The Forever Man: Clan War Read online

  It had been made law that humans carried a pass with them at all times and travel between counties was forbidden without express permission from the Fair-Folk or one of their minions.

  As with any totalitarian occupation, many humans had defected completely to the side of the Fair-Folk, becoming either subservient lackeys or, worse, fully participating allies with all of the benefits thereof. Those humans wore gray uniforms and were given first choice, after the Fair-Folk, of both housing and food. Collectively they were referred to as members of HAS or the Human Advisory Service.

  Many humans were forced into labor on farms, mines and lumber operations whilst Fair-Folk and HAS lived in luxury.

  Whilst the lowlands of Scotland had a few Fair-Folk supporters living there, the Highlands, with the new harsh weather patterns, were almost free of them, peopled by the less accepting, old fashioned humans. The almost constant freezing temperatures, lack of arable land and general savagery of the people kept the Fair-Folk and their minions out.

  And, as such, it was punishable, by death, for any human to venture north of Hadrian’s Wall without written permission of the ruling classes.

  ‘On the plus side,’ said Tad. ‘The human population is, once again, on the increase.’

  Nathaniel shook his head. ‘Jesus, I can’t get my mind around this. The human race has been taken over by the pig-people?’

  ‘Well, not the pig-people as such,’ answered Tad. ‘The Fair-Folk. They’re the boss of the pig-people or Orcs. Also the goblins. The Fair-Folk are like us. Well, like you, I suppose. Tall, fair haired, good looking. Male models all of them. The females are seldom seen and, when they are, they tend to be covered. Veils and crap. Sort of like Muslims. Personally, I don’t think that even the most rabid of HAS members would actually allow themselves to be subjugated by Orcs. But, whatever one says about the Fair-Folk, they’ve got class.’

  Tad got up and went to fetch a couple of mugs and a bottle of uisge. He poured a stiff measure for each of them.

  ‘There’s something else,’ he said. ‘Something really weird. Not actually sure how to tell you, so I’ll just do it.’

  He stood up again and went through to his bedroom, returning with a large, hardcover book. He placed it on the table in front of Nathaniel.

  The book was leather-bound and, on the cover, etched in gold leaf was the title. “Myths and legends of Scotland”.

  Tad flicked it open and ran through a few pages before stopping at a full color print of a detailed, oil painted, portrait.

  The person in the portrait was, absolutely and undeniably, Nathaniel. And it was the marine as he looked at that very moment. The artist had captured the haunted look in his eyes, the length of hair and beard. Even the leather tunic and the tartan of the great kilt were identical. In the foreground of the picture lay Nathaniel’s axe.

  Underneath the caption read.

  “King Arthur of the Picts”.

  Nathaniel stared at the picture.

  ‘How long has this been around?’ He asked.

  Tad shrugged. ‘Forever, apparently.’

  ‘Yes,’ continued the marine. ‘But was it around forever before I went away or was it only around forever since then?’

  Again Tad shrugged.

  ‘I think that I always remember it. Whatever. Is it true?’

  Nathaniel glanced through the write up. Reading quickly.

  He nodded. ‘Basically. Except for the part where a boat came and took me away to the lady of the lake. As far as I know I got zapped by lightning and ended up back here. There was a round table, a castle. Lancelot…bloody prick. I see that there’s no mention of the Holy Grail.’

  Tad raised an eyebrow. ‘No, not sure what you’re talking about. You found the Holy Grail?’

  ‘No,’ denied Nathaniel. ‘The other king Arthur. The one before I went back and messed it all up. Anyway – it doesn’t matter. I see that it says here that I’ll come back when I am most needed in order to lead the clans against a new enemy?’

  Tad nodded.

  ‘Well then,’ said Nathaniel. ‘That should help. As long as I can convince them that I’m the long dead legendary king Arthur come back to help fight the Fair-Folk and not some psycho nut-case with porridge for brains.’

  ‘We’ll find a way,’ encouraged Tad.

  ‘What if I don’t want to?’ Asked the marine. ‘What if I simply do not bloody care any more?’

  Tad smiled. ‘We’ll find a way,’ he repeated and poured another mug-full of uisge for the marine.

