The Butcher and the Butterfly (24 page)

Martin walked
toward the hut tired. He opened the old creaky door and let the sun
into what was a dusty old ruin and his body cast along shadow in
the doorway. He stepped across the threshold and was amazed to feel
such an intensity of heat coming from inside the hut. He wasn’t
perturbed by this only encouraged to run himself a bath and get on
with whatever his life had in store for him.

He looked over to
his left and looked at the fiery orange copper bath that was in the
corner like his vision had foretold him. It wasn’t green with age
nor rusted through with rot. It was as gleaming today as it had
been on the day it was created. The fire place was made, wood
stacked in a triangle ready for the tinder and flame. All was well
in the hut of a Hugger. Too well, but Martin did not consider this:
the fairies’ dust was working very well. Martin placed his bag down
and stretched out his arms to the sky. The heat in the hut was
overpowering and walked over to the copper just to be sure he
wasn’t seeing things. All was well; as it was supposed to be and he
stood back and looked in wonderment at the copper bath. The heat
grew stronger, blinding almost and he closed his eyes as if to
escape it.

8

When he opened
them the fire was lit, the bath full of hot soapy water and he was
as naked as the day he entered the world. Not right you all think,
but to Martin all was as it should be. He clearly remembered
fetching the water, heating it up and pouring himself the bath.
Undressing himself had been hard; the clothes sticking to his
sweaty body but he was finally ready for the bath.

He wiped the sweat
from his brow, the heat from the fire, the heat from the water and
the heat from the hut was massive. But he knew that once he was in
the bath, deep in its curved wall’s, all would be well again.

Within a heartbeat
Martin was unconscious and slowly dying. The fairies were still
laughing though.

9

The Marksman awoke
in a cold room. The bright light of day had turned into royal blue
that told of the pending night. His eye’s ached when they opened,
his head throbbed and his body hurt. He could see the forest
outside of wherever it was that he was and as he looked about him;
to his bag by the side of the table to his clothes by his side and
the rotten bath behind him he felt afraid for the first time in a
long time. He rummaged through his memories to find his last one
but the effort hurt his mind. He could remember the desert,
Jonathan’s death and the forest but that was it. He had no memory
of getting here.

As his head
cleared and the numbness left him he could hear a soft crying
coming from outside. He lifted himself up carefully and sat with
his bum on the cold floor and his legs stretched out in front of
him. Over the crying he could hear a laugh, a wheezy laugh, a sick
laugh, and then a voice that was all too familiar.

‘You dumb little
pricks - Never piss on another man’s rhubarb - my dad always said
and you have certainly pissed upon mine!’

The crying ebbed
away and little sniffs could be heard.

‘Please, mister,
don’t hurt us. We only wants’ to eat!’ The voice was muffled as if
it was behind something and Martin wished this all a dream. He
hadn’t a clue what was going on.

He stood up
quickly but froze suddenly.

‘Ahh,’ the
familiar voice said, ‘My hunter awakens. I must see to his needs
before he sees to me.’

Martin looked to
his clothes in a desperate need to find his gun but it was too late
as in the doorway a wispy shape appeared. A familiar shape that was
at the same time unfamiliar. He could tell that the man was
smiling. Smirking the way a thief does when he has gotten away with
his dastardly deed. All was silent. Not a bird sang nor a tree
branch rustled. Martin stood as naked as the dawn and the Black
Sorcerer stood before him; his dark majesty covering the hut in
shame and hate and all was not well for the Marksman.

‘Caught with your
pants down, Marksman?’ The Black Sorcerer snorted under his hooded
cloak and walked into the hut closing the rotten door behind him
with but a wave of his right hand.

10

Samson eyes were
full of hatred. Martin could feel that hate in the air. He was
naked, disorientated and for the first time in ages; scared. The
Sorcerer had helped Martin to his feet and they had both stepped
outside into the place known as The Clearing to the people of
Christian Sands.

Sat outside in the
lush green clearing Martin looked behind him. The hut was dark and
not how he remembered it. His mind felt like it had been shaken and
smashed up against a rock. He rubbed at his temples still not
calculating what was happening.

