The Butcher and the Butterfly (34 page)

‘Come on Marksman.
Take the shot. I am here; an open target. I killed that slut of a
Queen and pissed on her corpse! Or do you prefer the old days?
Would you that I kneel before ya?’ With that the Sorcerer knelt
down and placed his hands upon the floor.

Martin’s gun
followed the motion but still he didn’t shoot. It didn’t seem
right.

‘Lost your nerve,
Martin,’ Samson mocked, ‘shame you weren’t so keen to save the life
of poor little Dotty.’

Martin pulled the
trigger.

3

At first Martin
couldn’t understand what had just happened. The weapon had fired
right and his aim was true but yet somehow Samson was still there.
He fired three more times and this time he could see what was
happening; the Sorcerer was somehow palming away the bullets with
his right hand. Martin screamed and let fly the final two bullets
but still Samson was able to flick them away. Martin continued to
pull on the trigger even though he had run out of bullets. He
stopped firing as Samson stood and couldn’t believe it when he saw
the Sorcerer playing with one of the bullets. Toying with it like a
fascinated child holding a gold coin.

Martin was
speechless. He silently holstered his gun and sat upon the floor;
his hands covering his face the realization and misery of what he
had done breaking the dam and drowning him.

Samson
effortlessly walked through the iron bars his black cloak unfurling
in an unfelt wind. He knelt down in front of the Marksman and
placed both hands upon Martins shoulders. His fingers were bony and
cold. It was like being touched by death.

‘You are meant for
far greater deeds than you have ever done, Oath Bearer. You but
only need to hunt me. That is all I ask.’

The Sorcerer
leaned in close and kissed the head of the Marksman.

Martin lunged
forward reaching out for the Sorcerers throat. He made contact with
something soft and fleshy and then everything went numb and
black.

4

Deep underground,
deeper than the miners have ever gone, deeper than the old machines
had ever dug and in searing heat, Ted, or as we now should address
him; the Angel of Death, tried in vain to rip the wings from his
charred body. Every time the wing came away from his flesh another
grew. Every time he threw himself into the fiery abyss he would
simply burn but never die. He was slowly realising that Death had
already come for him and now it would never take him back.

The Angel of
Death, giving up trying to end his immortal life, looked into the
fires and cried. There were no tears running down his blackened
face but he wept like he had wept the day his wife had died and
would continue to do so until he found the cunt that had put him
here.

5

Samson stared
blankly at the body of the Marksman. He had brought him here, to
the outskirts of Christian Sands, surrounded by meter high rows of
corn and watched as he slept a deep dreamless sleep. Even though he
had tried to kill him with six bullets and failed miserably, the
Marksman; in sheer desperation, hadn’t given up on the effort. He
had gotten through Samson’s defences and caught hold of his throat,
but Samson smirked as he remembered how powerful he was now.

He patted his
would be killer on the shoulder, but the Marksman did not wake.
‘Not today my good man. Not today and maybe you never will. Our
King has plans for us and I intend on fulfilling them with you by
my side.’

Samson stood and
by clicking his fingers he made a small satchel appear by the feet
of the Marksman. On top of the satchel was a poorly written
note.

Samson spoke to
Martin softly, ‘It seems that I am always taking care of you,
brother. Always saving you from something or someone, many
someone’s from time to time. From when we were knee high to
grasshoppers to fearless killing machines I have watched over you.
Made sure you were still alive to do another days killing. I have
mended broken bones and staunched bleeding wounds and you have done
the same. I was given opportunities and have taken them as you will
in time. Our journey has had to take this course. You are much
stronger than me, thicker skinned. I need you, like that time in
that damned village…’

But that tale
would have to wait as he remembered his current task and the new
Orb under his cloak. Samson chuckled as he ran his fingers around
the two orbs hidden beneath his black cloak and within the blink of
an eye he vanished into thin air leaving the corn stalks blowing in
the breeze and the Marksman sleeping in their protective
shadow.