  Chapter 20

  Tad pulled the saddle cinch tight.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ He asked.

  ‘Definitely,’ affirmed Nathaniel as he mounted his horse. ‘If I’ve been gone for over twenty years, first I need to take a bit of a tour of the country. Get a bit of first hand knowledge etcetera.’

  Tad grunted as he threw another two full saddlebags over the back of the packhorse that they were taking with them.

  ‘What’s that?’ Asked Nathaniel. ‘I thought that we’d already packed all of the food and stuff.’

  ‘Goods to trade,’ replied Tad. ‘Told you that things have changed. Can’t just live off the land now. Well, you can, but you also need to be able to trade for goods, places to stay and so on.’

  ‘So what you got?’

  ‘Small knives. A few pots and pans. Goblets. Some bottles of uisge.’

  The dwarf clambered onto his horse, still holding the long reins attached to the packhorse. He tied them loosely to the back of his saddle and they set off. He had left his cottage unlocked and had allowed one of the village bachelors to stay in it, hoping that at least he would keep the damp out.

  They had no real plan of action. Nathaniel figured that he wanted to travel to London and then back. Firstly, they had to sneak across the wall. Then, somehow, they needed to find a member of HAS so that they could obtain the requisite paperwork. Tad had been assured by other travelers that it was pretty much a given that any member of HAS was imminently corruptible and a few bottles of highland uisge would purchase any and all certifications needed.

  It took them four days to ride from Tomintoul to Wardrew Wood.

  When they got to the woods they used the cover of the trees to cross the remnants of Hadrian’s Wall at that point and then, under the cover of darkness, made their way to the village of Chapleburn where they traded a set of knives for dinner, bed, breakfast and stabling for their mounts.

  The next morning they rose early, ate well and, after asking directions, set off to the local HAS office on foot.

  Chapelburn was a large village. Before the pulse it probably housed around 7000 souls. Now it was closer to three thousand and more than half of those were aliens. Long armed goblins and pig faced Orcs being the norm

  Nathaniel, who had at this point only heard of Orcs and goblins, could not stop staring.

  ‘Bugger me,’ he whispered to Tad. ‘People had explained what they looked like but, Jesus, they are plug-ugly, aren’t they?’

  ‘Which ones’ Asked Tad.

  ‘Both,’ answered Nathaniel. ‘The Pig faces and the goblins.’

  ‘Stop staring,’ said Tad. ‘You’re like a child. You’re attracting attention. Act normal.’

  Nathaniel tore his eyes away from the shambling monstrosities and tried to look as if the sight of them was an every day occurrence to him. But he couldn’t stop himself shuddering involuntarily every now and then.

  After a couple of wrong turns they came to the address that they were looking for. A run down Georgian mansion with a front door that opened directly onto the street.

  Nathaniel rapped on it, using the knocker.

  They heard footsteps shuffling closer and, eventually, the door was opened by a short, weedy looking man with a huge pot belly that even his well cut gray uniform failed to conceal.

  He threw his arm out in a fascist salute. ‘Hail, good people,’ he greeted.

  ‘Hail, worthy human,’ greeted Tad back.
>
  Nathaniel stared at the man for a few seconds and then burst out laughing.

  ‘You gotta be kidding me,’ he said. ‘Bloody Hail and the Hitler salute. What the hell. No ways.’

  Tad grabbed the marine by the arm and pulled him down to his level. ‘Listen, Nate,’ he urged. ‘Don’t. These buggers take the whole HAS thing real serious. You don’t have to salute but you must refer to him as a worthy human. Do it or we’re screwed before we begin. Also – apologize.’

  Nathaniel took a deep breath and stood straight. He stared at the pot-bellied man and whipped out a salute that would have brought tears to Goebbels’ eyes.

  ‘Hail and greetings worthy human,’ he barked out in his best marine master sergeant parade ground voice. The greeting boomed into the house and echoed around the rooms. ‘I must apologize, worthy human,’ continued Nathaniel at top volume. ‘I was filled with excitement at actually meeting a worthy human member of HAS and I was overcome, hence my apparent rudeness. Hail,’ he boomed again.

