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Puppet Strings - Chapter 17
By Kudara
Disclaimer: All
the characters appearing in Gargoyles are copyright Buena Vista
Television/The Walt Disney Company. No infringement of these
copyrights is intended, and is not authorized by the copyright
holder. All original characters are the property of the author.
Warning: none
Rating: Teen
Feedback: Always welcome, feedback is what encourages me to keep
writing. Please let me know what you like and what you dislike
about the story.
Revision History: 03/31/08
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Kendra and the two spirits had barely
disappeared behind Demona when the form of the Irish Elk spirit
and Macbeth appeared out of the mists before her.
“Demona,” Macbeth scowled as he said it,
but there seemed to be less venom in his words tonight than last
night. He also seemed to be tense and his eyes glanced
frequently towards the drifting mists around them suspiciously.
“Macbeth,” Demona greeted him evenly,
ignoring his manner, at least he wasn’t glaring at her as he had
last night. “Ancient One,” she greeted the great stag, as if
this were the first time she had seen the spirit this night
instead of the second.
The Irish Elk spirit dipped his head toward
her in acknowledgement before saying, “Let us begin with the
arrival of the humans and gargoyle eggs from Wyvern seeking
refuge in Avalon.” The stag lifted his antlered head and
snorted, the shadowy land and mists around them wavered and
reformed into a large barge with three fey women standing upon
it. Demona instantly recognized them and the barge. This was
where the Weird Sisters had taken Macbeth and her to hand over
the Eye of Odin, the Phoenix Gate and the Grimorum Arcanorum to
the Archmage.
“Where are we…?” Macbeth demanded, only to
fall silent as he caught sight of the Weird Sisters.
“Stand aside and let us pass,” the voice of
the Magus drew the gargoyle’s attention. By the way everything
was outlined in red, Demona knew her eyes were flaring with her
anger. This was the foolish human who had used the Grimorum to
put a spell on her and had set into motion the events that led
up to the Vikings sacking the castle and killing her clan.
“You know better than that Magus,” the
Weird Sisters replied their arms stretched out, denying the two
boats and their occupants’ entrance. “Oberon has named us
guardians of his island. No magic’s may enter here save
Avalon’s own.”
“You cannot make us go back or the princess
could die, the eggs could die,” a young defiant voice drew the
gargoyles attention to the third boat. She instantly recognized
the two humans in it. It had been many centuries since that
night when the young boy had wanted to play with the trio and
his mother had thrown a stick at Brooklyn, but she still
recognized the woman and boy. The burlap-covered mounds in each
of the boats had to be the clan’s eggs Demona realized.
“You screech like barn owls,” the Weird
Sisters said, “Meaningless chatter of meaningless lives.” They
raised their arms whipping up the waves and causing the ropes
that held the boats together to snap, threatening to dump the
humans and the eggs into the lake.
“Magus do something,” Princess Katherine
cried in fear.
“So owls you will be,” the Weird Sisters
said as they increased in size, towering above the barge and
glowing with greenish fey energy.
The Magus was flipping desperately thru the
Grimorum, “Per iussum meum fierateres ut optare,” he said just
in time, holding up the Grimorum like a shield as the Sisters
directed the fey energy they had build up towards him.
When the Weird Sisters turned into barn
owls and flew off screeching, Demona found herself reluctantly
impressed with the Magus’s quick thinking. There was no way he
could have stopped the three Fey had he tried to do so by
pitting his magical strength against theirs, so reflecting their
power back on them was a very smart choice on his part. The
gargoyle smirked in amusement as she watched the human mage send
the three owls who had attempted to attack him tumbling in the
air with three well-placed staff blows. Black, yellow, and
white feathers were flying everywhere, it wasn’t quite as bloody
as she would like, but watching the Weird Sisters’ humiliation
was certainly satisfying even if it was the Magus handing it to
them.
“Magus you did it,” exclaimed Princess
Katherine as she stepped into the young mage’s boat from the one
she shared with a blonde woman Demona did not recognize.
The Magus was still staring toward the
large barge where the three Weird Sisters turned owls had
flown. “I cannot go with you to Avalon. I cannot bring the
Grimorum.” He picked up the book from the bottom of the boat
where he had dropped it when the owls attacked him. “This book
is as good as a map to Avalon. If Constantine or his sorcerers
get a hold of it…”
“Then leave it,” said the unknown blonde
woman.
