The Forever Man: Clan War Read online

  ‘Basic socialism,’ said Axel. ‘Give the people just enough to survive but not enough to feed their ambition. Everybody is equal except for those who aren’t. In this case the Fair-Folk and the worthies. Still, not my problem, I have the Abbey to run and that’ll do me fine. Anyway, the ambassador and his retinue are staying at one of our guest houses. He has another meeting scheduled with me tomorrow morning. Apparently wants to discuss trading quotas, prices and such. It’s going to be another disappointing meeting for him and a frustrating one for me while I try to explain the concept of free-trade and letting the market decide the price and production of goods.’

  There was a knock on the office door.

  ‘Come in,’ said Axel.

  A man entered, middle aged, wearing leather trousers and a cotton shirt. On his belt were a sword and a dagger. On his shoulder, a white star above crossed lances donating that he was a gate-guard.

  He saluted. ‘Captain. Two men arrived an hour ago. They insist on seeing you.’

  Axel shook his head. ‘Tell them no. Ask them to see lieutenant Swires. He can handle it.’

  ‘They were very insistent, sir,’ continued the guard. ‘The one said to tell you that he’s an old friend. He calls himself “Marine master sergeant Hogan”.’

  Axel raised an eyebrow. He remembered the marine very well. He had met him over twenty years ago and he was the most awesome fighting machine that the captain had ever come across. The marine had, almost single handedly, killed over fifty people in one battle. And then, after saving the abbey, he had simply disappeared. Rumors said that he had gone north. But, since then, rumor mentioned only his death. No two stories matched but everyone seemed to agree that he was gone. Axel was very pleased to hear differently.

  He nodded to the gate-guard.

  ‘Send the two of them in. And, while you’re about it, go and fetch the professor and father O’Hara. They’ll definitely want to see him.’

  The guard saluted and dashed off.

  A few minutes later he returned and ushered Nathaniel and Tad in.

  ‘I have alerted the professor and the father,’ the guard said to Axel. ‘And here are your visitors.’

  He closed the door behind him as he left.

  Nathaniel stepped forward and held out his hand. ‘Axel.’

  The captain hesitated and then he proffered his hand in welcome. ‘Sorry, Nathaniel. It’s just that…I…you haven’t aged.’

  Janice came forward and gave the marine a hug. ‘It’s good to see you again, Nate,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long time.’

  Nathaniel nodded. ‘Longer for some than for others.’ He gestured at Tad.

  ‘This is my friend, Tad. We met a long time ago, sort of.’

  Tad waved a hello.

  ‘You’re sounding very cryptic, Nathaniel,’ said Axel. ‘Care to explain?’

  ‘Your man said that the prof and O’Hara were coming. If you don’t mind I’ll wait and then I only have to tell the story once. It’s rather long and complicated.’

  On cue the door opened and the two older men walked in. Father O’Hara immediately gathered Nathaniel up in a great bear hug, kissing him soundly on the cheek and then ruffling his long hair. ‘Dere you are, me boyo,’ he boomed. ‘Twenty years on and as young and as ugly as ever.’

  ‘As are you, Father,’ replied Nathaniel.

  The professor greeted the marine with a little more decorum, shaking his hand vigorously for almost a minute. Obviously as pleased as the father to see him, but more reticent in his behavior.

  Nathaniel introduced Tad, and then the father took a bottle out from beneath his cassock. It contained a clear liquid that was obviously of the alcoholic variety and he bustled into the side cabinet next to the desk and brought out six mugs. He poured a generous measure into each one.

  ‘To life and ole friends,’ he toasted.

  ‘To life,’ agreed everyone.

  ‘Right,’ said Axel. ‘All be seated and Nathaniel will tell us his story.’

  They sat.

  And the marine told his tale.

  Chapter 23

  The group of reunited friends had stayed up late, finally heading to bed a mere two hours before sunrise to snatch some well needed sleep.

  They had also drunk another three bottles of father O’Hara’s moonshine and Nathaniel had discovered that, although he might well be immortal, he could still have the mother of all hangovers. As a result he had arisen later than his usual sunup routine and he had downed a gallon of water, had a cold shower, dressed and then he and Tad headed off to see Axel to wish him goodbye for now. The two travelers had decided to keep heading towards London and then they hoped to stop in at the Abbey once again on the way back home.

