Incandescent cocoa

The cocoa was choclatey and bitter. Daniel watched the foam swirl, lights and darks grappling like beasts for control of the surface, the losers condemned to the caliginous depths. Dad had made it for him with care and craft undiluted by the loss of other sensibilities; a taste of what was once unbroken.

He was perched at his artwork, pens poised and ready. Ideas that had thronged and battled in his head now seemed to turn and say "Not I, Lord" as they ran for the shadows. He would have to wrestle them out screaming, for the deadlines were approaching. The care bills were crippling, and his editors were just not biting at his new themes. The idiom was a great one, by God it had to be, now he just needed a damn strong story.

'Come on, Daryagh, old boy. One more escapade for poor old Daniel.'

#

The lustrous, shimmering passage led ever on, from planet to planet, star to star. Daryagh walked it, the crow following, stepping from one foot-fretted place to another. The throng of men's minds called to him, so that even where he found peace and rest, he was ever drawn onwards till he was again among the children of the Goddess beneath some distant sun. It was not easy in those far places, since there was no memory of man in the rocks and trees, as there was on the earth in the ancient times. The rivers and hills did not bear the names of legends. Here, the air tasted strange, the sounds echoed of some alien past.

Still, the people were the same, Earth's finest and wickedest, cast in sleek burnished ships about the universe, dragging their net of faiths with them. 

Daryagh emerged onto Gorgamon. He was in a tepid vale, by a stream. An old man sat there.

'Sit a while with me,' he said, and there was a gentle wisdom in the words.

'Do you know me,' asked Daryagh. 'Have you walked the path?'

'I walk all paths,' the old man sniggered, 'and know all things. This planet is not for you. Leave the weak men to walk themselves and sit by me.'

Daryagh looked to the far horizon. He smelt something wrong, knew this seeming stranger had walked the paths too.

'I will not sit, old one. I am not meant to die here.'

Daryagh walked on, but behind him the old man transformed into a nothingness, a dark star greater than every blackness. From the darkness came flying a sharp long spear, needle nosed and venomous, aimed at the very centre of Daryagh's being. He turned and, with the slightest flick of the wrist, picked the projectile out of the air with not more ceremony than catching a thrown towel. He returned the spear at the void, impaling it like a butterfly in a collection he had once owned, a hundred light years away, a thousand years ago.

Following the stench of man, he came at length to a village. The people came out of their houses to gaze. They had heard tales, and told them in turn to their children. This was the magnificent King Daryagh, with a jagged trunk for a leg, a twisted branch for an arm and twigs growing out of one eye. They knew the stories, but to be faced with what you believe in is a rightening thing.

'Have you come to save us, or damn us,' they demanded.

'I am of the Goddess,' Daryagh proclaimed. 'I will do her will.'

#

'The electricity, its cheaper.'

'Sorry?' Daniel looked up from his work.

'Night time,' said Dad. 'They never tell you of course, night time rates.'

'Oh, yeah, cheaper at night.'

'Thing is, you see,' he looked around, conspiratorially, 'they don't tell you when it is.'

'RIght, that's overnight.'

'Yes but when is that, ah, six o'clock?'

'No, it's after midnight.'

'Is it though? Or is it six o'clock'

'No, dad. It's midnight.

'I hate to ask. I'm putting you out a lot. No, I shouldn't ask.'

'That's okay. It's after midnight.'

'You can't tell though, can you.'

'Yes its...' Daniel stopped. There was a pointlessness to the repetition. He could never get the feel for it, to realise that this was not a sensible conversation, but a stream of consciousness that would proceed, in its own way, for five minutes or five hours. 'You see the thing is, I need to get some butter.'

'Ah, butter, yes, I can do that, go round to the shop, yes, save you the trouble.'

It was a trick he had learned. Dad was reliable in one thing, if he went to the shops he would be gone for an hour, maybe three, but would inevitably come back. He never wandered off, convinced in the recesses of his head that he was needed at home, though he could never remember what it was he went for, and he would stop anybody he knew - and  some that he didn't - to tell them about any little thing. Some ignored him, shop keepers hated him, but some folk, God bless them, stopped to listen and give him some time.

#

The whore-fast shuttle tears the heart out of time, and we are there, plummeting planet-wards. We five, we unbreakable five, kneel on the floor, Friar Edrick muttering Pater Nosters to focus our minds. I grip my wife's hand tight, willing my deep and inexpressible love through my blistering grasp, counting, as a blessing, every moment of my existence. I can see her smile in the half light, but we keep our silence, letting the droning incantation deliver us.

'We have a lock on the Mythus,' says Sarge, breaking the prayer. 'Goes by the name of "Daryagh". Apparently some kind of Celtic Hero, very dangerous.'