The three of them, the stag spirit, Macbeth
and she watched as the small group decided to split, the blonde
woman and the woman who had thrown the stick at Brooklyn taking
the Grimorum with them so the other three humans and the
gargoyle eggs could seek safety on Avalon. As much as the
peasant woman had angered her by attacking the three young
gargoyles and calling them monsters, Demona felt a pang of
sympathy for the human as the stout woman stared back through
the mists for a last look at the young son she was leaving
behind. She knew only too well the pain of being separated from
one’s child.
The sudden appearance of the two Archmages
brought the gargoyles attention back to the barge where they
were standing. One Archmage looked as she remembered him from
when she was his apprentice; the other Archmage possessed the
Eye of Odin and the Phoenix Gate. The Archmage with the Eye and
Gate transformed the three owls back to their original forms.
“Oberon will not be pleased,” said the
blonde sister. “He entrusted us to guard the gates of Avalon,”
said the black haired sister. “And now we are banished from
that fair isle by a magician’s parlor tricks,” finished the
white haired sister.
“Might I suggest an alliance,” proposed the
Archmage possessing the Gate and the Eye.
Selene arrogantly answered, “We make no
pacts with sorcerers.”
The Archmage asked slyly, “Not even if I
can promise you revenge against these mortals?”
The Weird Sisters looked thoughtful, “We
are listening.”
“This will take some time,” the Archmage
responded coolly.
“What is time to an immortal,” the white
haired Luna replied with equal chill.
“Then I will see you again in twenty five
years,” the Archmage said with a smug smile, “and soon we will
all have our vengeance.” He held the Phoenix Gate on his chest
and disappeared in the fiery orb of its effect. The Weird
Sisters disappeared soon afterward as well.
The scene around them stilled, “This is the
first event of a chain of events that will eventually end in
your agreement to let the Weird Sisters create a magical bond
between you,” the great stag said, “the formation of the
alliance between the Archmage and the Weird Sisters. The
Archmage seeks revenge against Demona, Goliath, their gargoyle
clan and the Magus for opposing his plans to kill Prince Malcolm
and take Castle Wyvern. The Weird Sisters seek revenge for
their humiliation and banishment from Avalon against the Magus,
Princess Katherine, the young human called Tom, and the
gargoyles.”
Macbeth was looking back and forth between
the Irish Elk and Demona, “I don’t understand, how did I get
pulled into this?” he asked confused.
The great antlered head turned in the
former king’s direction, “I observed the events you have just
witnessed during one of my many visits to Avalon. As the time
approached that the human sorcerer spoke of, I returned and
followed the Weird Sisters closely, waiting to see what
occurred.”
The scene around them shifted again, now
they were standing in a field with mounds of hay, from the chill
in the air and the bare trees it was winter. The sounds of
battle reached her sensitive ears and Demona turned to look in
the direction the noise came from, she saw herself and other
gargoyles of her clan fighting against human soldiers. The
small battle was taking place next to one of the stone
fortifications that the humans used to store food; they were
watching one of the many raids she had led to secure food for
her clan.
“That female gargoyle once served as my
apprentice. She betrayed me!” the Archmage’s voice drew
Demona’s attention away from the fight to where the two
Archmages stood observing it.
“She’s not an ally, she’s cannon fodder,”
the Archmage with the Eye and Gate commented coldly. “Trust me
we’re not doing her any favors.” The two figures of the
sorcerers reddened as Demona’s eyes burned in anger and she
almost missed the appearance of the three Fey. The Weird
Sisters and both Archmages watched as her younger self finally
broke down the door of the food silo and she and another
gargoyle carried away as much food as they could carry.
The scene shifted again as they followed
the Weird Sisters. Now they were standing on the battlements of
Moray Castle watching a young Macbeth learning from his father
how to swordfight. The teenaged Macbeth ended up on his back in
a muddy puddle as his father chuckled.
“Don’t tell me this young pup is another
recruit,” said the grey robed Archmage.
“Macbeth will become a great warrior…,”
said the Archmage with the Eye and Gate, “if he survives to
manhood.”