6

Martin had come
around a few hours after Samson had left him. The wind blew the
corn rows and the brightest of stars twinkled in the early evening
dark. After some minutes to regain a semi form of consciousness he
had found the letter.

Oath Bearer,

We have come such
a long way together; from the old halls to these fields of corn and
forever on. Our paths have been as one through the years, sometimes
going in opposing directions, sometimes conjoined but always we
have yearned for the same destination. It was I that found that
destination first and now I hasten you to join me.

You may think we
are different Martin, but I can assure you; we are not.

Brothers to the
end. Is that not what we say during the Oath? You are my brother
Martin and will continue to be so. You may scoff, I know that you
are right now as you read these words, but have we not both killed
to fulfil our own goals? Think about that. My hands are bloodied
for the same reasons yours are; in defence of that what we think is
right.

I could go on, but
I know that you are going to be a tough nut to crack. It didn’t
have to be that way, the wave that pulled me under wasn’t strong
enough to take you, but in time I hope that you will see that the
world you have come from was fake, full of lies, twisted
politicians and an unseen rot.

If you don’t, I
can honestly say; you will die. Our new kingdom will not suffer
traitors.

I have travelled
North, Oath Bearer, to the lands that care not, or know little of
what you are or once were. I hope we can shake hands like we once
did.

Your friend

Samson Little

Two miles from
Christian Sands and heading north, following the Strain, Martin
looked to the heavens and thought for a moment about what he should
do. He had no home to go to, no friends that would take him in and
deny all knowledge of his whereabouts. He had two simple options:
carry on north and continue the hunt or simply continue north and
find a new home and make some kind of life for him and live out the
rest of his days in whatever role the fates saw fit to give
him.

It didn’t cross
his mind to align himself with Samson. His old lord or a new one
still meant being controlled and whatever Martin had done in the
past he didn’t want to repeat. Maybe it was time to wash his hands
of it, time to let it go and release himself to the whims of the
world. He was young but the rot was starting to set in and
continuing the hunt would allow the rot to spread and the blood of
more innocent people to flow.

As he trundled on,
Martin came across an old willow tree overhanging the river and he
thought it a good place to rest for the night. Though he had been
knocked out what seemed like a hundred times in the last few days
he needed to rest; to gather himself for the next part of his
journey; whatever that was. North to hunt or north to settle. He
drank swiftly from the Strain not liking the muddy taste but drank
all the same. As he drank deeper an odd song popped into his head,
one about growing up and not wanting too. Some of the words meant
nothing to him, they spoke of things called ‘televisions’ and ‘five
o-clock news’ but all through the song the words spoke of the fear
the boy had of growing up and seeing the dirt of the world. One
line kept repeating on him

I’d rather stay
here in my room, nothing out there but sad and gloom, I don’t want
to live in a big old Tomb. I don’t wanna grow up

The song stayed
with him for the rest of the night and when he awoke to the sound
of the birds singing in the trees he had made up his mind; he set
about cleaning his ancient weapon in preparation for the hunt.

7

Grendle

I am found. Was
lost for so long in a dark place I don’t want to remember. But I am
found. Free to do what I want again. Free to have someone look
after me and give me what I want.

Whoever found me I
have taken them all. Nice to eat again but am hungry now. Soon
there will be others. I can wait a little while. If they don’t come
I will call for them and then they will come running like they used
to.

I may be little
but I can shout loud. Louder than the thunder in the sky and the
demons in Void.

Nothing/Sleep

Two coming to get
me. Didn’t need to shout they have come early. One I feel seems
tasty, the other feels sour so he can be the one to take me to
whoever wants me.

Closer…

Closer……

The tasty one I
have taken and I feel much stronger now. The sour one I cannot get
even if I wanted to. He has shield around him.

No fair.

I am being lifted
up now. I am awake but there is nothing to eat. No one to take, no
one to eat up and spit out. I cannot speak to this thing that has
me. I keep on trying but he is not of this world.