  When they got to the captain’s office he was busy in a meeting so they sat on a hard wooden bench in the hallway and waited.

  As it so happened they didn’t have to wait long. After a mere few minutes the door opened and, to Nathaniel’s utter amazement, a short, gray-skinned alien walked out of the office, wished Axel goodbye and then left, after been escorted by two fully armed battle Orcs.

  Axel came to the door and invited them in.

  ‘Sit down, friends,’ he said. ‘So, are your plans still to leave today?’

  Tad was about to reply but Nathaniel butted in.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ He asked.

  Axel raised an eyebrow. ‘What was what?’

  ‘That thing that just walked out of your office.’

  ‘Oh him,’ said Axel. That’s Pawah Patenemheb, the Fair-Folk ambassador. Impressive, aren’t they? They all look like that.’

  ‘Who’s impressive?’ Asked Nathaniel. ‘The pig faces or the little gray, rubber-skinned bugger?’

  Both Tad and Axel looked at the marine with baffled expressions.

  ‘What gray man?’ Asked Axel.

  Tad stood up and walked over to his friend. ‘Nate. Are you okay?’

  ‘Of course I’m okay. What the hell is wrong with you two? What are you talking about?’

  ‘The tall blonde haired dude that just walked out of the office,’ said Tad. ‘He’s one of the Fair-Folk. I know that you haven’t seen one before. They all look remarkably similar. Well built, action men faces, impossible hair.’

  Without saying anything Nathaniel jumped up and ran to the window. He could see the gray man flanked by his Orcs walking down the street. He grabbed Axel by the arm and showed him.

  ‘There,’ he pointed at the alien. ‘That ugly little thing. What is it?’

  Both Tad and Axel started to look genuinely worried. ‘Umm…that’s who we’re talking about,’ said Axel. ‘The Fair-Folk ambassador.’

  Nathaniel stared at his friends for almost a full minute. Then he shook his head.

  ‘Good God. You can’t see, can you?’

  ‘What?’ Asked Axel.

  ‘Send someone to get the professor and father O’Hara,’ said Nathaniel. ‘We need to talk.’

  ***

  ‘Well there’s no empirical evidence that Nathaniel is correct in what he saw,’ said the professor. ‘However, given his particular set of skills and the way that he has been effected by the surfeit of gamma radiation in the atmosphere, we can assume that he can see things that we cannot. That leaves us with a couple of questions. Firstly, why does he see a little gray man as opposed to the Aryan-type Adonis that we all see and, secondly, how do the little gray men change our perception of them?’

  ‘Possession,’ shouted father O’Hara. ‘The evil sons of bitches have possessed us. We need to carry out an exorcism. Or a cleansing. Sumat like dat,’ he continued. ‘Actually, to be honest, I’m not dat sure what da church’s protocol is regarding little gray men. To be sure dere is naught in da bible about it.’

  The father looked grim and sneaked a sip of moonshine from one of his ever-present bottles.

  ‘What worries me,’ said Axel. ‘Is that they are capable of such mental deceit. If they can make us see what isn’t there…well, a
re they affecting our thinking? And if so, what are they making us think?’

  ‘Look,’ said Nathaniel. ‘The important thing is that we know. Axel, all of you actually, keep a close eye on any of them when you next meet one. Try to see through their cloak. I assume that it’s some sort of mass hypnosis. A mental camouflage of some sort.’

  ‘But why do it?’ Asked Tad.

  ‘Simple,’ replied Axel. ‘They have deemed, correctly I add, that we would be more akin to dealing with someone whom we saw as the same as us. As opposed to a foreign alien type. Let’s face it – if they looked like Orcs then we would be that much more suspicious but, instead they look like a bunch of male models and that allays our fears. Fears of the unknown, of the strange. The different.’

  ‘Fecking heathens,’ grumbled father O’Hara. ‘Dey needs to be drowned in a vat of holy water, dey do. Putting on human faces to fool us. It’s immoral. Lying is what it is and de church don’t approve.’