The two Archmages turned toward the Weird
Sisters who stood behind them. The Archmage with the Gate and
Eye formed likenesses of Macbeth and Demona in his hands and
showed them to the three Fey. “Protect these two. Guide their
courses.”
The three Fey were silent as they examined
the sorcerer intently, finally the white-haired sister spoke,
“Oberon’s law magically forbids us from directly interfering in
human events.”
The Archmage smiled grimly, “The law that
cannot be broken can surely be bent.”
The Weird Sisters glanced among each other
silently, finally the blonde one smiled, “This is true,” she
observed slyly.
The two Archmages walked a short distance
before the one with the Gate and Eye turned around and spoke
once again to the three Fey, “Watch for the Grimorum, the Eye of
Odin and the Phoenix Gate.”
“But you already have the Eye and the
Gate,” observed Selene in a confused tone.
The Archmage laughed heartily, “But I
didn’t have them until you three brought them to me. We will
meet again at the watery door to Avalon in 975 years.” Moments
later the two Archmages disappeared as the more powerful of the
two used the Phoenix Gate, the Weird Sisters followed moments
later turning into cloudy shapes that dissipated in the wind.
The scene around them shifted and they were
once again at the barge, the Archmages and Weird Sisters were
there. The Archmage with the Eye and Gate was laughing, “I
forgot something, special instructions for our two warriors.”
He stopped laughing and continued in a cold tone, “Ensure they
both remain powerful warriors until we require them. Make sure
they do not become contented with the immortality you will grant
them so they live until it is the proper time for our revenge.
They should not be concerned with descendants or lovers that
might make them soft and compassionate. They should have no
ties to anyone but each other, and that the ties that bind them
together should be ones of enmity. Bitterness and hatred make
warriors that are hard and merciless, and that is the type of
warrior we want them to be when it is time for them to serve
us.” As soon as he finished he gripped the Gate once again and
was gone. The three Fey stared at where he had been for a while
longer and then seemed to confer silently with one another. A
few minutes later they too disappeared.
“Wait,” Macbeth said before they could
follow the three Fey. Demona noticed that his tone was pleading
instead of commanding. “I don’t understand. I won’t say I was
a bad warrior because I wasn’t, but I doubt I was the best
warrior that this Archmage could have chosen.”
The Irish Elk dipped his antlered head,
“You are correct, you were chosen because you were chosen.”
“What?!” exclaimed Macbeth.
Demona was confused as well, but she had
experience with the Gate and knew that it interacted strangely
with time.
“It is a side effect of how the Phoenix
Gate artifact interacts with time,” lectured the spirit, “You
were chosen by the Archmage possessing the Gate because before
he possessed the Eye of Odin, the Phoenix Gate and the Grimorum
Arcanorum, he watched as the Archmage that did possess them
chose you. The Gate has caused a circular causality loop in the
time stream in which you are chosen by the Archmage because he
saw you being chosen before by himself.”
That hurt Demona’s head, it made sense in a
strange kind of way, but it hurt her head to think of it. Of
course, it looked as if it hurt Macbeth’s head even more, she
thought as she looked at the deep frown upon his face.
Without any notice, the scene around them
changed from the sunlit barge to darkness and cold. They stood
on rocky ground next to a cliff; there was the opening of a cave
only a few feet away from them.
“Do you think the humans want peace?
Peace, we are all that are left of our kind in this world, and
the hunter begrudges each of us our lives.” Demona heard her
voice say from the interior of the cave, “I will not let him
win.” It was enough to spark the gargoyle’s memory; she knew
when and where they were.
The Weird Sisters appeared at the cavern
entrance, their forms wavered and changed into three very old
gargoyles stand there, one with black hair, one with blonde and
one with white, “We bring word of the hunter,” the yellow
haired one announced.
The Demona of this time greeted them from
inside the cavern, “I do not know who you are, but you are
welcome among us. Give me your news.”
The black haired gargoyle spoke next, “He
stalks a new human target at Castle Moray.”
Then the white haired gargoyle, “If you and
Clan Moray ally against your common enemy you can defeat the
Hunter.”
Demona whispered the words she had said
next along with herself, “I need no human allies, let the hunter
strike at his target. For as he does he becomes the prey, my
prey.” She was not surprised when the scene around them wavered
once again and now they were once again at Castle Moray up on
the battlements.