I am moving fast
from where I was left. Not lost. I was left there by my previous
master. Left there because I was jealous of what I gave him.

Nothing/Sleep

I have been in one
place for a while now. The thing left me somewhere and I was given
people to eat but now I am full and I want to have a master so that
I can feel loved again. Been so long since I was loved, since a
person cared for me and I could care for them.

Wait, I can feel
someone. Two. Three. Four people. One of them is the thing. He has
bought me more food but I don’t want it.

The three are left
in the place I was in and now I am being taken somewhere else.

I can feel the
soul of someone. He is a big man. Stronger than me but he needs me
like I need him.

He seems nervous
of me. Not scared like all the others. I shall tell him. I shall
speak to him so that he knows I means him no harm. I am full of
food; I want to help now because help is what I do. I help so that
I am loved. I am Grendle the Green and Grendle the Green needs a
master. Be my master I asks him, be my master and you can have
whatever it is that you want……………

8

‘You can be my
master. You can have what you want. I am full, master and I need no
more food until I am loved and can give you what you want. Grendle
the Green is yours and you are my master and I love ya for it.’

Barnabas sat in
his massive thrown with the green orb known as Grendle in his right
hand. Even though the ball was featureless he knew that inside the
cloudy green was a young woman waiting to be loved. He could feel
her looking at him even though she couldn’t see. Grendle was the
youngest of the sisters tricked inside the Orbs thousands of years
ago and she has remained that young, that innocent for all that
time.

For hundreds of
years she has been dormant, locked away in a room where no man
dared go. But his men had dared and they had found the Orb with no
effort. Souls had been lost but Barnabas cared little for them or
little for how many others may be lost in the coming months. He had
Grendle and even though Samson had Arda and the witch had Petra he
was getting closer all the time to his goal.

‘I will give you
all you need to feel love, Grendle, for I will love you for all
time. If you give me what I want then you shall always be
loved.’

The ball of green
pulsed in acceptance and anticipation. His hand holding the Orb
stroked the glass and he knew she was starting to feel happier. He
could feel it. Somewhere at the back of his rotten mind he could
feel her squeezing her way in.

‘Can you still
contact your sisters, Grendle?’ Barnabas whispered.

His eyes widened
at Grendel’s response. ‘I see. Then can you get Petra? We need her.
Can you bring her here?’

The throne room
was silent for some time. Barnabas knew she was trying. Could feel
it clawing at his black soul. But he was growing impatient. He had
had an idea and he wanted it done now not later. He looked nowhere
else but at the Orb as he waited for a response. He thought about
calling for Seamus to fetch more food for Grendle but he had no
need.

‘Well done,
Grendle. You are my favourite of all your sisters and soon you will
be my favourite daughter when you are all brought together and I
become your father.’

Below them on the
floor, removed from her hidey hole in Patience’s wretched clutches,
Petra the Bitch pulsed orange heat. Barnabas stood; hiding Grendle
underneath his red cloak. He walked over to Petra, his hoofed feet
scratching at the floor.

‘I know what you
want, Petra, and by my father I would love to give you it but you
cannot have it from my soul. I shall get you what you want and what
you yearn for and then you can take me to that place called
Rockfall. There is someone there I would love to meet.’

9

The Witch

Patience sat in
her home, alone since Stephen left. She didn’t mind being alone,
enjoyed her single company but there was something in her heart
that missed the boy called Tommy. He was simple, he wasn’t much of
a conversationalist but at least he was there when she needed
someone to mouth off to, someone to cook diner for; even someone to
scratch that age old itch that pops up from time to time.

She had been shot.
Her throat ripped out by a cursed bullet from that cunt Jonah. But
Petra had saved her, fulfilled a promise made when the two of them
had first met and begun their wretched journey. But now Petra
sensed what Patience knew and the orb was becoming restless. She
was being fed, Jonah had claimed his newest victim in Stephen and
so Petra – stronger and wiser than ever – wanted out.