  Nathaniel grinned. ‘I’ve missed you, father. Tell it like it is and hallelujah to the rest.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’ Asked Tad

  Nathaniel shrugged. ‘Not much that we can do,’ he answered. ‘Not even sure what difference this all makes. The two of us continue as we were, as does everybody else. We keep our eyes peeled and see what the future brings us.’

  ‘Very fatalistic,’ said the professor.

  ‘It’s worked for me so far,’ said Nathaniel. ‘Well, sort of. Tad and I will continue our trip and we’ll see you on the return leg. Oh, a favor if you could, captain? Tad and I have a hundred jars of some sort of fruit preserve that we traded for a couple of days back. Could we trade it for something else? We need to show that we are legitimate traders, no need to blow our cover over something so trivial.’

  ‘We got cigars,’ said father O’Hara. ‘Would dose do?’

  ‘Great,’ agreed Nathaniel. ‘Less weight as well.’

  ‘Drop da preserve off at da chapel before you’s go and I’ll give you a few cases of cigars. You’ll like dem, dey’re pretty good.’

  Tad and Nathaniel shook hands all round and left to gather up their horses and baggage. On the way out they swapped the preserve for cigars and went on their way.

  ‘I wonder if we’re up or down on the deals so far?’ Asked Tad.

  ‘Who cares?’ Replied Nathaniel. ‘It’s simply a cover.’

  ‘I care,’ said Tad. ‘Just because it’s a cover doesn’t mean that we should do it badly. That offends my sensibilities.’

  The marine laughed and they rode in silence for a while.

  Eventually Tad spoke up again. ‘Worked it all out. I reckon that we’re well up. Got a good deal on the cigars. Now, as long as we don’t smoke them all we could come out of this on top.’

  That night they stopped in the woods and set up camp, following Nathaniel’s habit of finding a pitch hidden from passers by and well sheltered. They ate a meal of stewed vegetables, drank some uisge and smoked a couple of the cigars.

  Neither spoke much. Instead they simply sat together in a companionable silence that only true friends could find comfortable.

  The next morning they awoke to snow. Light flakes fluttering down and hardly settling. But, by the time they had finished a quick breakfast of bread and cheese, the snow had thickened up enough to coat the trees and ground with a thin white film.

  After an hour the snowfall had become a genuine snowstorm and visibility was down to a mere few feet. And then the wind picked up.

  Nathaniel and Tad dismounted and started to lead the horses, bending against the wind, desperately looking for some form of shelter.

  ‘I miss weather forecasts,’ shouted Nathaniel. ‘Even if they were often wrong, at least we had some sort of clue.’

  ‘You’re right about that,’ answered Tad. ‘And I tell you something else, if we don’t find shelter soon we aren’t going to last through the night. The weather patterns have worsened since you left us and this, in particular, is getting worse by the minute.’

  ‘Hold on,’ called Nathaniel. ‘This blundering around isn’t doing us any good. We could fall off a cliff before we even knew it was there. Stand still, I’m going to try something.’

  Nathaniel went down on one knee and then took a deep breath. He blocked out the noise of the howling wind, blanked out the wet flakes of snow, the freezing cold. He relaxed and let his mind flow. He felt the strength of the earth and he cast out his silver net of consciousness, letting it crawl along the ground, under the snow, protected from the storm. Outwards it went. He sensed life, a hare, a fox. Further. Further.

  And then, suddenly he was aware of another being. A human. More than an awareness, it was as if they were actually standing next to him. Invisible but palpably there.

  ‘Follow me,’ echoed the presence in his head, and the faintest of lights glowed in front of him. This was not at all what the marine had expected to happen. At best he had thought that he might feel the lie of the land. So, with little choice, he followed.

  ‘Come on, Tad,’ he shouted above the keening wind. ‘This way.’

  The little big man trudged behind him, leading both his horse and the packhorse. Nathaniel broke the path, plowing through the snowdrifts and allowing Tad an easier way.

  The marine followed the glow as it pulsed weakly in front of him, more graveyard-glimmer than leading light. And then suddenly, out of the gloom, two shapes appeared. Men, wrapped in furs, faces covered with woolen balaclavas. They beckoned to Nate and Tad.

  ‘Follow,’ echoed the voice, as it brushed across the marine’s consciousness like cobwebs on bare skin.

