Chapter Thirteen

  It took them the best part of an hour to reach the house. They stopped once they reached the edge of the clearing in which their home sat, taking a few minutes to make sure that no one else was about. When they felt sure that that it was safe to do so they walked slowly towards the wagon, both eager to finally be rid of the heavy deer. Yet although it was quiet, Gryffin could not rid himself of the feeling that it was too quiet, or even worse, that they were being watched. Then he had it. “The chickens, Dougal. They’ve fled to the forest!”

  In the same instant that they shrugged the deer off their shoulders and pulled their bows free, four bellowing and roaring Dokkaebi burst from the cottage door. The two hunters drew and fired almost simultaneously. The clothyard arrows streaked towards their targets with fatal precision. Yet in their haste they had both fired at the same creature. The lead Dokkaebi fell with two feathered shafts puncturing his heart, not two finger breadths separating them. Almost too fast to see, Dougal knocked and fired again, this time taking a second target through the throat, leaving only two still closing the distance. Gryffin dropped his bow and grabbed his spear from when he had dropped it next to the deer. The curved sword his opponent wielded looked crudely forged but brutally effective and Gryffin bitterly regretted his lack of shield. He nimbly leapt out of the way of the Dokkaebi’s first scything swing, thrusting high as he did so. He was rewarded with a grunt of pain as the iron spear head sliced into the monster’s shoulder. More warily now, and with a little more respect for its opponent, the Dokkaebi advanced with his shield covering as much of his body as it could. Gryffin darted forward, wielding his spear two handed, thrusting in a complicated pattern that forced the Dokkaebi to defend both his head, side and thighs almost simultaneously. The creature’s wooden shield blocked the first two blows and hacked down with its heavy scimitar to knock Gryffin’s spear out of the way for the third. A chip of ash flew as the blade sank deep into the spear shaft. Gryffin jumped back as he realised that another couple of solid hits from the sword’s sharp edge may sever the iron head from the weapon and then he would be as good as dead. Casting aside all ideas of glittering spear work, he hung back and waited for his opponent to make the next move.

  Dougal carried no weapon other than his bow, except for a small gutting knife which was as good as useless against the heavy blade that the Dokkaebi carried. Hoping to put some distance between himself and the monster so that he could use his bow again, he turned and ran. He knew that when the time came, he would only have the chance for one shot, and he was determined to make it count. When he judged that he had created enough distance for his purpose, he whirled around, knocked and aimed all in a single motion. Dougal gave a small yelp of terror as the bowstring snapped and the arrow dropped to his feet. He stood weaponless in front of the Dokkaebi who was mere feet away. The creature laughed mercilessly at his luckless opponent.

  “Time to die!” It growled, slicing at Dougal’s throat with its sword. The hunter ducked under the blow, stepped forward and hammered a fist into the creature’s midriff with all his might. Then, he was off running again before the monster could recover his balance, desperately trying to think of something he could use as an improvised lesson.

  Gryffin’s fear was mounting with each passing minute. The Dokkaebi was not showing even the slightest sign that he would be obliging enough to make a fatal mistake and had even managed to hit Gryffin’s spear another two times, cutting even more chips of wood free. He was beginning to think that the next blow would be all the punishment that the weapon could take. Then he would be in serious trouble. On top of that he was worried about Dougal, who he had last seen running out of the yard with the other Dokkaebi in close pursuit. Realising that time was running out, he gathered all his remaining courage and waited for his chance to do something that, even should it be successful, his brother would berate him for. And if it didn’t…..well, he would be dead so he didn’t really have to worry about that. He waited until the Dokkaebi attacked again, carefully blocking and dodging each cut and thrust. As the attack sequence finished and the monster stepped back to regains its breath, Gryffin changed the grip on his spear and threw it! The Dokkaebi was taken completely by surprise and only just managed to raise its shield to deflect the weapon. Before the monster knew what was happening, it was flat on its back with Gryffin lying across its chest, pinning it to the ground under its own shield. The Dokkaebi tried to raise its sword but before it could thrust at its assailant, Gryffin rammed his short hunting knife into the side of its neck. He gave it a vicious twist to maximize the damage he had caused. He blinked as the fountaining blood sprayed him in the face.

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  The Dokkaebi entered the darkened barn. it nervously glanced around, its large ears and nostrils straining to compensate for its dimmed eyesight. The human was in here somewhere, it knew, hiding weaponless and scared. Its confidence returned and it grinned again – this was fun! The monster’s astonishment was complete as the twin tangs of the pitchfork pierced deep inside its chests, puncturing both lungs. As it fell to the floor, dying, its last thought was that it wasn’t enjoying the game anymore.

  Dougal walked outside to find his brother still astride the body of his dead opponent. He placed a concerned hand upon his shoulder.

  “Are you alright, Gryff?”

  “I killed it, Dougal.” His voice shook with emotion. He turned a tear-streaked face towards his brother. “I stuck my knife into its neck, and I killed it.”

  Dougal crouched down so that their faces were level. “I know. You only did what you had to do.”

  “It stared at me as it died.” Said Gryffin quietly. “It was like someone just slammed a door shut behind its eyes and it was gone. Dead.”.

  Dougal held him as he dissolved into convulsive sobs. “It made its choice, Gryff.” He said gently. “It was trying to kill you. It made that decision, not you. Dokkaebi are born killers. They take pleasure in inflicting death and pain and torment. If it had been you lying there instead of it, it would never have given the correctness of its actions a second thought. You would have been dead, and the monster would have been alive, and it would have been happy. You realise why they are here don’t you?” His voice hardened as he explained to his brother what was so obvious to him. “They were here to kill Bronty and the Albany.”

  Gryffin forced the tears to stop as he considered this. “Why?” he asked.

  Dougal shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Something to do with Albany’s twin fetish marks perhaps? Who knows? But I do know one thing: if Bronty had come straight home after the birth rather than staying with Callun, we would have come back to find them murdered by this filth.” He spat on the slowly cooling corpse of the would-be assassin.

  Gryffin pulled his dagger free and stood up. “You are right. These creatures killed my parents and now they are trying to destroy the only family I have left. But they won’t succeed, brother, not while I still live. I will make it my life’s work to rid all our lands of scum such as this. No one will have to suffer as they have made us suffer.” His body shook with anger. As a small voice in his head cried out for vengeance, his vision began to dim. He had a strange sensation that he was elsewhere, and that he had been transported to a dark dank cavern surrounded by seven pillars of light, each a different colour. A tall man, his skin shining with an iridescent rainbow sheen, walked towards him, smiling. “Thank you.” The strange man said. Then the vision faded, and he was transported back into the real world.

  Dougal looked on, unsure as to what was happening with his brother, but he was nevertheless amazed at the change that had overcome him. A darkness appeared to surround him, and he seemed less substantial, like he was not as fully in front of him as he should be. “We have to hide their bodies.” He said, trying to return Gryffin to some form of normality. “We must bury them in the woods as quickly as we can. There may be more of their kind around and I do not think that we shall be so lucky if we get into another fight.”

  They eventually hauled the four bodies into the trees and gave them a scant covering of earth. Then they loaded the bucks onto the bed of the cart and whipped the horse into a fast trot back to the village. The ride back was spent mainly in silence as each brother had much to think on.