The despairing cry of “Father!” came from
the courtyard below them. Demona didn’t bother to follow
Macbeth over to the edge of the battlements to look below; she
looked instead into the sky seeking her younger self. She
remembered this, she had dallied at the cave pondering the old
gargoyle’s words after they had disappeared, and had arrived at
the castle just in time to see the young Macbeth cry out and
kneel at the edge of the parapet reaching helplessly after his
father who the Hunter had just thrown to his death.
“No please,” Demona heard Gruoch cry out as
she finally caught sight of herself diving from the sky. She
stepped to the edge of the battlements to watch herself stop the
Hunter from striking down the young Macbeth from behind.
Shocked at how old and thin she looked, she silently watched the
battle between the Demona of this time and the Hunter.
She grimaced when she saw the Hunter throw
the young Macbeth at the Demona standing on the parapet below,
that Demona used her tail to keep Macbeth from tumbling into her
and sent the young man almost flying over the battlements. As
it was, he was desperately holding onto the stones, hanging over
the same drop that had killed his father just minutes before.
Gruoch ran to him and grabbed onto his arms, trying to help, but
was obviously not strong enough to pull the boy up.
Demona knew the Weird Sisters were
somewhere about; otherwise, the Irish Elk spirit would not have
been here to see these events. She altered her sight looking
for fey magic upon the other Demona and was surprised to see
that there was none. She saw herself hesitate, torn between
killing the Hunter and saving the two young humans who were
slipping over the edge of the battlements, saw herself chose to
save them as the Hunter took the opportunity to escape. This
had been her free choice, Demona realized, she hadn’t been
certain any longer what had been her choices and what had been
influenced by the Weird Sisters, but choosing to save the two
young humans instead of taking her vengeance upon the Hunter had
been her untainted choice. The realization left her strangely
satisfied.
The Demona of this time snarled in
frustration once she realized the Hunter had escaped and left,
flying back toward the cavern where she had left the others.
Demona watched her leave from the battlements above, she had
forgotten how hard life had been for them before joining with
Macbeth. How many times had her clan woke with gnawing bellies
and turned to stone in the morning even hungrier. Seeing how
old, thin and weak she had been reminded her only too starkly of
the reality of this time.
The scene around them changed once again
and now they were standing in a richly appointed room, a young
dark haired man paced anxiously in front of three large
windows. “Duncan,” growled Macbeth identifying the man
instantly.
Demona examined the dark haired young man
more closely; she had never seen Duncan during this time, only
as a mature human several years in the future. There was a
knock at the door, Duncan turned instantly toward it as it
opened. The Hunter entered. She growled upon seeing him, at
the same time Macbeth straightened abruptly and exclaimed, “This
is what the old crone referred to when she said that
Gillecomigan was quick to do Duncan’s bidding.”
Demona looked at Macbeth who was glaring
with gritted teeth at Duncan; it took her a second to make the
same connection her old ally had made. She had almost forgotten
the black haired old gargoyle saying something about the death
of Macbeth’s father and the strange globe she had given
Macbeth. Of course, now she knew that the old gargoyle had
actually been the Weird Sister called Selene.
“Prince Duncan,” the hunter greeted
cordially.
“At last,” Duncan said, “What news of Clan
Moray, Gillecomigan?”
“Findlaech, high steward of Moray,” the
hunter said while drawing out a golden medallion from his
doublet, “is dead. As you commanded.” The hunter bowed as he
handed over the medallion to Duncan.
“And Macbeth?” asked Duncan looking with
satisfaction at the medallion in his hands.
“He lives,” the hunter said while drawing
off his hood revealing the scarred face of Gillecomigan.
Demona stared at him intently, she knew the
hunter blamed her for the scratches upon his face, but honestly,
she didn’t remember giving them to him. She knew the original
wounds couldn’t have been that bad or the human would only have
one eye, so obviously she hadn’t meant to hurt him that badly.
The scarring from the original scratches was very noticeable,
however, and she guessed that the wounds had become infected,
leaving more scarring than they should have upon the human’s
face.