  Tad kicked him surreptitiously in the shin and whispered. ‘All right. Enough already. Slow down.’

  The man smiled at Nathaniel and nodded. ‘You are forgiven, young man,’ he said. ‘I understand. But please relax; we worthy humans are not to be feared – only respected. Come in, the two of you. How may I help?’

  ‘We are traveling traders,’ said Tad as they followed the man down the dingy corridor and into his office. ‘We live fairly locally, a mile or so outside of the hamlet of Truebough. We look for permits to travel to London and back in order to trade.’

  ‘And what goods do you trade in?’ Asked the official.

  Tad had come well prepared for this and he opened his leather saddlebag and started to place goods on the desk in front of the man. Two bottles of golden uisge, a set of three, honed, bright steel throwing knives, a short sword and a necklace of semi-precious stones.

  ‘Please, worthy human, allow us to make a humble gift of these goods so that you may make yourself aware of both our products and their quality.’

  The official stared at the row of goods for a while and then he lifted one of the bottles of uisge.

  ‘I have friends who are very fond of this,’ he said. ‘It would be nice if I could make them each a gift of a bottle.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Tad. ‘How many friends, worthy human?’

  ‘Four.’

  Tad pulled another five bottles out of his bag.

  ‘Please accept these with our compliments, worthy human. I hope that your friends will be well pleased. The uisge is over ten years old.’

  The official smiled and removed some papers from a drawer in his desk. He scrawled some words onto the scroll and then, tongue between his teeth with concentration, he applied his wax seal to the bottom of the paper.

  ‘Here,’ he pushed the paper across. ‘Travel between here and London. You may not proceed more than five miles off the accepted route, nor may you proceed more than five miles past the southern limits of the city itself.

  He stood up and threw out another fascist salute. ‘All hail.’

  Tad and Nathaniel stood and saluted back. ‘Hail to you, worthy human,’ they shouted in unison.

  ‘That will be all,’ said the official as he led them to the front door and showed them out.

  As they walked down the street Nathaniel mumbled. ‘Stupid dick. Hail, my ass.’

  Tad laughed. ‘Told you there had been changes.’

  Nathaniel shook his head. ‘It’s not only that,’ he said. ‘Look at this place.’ He gestured around him. The concrete of the pavements and the blacktop roads were full of potholes and puddles. Raw sewage flowed down the storm drains and the place smelled like an open toilet. The humans walking about the place all had looks of dejection and exhaustion on their careworn faces. Clothes, on the whole, were shabby and re-patched or badly home made.

  A bucket of excrement, thrown from a second floor window, splashed onto the pavement next to Nathaniel, barley missing him and dotting his boots with brown speckles.

  ‘Why are people living like this?’ He asked Tad. ‘Why don’t they leave the villages and live off the land?’

  ‘Because they can’t,’ replied Tad. ‘Don’t forget. There used to be almost seventy five million people living in the United Kingdom. A year after the pulse that had shrunk to seven or eight. People guess that it’s around eight again. The ones that survived did so mainly through dumb luck. Your average bloke doesn’t know how to live off the land. Jesus, man. Some of the city kids thought that milk came from a machine and pasta was grown on pasta bushes. Also, you have to appreciate, things started to wear out mighty quickly. You wash clothes and bedding without soap means that you have to really bash your washing with a rock or something, bedding, linen, clothes. Everything started to seriously wear out after about ten years. When the Fair-Folk cobbled together some semblance of order, people flocked to the towns and villages under their control. There was security, a guarantee of sustenance. Roof over their heads. Okay, they had to live like peasants, or worse, but at least they stopped dying.’

  ‘I’d rather die,’ said Nathaniel.

  ‘Would You?’ Asked Tad. ‘Really? Well I for one hope to hell that I never have to make that choice. Come on, let’s get our horses and blow this cesspit.’

  Chapter 21

  Janeka stood upright and stretched her back, then she leant against the hoe for a while, feeling and looking twenty years older than her true age of forty-two. The last few years had been tough. Real tough. But she was alive, she was relatively healthy. The Fair-Folk allowed her, and the rest of the workers, enough calories every day to live. She had a roof over her head at night and there were no bandit problems.

