Isabeau

The Man Who Wouldn't Die – Episode 9 | Flash Fiction #38

Last time on The Man Who Wouldn’t Die…

Uther provokes Bee into nearly killing him, and then he takes her spoon…

If you haven’t read any episodes, please find Episode One linked below.

The Man Who Wouldn't Die (AV Edition)

And now for the conclusion…

Photo by Jonatan Pie on Unsplash

They called him the Maker. What did he make? Nothing. If anything, it had made him into what he had become. It was the real reason behind everything that had led to this point. Without question, he was nothing but a pawn in its eternal machinations. All he ever wanted was to be with her.

A black circle spread across the ice, surrounding the drill site, a mass of mutated bodies drawing ever closer: the Maker’s behemoth, every age and gender assimilated into the fold of its power, ruled by one thought, one purpose: to unite them here, at the last place, the first place, the origin of his plight and his salvation.

* * *

“Do you hear that?” shouted Uther over the grating noise from the pyramid-shaped drill tower. “That’s the sound of inevitability.” He bared his yellow-stained teeth, pointing at a massive structure built by minds long gone, crunching through the ice from three sides.

A small door opened at the tower’s base, and a tall, bald figure emerged. His movements were slow and sluggish; he dragged his feet, a mere shadow of a mighty warrior.

“Hey, Zed,” cried Uther.

Bee stared from Uther to the man he called Zed. Vee remained silent, her eyes fixed on the ground.

“Ahh, you didn’t know? Hahaha, yeah, take a good look! From fearless hunter to drooling numbnuts,” Uther winked at Bee.

Bee kept her eyes on Zed—searing pain mounted in her chest.

It’s me, Bee, she gestured.

Hollow eyes gazed back at her. It was he. The man who had taught her to hunt and shoot a bow and arrow, who had shown her that life was precious and that there was beauty in the world despite everything. Here he was, the man she had loved like a father, the man she had thought was dead, reduced to nothing more than a husk.

“I have prisoners to prepare,” Hilgar said.

Uther nodded, grabbed the chain from Hilgar’s hands, and yanked Vee towards him.

Zed stood idly by, staring at nothing.

Uther kicked him. “Goddamn lazy cur. Move it!”

The noise inside the tower was so loud it hurt her ears. A cylindrical shaft opened in the centre, revealing a capsule barely large enough for all four of them; they stood so close that it was impossible to fall. Zed’s stench was unbearable and made her gag.

“Comfy?” Uther grinned and pressed a button.

The silver sliding door closed, and the glass capsule fell down the shaft deep into the ice. The noise grew fainter and fainter, and the light faded faster and faster.

Bee glanced at Vee, her breathing ragged, little strength left in her. She hung in Zed’s stiff arms, motionless. Bee searched Zed’s eyes, hoping for the slightest sign of recognition, but there was none.

Uther played with the spoon in his hand, staring at Bee with shameless anticipation. “He’s gone.” Uther tapped Zed’s forehead with the spoon. “See the chip at the back of his head? Total control. He does what I tell him. As will you.”

At the bottom of the shaft, the capsule came to a stop with a soft thud. It spilt its contents into the cold, dark, cavernous belly carved into the permafrost, covered in enormous icicles rising out of the ground and hanging down from the ceiling, like the maw of a prehistoric creature, aglow with the ghastly green sheen of the construct at the far end.

Half embedded in the ice lurked a black, pyramid-like structure of oozing bee-hive cells, slowly exhaling sickly light, flowing across the floor in milky hues, and inhaling the darkness, beat by beat, breath by breath, something, someone, sitting enclosed within.

Before this gruesome throne stood a child, arms crossed, back turned to them. Uther knelt, his head bowed low. The child turned around.

“Mother,” Isabeau said in greeting, inclining her head ever so slightly, and the shackles around Bee’s wrists clicked and fell to the ground.

Bee stared at the girl, a spitting image of herself. Confused, she glanced at Vee, then at Zed, her fingers searching in vain for her little sock in her pocket. Instead, she found the disc Vee had given her. She looked at Vee. Their eyes met briefly as she moved past her and slipped the disc into Vee’s hands.

I’m here to save you, Bee signalled.

“Save me? Oh, mother, I do not need saving.” Isabeau went up to Bee. “Excellent work, Vee. I knew I could count on you.”

Vee? Bee gestured.

Her friend looked at her with sad eyes, much like Zed. Uther rose with a grin.

“A clever ruse, too clever for a little insect,” mocked Uther, waving the spoon before her face.