We access our files; he's an odd character, and tough. What matter, they all are. The Devil has made them that way and, God willing, we will triumph. They mostly hide out on the more distant planets, far from the core power of the Vatican, but the Vatican is strongest where the people are, and it is the voice of the people that draws the Mythii, whence they derive their puissance, and that is why we are who we are.

'We are at 800 metres above Ground Zero, prepare your souls.'

Now Alice turns to me. As ever, she is crying, a quiet tear, for she always fears I will walk with the Creator this day, and this will be our last embrace. And so we kiss, and it is full of all the passion and power of ten years of loving, and all the grief and longing of those who know how loss can be but a heartbeat away. Then we engage our SleekSuits and the floor drops away.

We tumble towards a village, crowds of people are gathering about a central figure.

'In the name of Jesus Christ, I forgive you your sins,' says the Friar Edrick, making the sign of the cross over the heads of the massed innocents. 'Et ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis.'

We are in a star formation when the bird attacks, streaking in from the edge and catching Sarge off guard. He spins away, blood pluming. God rest his soul; Alice is in charge now.

'Break,' she screams. 'Scatter and reform.'

The SleekSuits takes us streaking outwards.

#

Dad was still out at the shops when Aunty Edith arrived. She was a robust and bulky woman, ten times the worker that Daniel or Dad could be. She called hello and set to the washing machine before he could put the caps on his pens.

'Hi, Aunty Edith,' he smiled as he came in with his cup. There was a reminiscent warmth in his heart for his mother's twin sister, and her bustling always brought a smile.

'Oh, there you are, dear. Where's himself?'

'Shops. Surprised you didn't see him.'

'I came the other way. One of these days he won't come back, you know. You'll be in a right pickle then.'

'I suppose. I can't do much about it though, I can't stay with him all the time.'

'Oh, it's not fair for a young fellow like yourself stuck with him. Did you have a look at that brochure I gave you.'

'This is his home though. This is where they lived. He still thinks she's up in bed a lot of the time and makes cocoa for her.'

'Maybe he makes a little too much cocoa,' she scolded, poking his belly which had taken on a mind of its own since he turned forty. 'Really though, he's not too bad yet, but we don't get any younger as we get older. You don't want to find yourself wiping his arse.'

'Aunty!'

'Well, you don't. And there's worse besides. Takes an age to get into these things. You'd best be starting now, you take my advice. Now bring in your washing, there's a good lad.'

#

Tenebrous shapes swirled about the ground leaving shadows that told tales. The killers were coming, his time was short. Gazing up, he saw only the crow, but that told its own story.

'I have a Géas,' he called to those who assembled. 'A quest. I journey to the land of the young, Tír na n'Óg. I go to break the barriers between life and death.'

'You mock us,' called one man with vehemence. 'Only God can do that.'

'I make my journey because your faith empowers me. It is you who tell the tales that drive me. How, then, can I mock you?'

'Let him speak,' called others. 

'This land, this planet, is but a step on my journey. It is a valley through which I must pass. I must bring the touch of the Goddess to you, and leave it as I go.'

He walked to the centre of the square at the middle of the village and drove his spear deep into the earth. A spring of water leapt forth. Taking his dagger, he opened his wrist and thrust it into the stream.

'From this day you shall call this Abhainn Dharyaigh, which is the Well of Daryagh. Travellers shall stop here and drink their ease.'

And from that day, the well always ran with reddish water and never ran dry, even in the most arid summers.

#

'She won't, um, dance with me.'

'What?' Daniel looked up from his drawing; Dad had evidently returned.

'She won't dance. It's important you see.'

'Why?'

'That's hard to say. I shouldn't ask you really. It might be hard for you to know.'

'Right. Maybe a cup of cocoa?' 

That seemed to light up the older man's face and he started to shuffle towards the door.

'She used to dance, your mother,' he said. Normally the only time his Dad spoke about her was when he thought she was asleep in the bedroom or out at the shops; always the present tense. 'She used to dance, and I would have to dance with her. I was never any good at it, but she made me. Oh what a joy it was, you see. I miss it.' Daniel was astonished by the unaccustomed lucidity. 'I miss her every day.'

Daniel could feel the tears welling in his eyes so he moved away from the drawing board. Dad evidently misinterpreted the move and wrapped him in a hug, something he had not done since the funeral. It was too much; Daniel cried.

'I need to find out when the night time electricity starts though. They never tell you. Maybe your mother knows.'

When Dad walked away, Daniel sat on the floor.

#

As the crowds jostled to drink deep of the waters, Daryagh disentangled himself and drifted away. The crow came and sat on his shoulder, blood on his beak. 