  The men guided the two friends through a gap in between two large caravans. They found themselves in a circle of caravans or vardos, as the walking folk called them. Inside the circle, or tabor, the wind immediately lessened. Nathaniel could see that it was because thick sheets of canvas had been tied tight between each of the vardos and between their wheels, forming an almost complete windbreak. As well as this, fully half of the tabor was covered with more canvas and propped up with stout wooden poles. The horses were led to a sheltered area where a group of young boys rubbed them down with straw, gave them hay and threw blankets over them. Tad and the marine were led to a central fire under the middle of the covered area.

  A large man with a huge moustache stood up and walked over to greet them, his arms flung wide.

  ‘Nathaniel,’ he boomed.

  The marine grinned. ‘Papa Dante.’

  The two men hugged each other, laughing and clapping each other’s backs.

  Papa held Nathaniel’s shoulders and looked at him. ‘My boy,’ he said. ‘Gogo told us to expect you, but I still feel as if my eyes deceive my brain. You haven’t aged. Over twenty years and you look the same.’

  Nathaniel grinned. ‘If it’s any consolation, Papa, you look pretty good yourself. Not even a gray hair.’

  Papa leaned forward and whispered in Nathaniel’s ear. ‘I dye my hair with henna,’ he said. ‘An old man’s vanity. Our secret.’

  Nathaniel stepped back and introduced Tad. Papa shook his hand.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said to the marine. ‘Gogo wants to see you. Your friend can sit here,’ Papa pointed to one of the piles of fur set around the fire.

  A girl came up to Tad and gave him a mug of steaming brew. Nathaniel could smell the alcohol in it from where he stood. The little big man followed the girl to the fire.

  Papa led the marine to one of the vardos and showed him up the stairs.

  ‘I’ll be by the fire when you’re finished,’ he said. ‘We shall eat and drink. Tell tall tales and sing songs.’ He clapped Nathaniel on the back again. ‘It is good to see you after all these years, my friend.’

  The marine opened the door to the vardo and went in.

  Gogo was seated at the table, her milky white eyes turned towards him and she smiled. Like Nathaniel, she looked no older than when he had last seen her, some twenty plus years before. She was old then and she
was old now.

  ‘Greetings, Forever Man. You look the same.’

  ‘As do you, Gogo,’ said Nathaniel. ‘But how would you know?’

  She laughed. ‘I see as well as you, young man,’ she said. ‘Just not with my eyes. Sit.’ She gestured to an empty seat opposite her. There was a mug of some liquid on the table and she pushed it towards the marine. ‘Drink. It will warm you.’

  Nathaniel took a sip. It was a brandy. Rich and golden and sweet. Like a mug full of sunshine. He felt the warmth spread through him.

  ‘It was you who led us here,’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ replied Gogo. ‘I was waiting for you. ‘So tell me all,’ she continued. ‘I know the most of it but give me details. They are more important than you know.’

  So, once again, the marine told his saga.

  Chapter 24

  The storm raged on and, after Nathaniel had told his story to Gogo he was obliged to tell it yet again to Papa Dante and his people. By then he was thoroughly sick of talking about himself and it was a great pleasure to simply sit back, drink in hand, and listen to the great raconteur that was Papa Dante.

  The bad weather continued and for next two days he spent most of his spare moments with Gogo who was helping him to hone his mental magik techniques.

  Firstly, she asked him to draw in some power, just enough to light a flame. While he did this she laid her hands on his head and concentrated.

  ‘Aha,’ she proclaimed. ‘I thought so. Very clever. I see that you envisage your consciousness as a silver threaded net, cast out across the countryside to reel in your power. As I said, clever, but inefficient. You see, nets can be broken. Cut. They have holes in through which stuff can escape. Instead of the net, I want you to imagine your consciousness as a sheet of light. And not just any light. The same light that you see in the skies every day. The pulse light. The same colors, the way that it moves, pulsing and coruscating. Like it’s alive.’

  Nathaniel tried. And it proved to be more difficult than holding on to a greased hog. But, slowly, after a few more hours, he had it under control, spreading the light out all around him. Enveloping the landscape in his mental radiance.