared down the darkened dirt road, a road now lit by the radiance of the four beings that walked upon it. For a moment, the Senior Sergeant thought he was dreaming. For a moment, he thought he imagined the three giant figures - one an antlered half man/half stag, another was a man whose head seemed to be that of a toad, and the third a giant tree-like creature. The last was a woman who walked small and diminutive in front of the three towering and elemental forms. As they neared, he recognised the woman immediately from last year’s police reports - Jennifer McDonald, killed in the explosion at the electrical substation. As the figures came closer his legs threatened to subside under him, and inadvertently he knelt, unaware that behind him many others were likewise prostrate, or were backing away, making the sign of the cross against the unearthly creatures…
“Cernunnos, the Green Man and Bucca Dhu are not the God that you worship in your temples of stone and coloured glass,” Ionuin said, “They are however ancient and elemental Powers, and you should bend your knee in respect,” he added clearly, so all present could hear.
Cernunnos stepped forward, Fiona senseless in his arms.
“She has lost some blood, but she is not so badly hurt,” Jen said reassuringly, “Sleep, food, water, love and time will heal her whole.”
Trent and Matt walked up and the Great Hunter placed the young woman in Trent’s arms.
“Protect,” it said as he handed her over.
Trent nodded, “I shall. You have my thanks.”
“And mine,” Matt added, gazing upon his daughter with profound relief.
The Bucca Dhu stepped forward, and with that step, the monstrous toad headed man was gone, replaced by the smiling and dark-haired lad, dressed in simple country clothes.
Walking up, he handed the battered cardboard box that he carried to the Senior Sergeant, “When she t’is bett’r, give t’box back to ‘er. In meantime, protect it well, eh?”
The police officer nodded wonderingly, taking the box from the lad.
The boy waved and danced off, with his departure, the storm was gone, and the night became balmy and warm with breezes scented of wildflower and newly cut grass. In the distance, they could hear him singing, and words drifted back...
“With the merry ring and with the joyful spring for a Summer is a-coming today...”
Ionuin walked up and put his arm around Jen’s waist, drawing her close, “It is good, the Bucca Widn has returned.”
Bill overhearing, asked, “Bucca Widn?”
“White spirit, as opposed to the dark spirit that brought the storm and destruction, they are both two sides of the same coin,” the Fae man explained. He looked up into the sky, “The Watcher too has departed. The world holds much tragedy and death and the Watchers observe it all. I doubt this one will be soon returning here.”
“I am glad of that,” said Trent forcefully, shuddering.
As if his words roused her, Fiona opened her eyes to see a great host of people gathered about, she tried to speak, but could not, her throat being so painful.
“Hush,” said Trent, “You are safe now, and with friends and loved ones.”
Fiona nodded and glanced around, her eyes widening at the destruction about her.
The Senior Sergeant looked at the ruin of the building and shook his head, “I’m not sure how I’m going to explain all this.”
Ionuin grinned roguishly, “You will find words,” and then he glanced at Bill, knowingly, “I think this time you will be believed, Bill. A war has begun, and this was just the opening salvo of that war. We shall soon return.”
At that moment, Cernunnos stepped up, and with a shake of his antlers, tore a brilliantly luminescent gap in the fabric of reality. Looking at the others it said, “Time,” and then the Green Man stepped through, followed closely by Ionuin and Jen. The Great Hunter opened the tear a little wider, and the darkness, dryads and elven warriors, who had waited unnoticed in the heavy shadows beyond, flowed into it.
“Watch for our return, mortals. The war is surely at hand,” Cernunnos spoke, in seemingly his longest span of words yet, then it too slid back into the brightness, and the rift closed behind the Elemental Power, bringing to the group a sudden and all-encompassing darkness. However, on the horizon could be discerned a faint calming pinkish hue - it was of course the rising sun, bringing a new day and a distant warming dawn to the storm-wracked Hinterland valley.
*