‘Take your time,
Martin.’ The Sorcerer said as he sat upon the grass ushering Martin
to do the same.

The Marksman did
not sit. He looked to the sky and closed his eyes counting slowly
in his mind up until thirty.

Before he opened
his eyes he remembered how he had gotten here. The desert had been
cleared, the forest was open to him but he had been tricked by
something. Something’s.

‘Little fuckers
aint they?’ The Sorcerer asked.

Martin looked to
his left and saw two little creatures with pointy faces huddled in
the corner of a small jar. From their eyes flowed yellow tears but
their mouths were shut tight.

‘What did they do
to me?’ Martin asked not removing his gaze from the two little
things.

Samson sighed.
‘Played you for a fool, Martin. Tricksy little devils them two. But
not anymore.’

Bird song filled
the air and Martin turned his attention back to the Sorcerer. His
cloak had been removed and a familiar sight filled his vision.

‘You still wear
that shirt, I see.’

The Sorcerer
nodded and smiled. ‘I am still the man I was. Only stronger.’

The two men looked
at each other. Martin saw nothing in the eyes of the Sorcerer.

‘Would they have
killed me?’ Martin asked.

‘Yes.’

So you saved
me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

The Sorcerer
ushered Martin to sit once again. The Marksman remained standing
his body naked to the elements.

‘Why.’ Martin
asked again his voice almost a whisper.

Samson licked his
lips and rubbed his forehead. ‘For so many reasons, Marksman, I
couldn’t begin to explain, nor will I. Now sit down and we shall
chat a while.’

11

The Sorcerer
allowed Martin to dress and steady himself; all the while Samson
watched the two fairies intently, like a lion stalking its newest
prey. The silence that filled the clearing was heavy and
un-natural. Nature shouldn’t be this quiet.

When Martin was
finished readying himself he scanned the ground and his belongings
looking for his gun.

‘You shall not
find it there, Martin.’ The Sorcerer said absently.

Stephen smirked
and sat upon the soft ground. ‘Am I to presume that I shall never
see my gun again? The gun that my father and his father before that
fired in protection of the King? The gun that I thought had killed
you?’

Samson shrugged
and in a smooth motion drew the weapon from beneath his cloak.

‘This old thing,’
Samson said admiring the piece, ‘Old as the hills but still as
deadly as it was when it was made. You can trust me on that. You
can have it back when we are done. I cannot deprive the man hunting
me a fair chance now, can I?’

‘So arrogant,
Samson, that trait hasn’t left you. Always arrogant and so cock
sure of yourself.’

The two men locked
eyes, both of them holding their gaze until finally Samson laughed.
It was a different laugh, one that was unfamiliar to Martin. He
didn’t like it, didn’t trust it.

Martin said ‘If
you are going to kill me then be done with it traitor. Or if not,
then kill yourself and put an end to my burden.’

Samson shook his
head and pointed to the little creatures shut tight in the glass
jar. ‘To kill you now would be foolish. Have I not just saved you
from a certain painful death? No, I thought we might talk for a few
moments. Thought I might show myself to you so that you know that I
am real and not a figment of poor old Albert’s mind.’

Now it was Martins
turn to point and he raised his accusatory hand to the Sorcerer.
‘He was twice the man you ever were. On my life I will see his name
carved into your flesh.’

Samson once again
chuckled to himself. ‘Just words, Marksman. Words, bullets for that
matter, can’t hurt me now. Your hunt will lead you to nothing but
your death and I shall go on doing my good work from town to town,
place to place.

‘I am going into
that town down there, Martin as I have heard another one of the
orbs lays dormant there. I mean to make it my own and show the
Great King that I can do his bidding, that I am strong; strong
enough so that he finally lets me kill you once and for all.’

Now it was Martins
turn to laugh and he clapped his hands on his thighs as he did. ‘He
thinks you are weak, you fool. That’s why you won’t kill me. You
haven’t got it in you.’

Samson tried to
interject but Martin waved his comments away and stood so that he
towered over the cloaked man. ‘You can’t deny it. He thinks you
aren’t strong enough to kill me so he has told you to leave me
alone. Samson Little, the great and powerful Black Sorcerer, a man
who controls the stars themselves, can’t be trusted to kill a
simple Marksman like me. You still are a flaccid prick,
Samson.’