Zed’s eyes caught the glimmer of silver, following the spoon with his gaze, back and forth, back and forth.

“Little Bee lost her sting. Boohoo,” Uther cackled, still waving the spoon.

Then, suddenly, the spoon was gone. A second later, the spoon was sticking out of Uther’s back. Zed had snatched it and slowly raised his head to look at Bee, seeing her now. Then Uther’s sledgehammer struck him from behind, and he fell to the ground, impaled by icicles, a smile on his face.

“Bee,” Zed exhaled, and he was no more.

“Bloody bastard dog. Shit! How did he do that? He nearly killed me,” screamed Uther, spoon still in his back, bleeding profusely. “I can’t reach it.”

The cave began to shake with a loud rumble. Icy teeth fell from the ceiling, shattering into a million pieces.

With a hiss, the capsule door opened, and darkness emerged.

Out of the darkness stepped a man clad in patches of fur, his face shrouded beneath his hood. The wavering mist of light on the ground parted before him at every step until he stood before the child.

“Isabeau,” the man whispered and took another step towards her.

Uther raised his hammer, blocking his way. “And who might you be, Tattercoat?”

The man raised his hand and barely touched Uther’s shoulder, then nodded at Bee.

“What the fu—” were the last words out of Uther’s mouth as black ice spread rapidly across his body.

His eyes were wide open. He could no longer move, but he could still see. He could see Bee take his hammer. A faint rasp escaped Uther’s icy lips as it came down on his head, shattering him into tiny, frozen clumps. She let the hammer drop with a muted howl.

Vee was kneeling beside Zed, her breathing shallow. Bee went to her and held her close.

“A moment of clarity,” Vee whispered hoarsely, and the control disc slipped from her hand.

“It changes nothing. This ends now,” scowled Isabeau.

“You are the key,” the man said softly.

“What? I’m no key. You’re too late, you loon. I am the Unmaker.”

“Yes. Unmake me. Free us.” The man spread his arms.

Bee stumbled backwards, away from them, towards the black throne, its light pulsating faster. What was encased inside stirred, and the throne began to melt, its bee-hive cells releasing ever more black liquid with each beat.

“Yes, that’s it. Unmake the construct.”

“I haven’t done anything yet,” protested Isabeau.

“Open your mind,” intoned the man.

He threw back his hood, revealing his face—eyes as crystal blue as Arctic ice and skin as white as ivory. Between his eyes, he had a black pyramid; a black tentacle sprouted from it, and a beam of light came from the throne in response.

Only now did Bee notice the corpses at Isabeau’s feet and around the throne—empty shells of skin and bones. She stumbled, and her hand touched the bottom of the throne. It felt warm, and a prickling sensation ran through her hand, up to her elbow and with a jolt, she yanked her arm free.

Isabeau was caught between the beams, her gaze transfixed on the light. She could not speak or move. She was the conduit, connecting the throne to the Maker. Energy, the lifeforce of all those who had come before, engulfed her now, flowing between them.

From the throne emerged a slender, naked woman as tall as he. He cast off his coat. Where he was as white as snow, she was as dark as the deepest ocean. Only their eyes were the same piercing blue, and from hers, the brightest light flowed forth, just as darkness poured from the man, more and more until they were one.

Their hands touched. Light and darkness slowed, then stood still; with a silent explosion, they vanished.

Isabeau looked around her in confusion as if waking from a long nightmare. Then she saw Bee.

“Mother?”

* * *

The Old Man of Stoer stood stoically in the setting sun, a white hat upon his head. The pyramids were gone, and already, the ice was melting. Soon, it would be spring, and inside Bee’s Inn sat Isabeau, little Samson on her lap, insisting on hearing the legend of The Man Who Wouldn’t Die.

Thus ends this little tale that came from a tiny seed years ago. Maybe there will be time to revisit Bee and see how she is doing. And as it must be, someone will go down into the ice, where Uther lies in pieces before an icy throne, covered in black ooze…

Carter Update

We have a cover!

Hope you like it. I am feverishly working on the final draft of CARTER and have looked at various print-on-demand services and ISBN purchasing options (buying your own ISBN is recommended if I’m not mistaken).

As soon as the ebook is ready, it will be available for all paid subscribers here on TFTD. Recording the CARTER audiobook will happen in December when I plan to launch preorders for the print edition. Soon!

In other news, I am also progressing with Spherean, with 65k words written, and I am currently working on chapter 18, on target for a finished draft by mid-December.

Sadly, we’ve had some bad news in the family recently, which – among other things –does impact productivity.

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