'They are coming, crow?'

The bird looked to the south, into the sun. There was a sense of resignation in Daryagh's step, he walked away from the village in a vain hope of saving their lives. The Jesuit squad would come in with ruthless violence.

And then they arrived, two from the south, one north and one south. The air became alive with projectiles of vast energy, ripping into the village behind him, leaving terrible carnage. Daryagh leapt and spun, keeping ahead of the tearing ammunition. He drew his great hammer and swung it, wiping out anything that came towards him. 

In half a second the two from the south were in front of him, their weird armour twisting space about them so that they looked like horned devils. Daryagh threw the hammer with all his might at one of the shapes, then dived onto the silver shining path. Reality faded as he found the path, but he got one glimpse of his hammer striking home and taking the head off his target. 

There was a noise on the path behind him. He turned to see one of the Vatican warriors. The armour had failed. None of their deviltry worked on the path. The creature was just a man, pale, skinny and scared.

#

Aunty Edith spent three hours cleaning remorselessly, then another two hours sitting and chatting with Dad. She has her own family, she does not need to be so generous. Some people are just built of love and charity. At ten o'clock she came in to see him.

'What are you doing still working?'

'I have to finish this. I need to get selling something.'

'You know that's bad for you. Just look at your back, dear, bent like an old man. You'll be a cripple before you're fifty you know.'

Daniel sat up straight. His back ached agonisingly.

'I know, Aunty, I promise I'll rest soon as I've done this page.'

'You're a good lad. You should get yourself a girlfriend...'

'Aunty!'

'Or a boyfriend. I'm not old fashioned, you know, whatever makes you happy.'

'Please...'

'Oh, don't you mind me.' She came over and gave him a big hug; it was kind of odd, creepy, yet always warming. 'Good night, now. Your Dad's asleep, let's hope he stays down tonight.'

Daniel worked on. At two o'clock he decided he did not like the page with the Vatican killers attacking and redrew the whole thing. At five o'clock, nearly as crippled as Aunty Edith had promised, he started onto the last page.

#

I am in shock. The Mythus was dangerous, as we knew, but Alice, my beautiful, gentle, deadly Alice. She was gone to her destiny, I am alone.

Doubly alone now, for I have slipped through into the demon's secret dimension, something our greatest scientists have failed to achieve. I am naked and without my weapons, the creature will kill me any moment.

'Are you, at least, a human?' he asks.

'Yes,' I find the strength from somewhere deep to answer him. 'Androids have never been able to stand against a Mythus.'

'No. Of course not. They can see with their electric eyes but they cannot see what is real.'

I smile. He's trying to blind me with double talk. 'And you can?'

'What do you think? Am I real or not?'

'Real enough to destroy people's salvation. Their misplaced belief in you hides their eye's from the Lord's Grace.'

'I didn't ask for your pope-ish poppycock. What do you feel, the human under there? Where does my power come from?'

I pause at that and think for a while. It is odd, talking to the enemy. He feels closer than my Confessor.

'I do not know what you are. A Mystery. But I believe in Mysteries, that is a part of my Faith.'

'You see? You see what I am saying? No machine could do that. They believe what they can test and feel and measure. They cannot believe what is truly real.'

'It won't work.'

'What won't'

'Trying to distract me.'

At that he laughed, and the scales of his laughter played on my spine with a strange puissance.

'Then let me distract you with this. Wherever I go, the people say "you must be careful, Daryagh. The Vatican will send the Jesuits. They are the only ones that can kill you."'

'We will kill you.'

'Maybe, though I doubt it, but you miss the point.' He leant over, pushed his massive face disturbingly close. 'They are telling stories about you. You are becoming...'

'...Mythus?'

He smiled broadly, then looked up.

'Come, we have a long journey.'

#

Dawn was chirruping outside and red light insinuated through the windows, seeking out those guilty of wasting the night to douse them with shame. Daniel wandered around the kitchen and sitting room picking up abandoned cups of cocoa that Dad must have made and then forgotten. His mind buzzed with the energy of the world he had created, one of over a dozen that had rolled out over the years from the ink in his pen. In those places he could move mountains, literally. In those places, also, people mattered. They lived great lives, died terrible deaths, mourned by whole planets.

Why was this one plane of reality so meek? Why could he do nothing for his father, as the man who had lived humbly all his life and wanted nothing other than his dignity, slipped inexorably towards enfeeblement. What would Daryagh have done, walk to the end of the earth in search of some herb that would clear Dad's fogged brain, or perhaps end his suffering right now with one blow of his great hammer. 

As he sipped at cold cocoa, still rich and pungent despite being past its best, he noticed a crow sitting on the garden fence.