Samson looked
flustered and Martin could see the rage building inside of him. The
Marksman braced himself for an attack. The air in the clearing grew
stale.

Samson retort was
calming; ‘Martin, Martin, Martin. Such friends we were and now look
at us. Fighting and squabbling like two school girls. You can fret
all you want, fluster and bluster away till your hearts content and
you believe all the stupid things you say, but believe me when I
say that with a flick of my hand you would be as dead as those two
little ones are over there.’

With that Samson
flicked his wrist and Martin watched as the two fluttering fairies
grabbed at their throats and sank to the bottom of the jar;
dead.

‘And when I kill,
Marksman, you won’t find the Angle of Death waiting for you, nor
that pretty little cunt Palaluka to guide you on your way. Oh no,
you will walk the Void as a blind old fool for the rest of
eternity. You will have nothing and be at the whim of the great
Demons that stalk down there.’

Martin thought
about Death and the deal that he had made.

Samson’s eyes
widened and he stood; flicking his cloak so that the bitch Arda was
visible. Both men were now upright, their chests out, arms by their
side; both poised to attack.

‘Your thoughts
betray you Marksman,’ Samson said, ‘Made a pact with Death, hey?
Well let me tell you, Varula is mine, not yours to give away to
that scrawny fuck. I warn you, Marksman, don’t fuck with me, and
don’t fuck with her!’

Before Martin
could move and try to capture the Sorcerer, Samson had turned and
fled like Martin had when he was being accused of murder. Looking
down to where Samson had been standing, Martin could see his gun
nestled in the long grass. He smiled, knowing that he had won a
little battle between the two of them and that the Orb he was
looking for was in the next town.

The air grew sweet
and birdsong could once again be heard in the clearing. Martin,
exhausted, collapsed to the floor and slept upon the soft
earth.

12

Early the next
day, the Marksman walked from the clearing and further away from
the Wastelands; following the same trail that Samson walked not a
few days previous. Once through the main bulk of the trees he gazed
out over the town of Christian Sands. He didn’t stay for long, the
view wasn’t one that enthralled him and he moved on sensing the
presence of the Sorcerer wherever he went.

After a while he
came across a fence that he had to detour around. Within the fenced
off area he made out hundreds of bee hives painted bright white by
a caring hand. The Marksman paid careful attention to the sign
warning him of the dangers of the bees and he made no attempt to
steal some of the honey the bees were busying themselves making.
Martin stopped and admired the small hives and the hands that
worked them. Back home in Ritash there was no place for such things
and he felt sad about that.

He headed off
toward the town not knowing what he would find there or how he was
going to deal with the orb if he ever found it. He knew the orbs
needed souls to keep them quiet, especially Varula; her hunger ran
deep, and it would take more souls than the Marksman thought he
could get to keep her quiet.

A nasty thought
crossed his mind of the how he would have to get the souls and he
quickly thought about how he would begin his search for the magical
ball. The town was big, not the same size as Ritash, but when you
aren’t familiar with the geography even a small village can seem
overwhelming. He also had the Sorcerer to deal with, which made the
task even more troublesome as the Marksman knew that for every step
he took to get closer to the orb the Sorcerer would make sure that
the orb would remain two more away.

He took in a deep
breath and sighed as he walked down from the forest and onto a
cobbled road that wound its way through fields and into the very
heart of Christian Sands. As he walked he loosened his gun belt
letting the gun hang low on his thigh; a position not favoured by
many but one that the Marksman felt more comfortable with than the
standard high hold. Martin hoped that the gun would not have to be
drawn.

Idiot.

Nightmares

1

It was way past
supper when Dotty arrived home. Her meeting with the strange man
had made her mind lose track of time and she had continued painting
the bee hives carefree. When she was done for the day Dotty had
stood there doing nothing for over two hours. When I say standing
doing nothing I mean to say that her body was doing nothing her
mind was racing. Racing quicker than it ever had and ever will
do.