  She counted the days and years up in her head. It had been six years since her sister, Adalyn had died. Taken from her by some nasty little tumor. Some filthy cancer that ate away at her insides, leaving her a wasted, pain-wracked facsimile of her former self.

  Gramma Higgins was still going strong at eighty-four years of age. Although she had neither official title nor position on the farm, or the collective as the Fair-Folk called it, nothing of note was done without running it by Gramma first. Not even the Orcs did anything of note without telling the old lady. And, if by chance they did, she would take them to one side and give them a stern telling off, berating them for upwards of twenty minutes at least, her strident Jamaican patois ringing out across the farm.

  But the actual official human in charge, third in the hierarchy after Djedi, the Fair-Folk leader and Pog, the Orc garrison commander, was Milly.

  Worthy human and fanatical member of HAS, she was more alien than human. Never missing a chance to preach to all, how the Fair-Folk had saved humanity. How the world had totally gone to shit before the Orcs and goblins had joined with the humans to steer them back onto the path.

  Where Janeka saw subjugation, Milly saw a partnership. Where Janeka saw control, Milly saw guidance.

  Twenty-nine years of age and stunningly beautiful. Tall, long auburn hair that tumbled in tight curls to below her shoulders, eyes of burned hazel and the body of a professional athlete. She could outride most men and, in any close physical combat, could more than hold her own.

  Janeka had helped bring Milly up, seeing her grow from little girl to the self-assured adult fanatic that she was now. Once almost sisters, Milly now treated Janeka with cool politeness and insisted on being addressed as Worthy Human and saluted in the fascist way. The Jamaican girl supposed that she should hate Milly. Despise her for her fickleness. But she simply didn’t have the energy. Merely living was all that she could manage. Grubbing in the dirt to fulfill the Fair-Folk’s agricultural quotas, mechanical mastication of food to impart energy, sleep in order to recharge her exhausted body and then more dirt grubbing. It was life…but it was not living.

  ‘Hey,’ one of the goblin supervisors called out to her in its guttural voice. ‘No sleeping on hoe. Work.’

  She took a deep breath and we
nt back to turning the soil.

  ***

  Nathaniel was amazed. The farm was vast. At least ten times larger than the burgeoning little settlement that he had left a little over a year ago. And then he had to remind himself that it had actually been over twenty years. Twenty years of concerted, planned growth using forced human labor.

  From his vantage point on the top of the hill he could see that the fifty acres of before had now become over two thousand acres of well laid out crops. He could see potatoes, pumpkins, cabbages and turnips. Crops that could withstand the vagaries of the post-pulse weather patterns. Closer to the main living area were sheds containing laying hens and, to the side, what looked like pig-pens.

  They had already been vetted by a team of guards. A mixture of Orcs, goblins and worthy humans. Their paperwork had held up and they were given permission to stay overnight and to trade some of their knives for jams and preserved fruits. Uisge was forbidden but they were allowed to keep it as long as they did not bring it out of their saddlebags.

  They had asked for directions to the inn and an Orc had given them directions to what he called, the guesting area. When they arrived, they found it to be a large, drafty barn. Mean, bare bunks lined up along the walls. There was no fire, no windows and the main doors did not shut. But it seemed relatively waterproof and it was free, although Tad maintained that, even at that price, it was a rip-off.

  Next to the barn was a lean-to for the horses. Hay was provided and although they asked one of the goblins, there did not seem to be any oats. The goblin was so nervous of the horses that he kept moving away from them whenever they approached. As a result they decided to tie the horses up in the lean-to and they buried their saddlebags under the hay, trusting that the horses would discourage any opportunist thievery. They took with them a few sets of knives, both combat and cooking.

  As it happened they had nothing to worry about. The Fair-Folk had deemed the theft of any property illegal, and so, as with all illegal actions, it was punishable by hanging. Human malingering, showing a lack of respect to either the Fair-Folk or their minions, or to a worthy human, or raising a hand in violence against same also constituted a capital offence. In fact, humans were regularly beaten for minor transgressions.