“Oh, no matter,” said Duncan, he stepped
over to Gillecomigan and laid a companionable hand upon his
shoulder, “Finlaech was loved, with his support his son could
have been king, but without his father Macbeth is just another
poor relation.” Duncan turned toward the double doors at the
opposite side of the room and clapped his hands loudly, “Bring
food and drink, this is cause for celebration.” The doors
opened wide revealing three feminine forms that looked
suspiciously familiar with their yellow, black and white hair.
“The Weird Sisters,” growled Demona
recognizing them even though they currently appeared to be human
females. Suspicious, she examined Duncan and Gillecomigan once
again, this time for traces of fey magic. The tell tale green
strands were there, more on Gillecomigan than Duncan. “Did they
arrange all this?” Demona asked the Ancient One.
“They did not cause Duncan to make the
decision to kill Findlaech, nor did they manipulate Gillecomigan
into killing him,” the Irish Elk commented, staring at the two
men in question. “The Fey did manipulate Gillecomigan to
hesitate in killing young Macbeth to give you time to arrive and
into leaving when he did instead of staying and attempting to
kill you and Macbeth. They also manipulated Duncan into not
ordering the hunter to go back and kill young Macbeth.”
“They ensured that he remained alive,”
Demona said, glancing over out of the corner of her eye at
Macbeth.
Her old ally looked as if he were about to
reply, but Duncan saying, “You have done well my Hunter, your
reward is the stewardship of Moray,” drew Macbeth’s attention
instead. He glared at Duncan with clenched fists looking as if
he would like to do nothing more than leap upon the man and
pummel him.
The scene around them froze with
Gillecomigan smiling in satisfaction and Duncan looking
pompously pleased as the three Fey set the table for the two
men’s celebratory feast. When it changed again, Demona
recognized the main hall of Castle Moray. It was filled with
humans; she looked around for some clue as to what was
happening.
A strangled cry from Macbeth drew her
attention; he was staring fixedly at one end of the hall. She
followed his gaze to see Gillecomigan standing with Gruoch; a
priest was standing behind them in full robes. Gruoch’s father
was there as well as Prince Duncan and three human women in pink
gowns that suspiciously had blonde, black and white hair. With
a pang of sympathy for him, she realized what they were
witnessing, the marriage of the hunter and Macbeth’s Gruoch.
She had known while they were allied that Gruoch had previously
married Gillecomigan in accordance with her father’s wishes.
Not surprisingly, neither Macbeth nor Gruoch referred to it
often.
“A happy beginning,” she heard the blonde
one say. She recognized the voice; it was indeed the Weird
Sisters. Why were they here, what did they have to do with the
wedding, were they just watching or did they have a part in what
was happening here?
“Not all would agree,” said the black
haired one, glancing over toward a chair at the other end of the
hallway where a dejected young Macbeth sat staring at the stone
floor.
“Certainly not our hero,” finished the
white haired one.
“Why are we here?” asked Macbeth in a harsh
tone, staring hard at the Weird Sisters in the corner and then
at his younger self sitting in the chair.
“Because they,” the stag lifted his head in
the direction of the three Fey, “had a part in this, they
influenced Gillecomigan to ask for Gruoch to be his mate and
they influenced her sire to accept.”
Macbeth’s face revealed his shock, “Why?”
his expression changed from shock to anger, “Why would they do
this to my love, my Gruoch, and to me?”
“Because,” the scene around them changed
once again, and now they were in the main dining hall of Castle
Moray. It was dark outside and the table looked as if a
ravening horde had been through, bits and pieces of food
littered the table and the floor around the table. Only Duncan
standing by the fireplace and Gillecomigan sitting in one of the
chairs next to the fire were still present. “They wanted you
angry enough to kill Gillecomigan without giving him a chance to
tell you who had sent him to kill your father,” the great stag
explained, “or to tell you who had asked that you also be
killed.”
“There is just one more bit of business
that needs doing,” Duncan said as he moved from the fireplace to
sit in a chair across from Gillecomigan.
“And what would that be, my prince,” the
scar faced man responded.
Duncan put one booted foot on the table and
leaned back in the chair, “To arrange an accident for my cousin
Macbeth.”
Gillecomigan finished his drink before
responding, “Nay milord, Macbeth is and heir to the crown, and
much beloved by the people.” Duncan sat up straight at this
staring angrily at him, “Besides, it might lead to some
uncomfortable questions about his father’s demise, and who
demanded it.”
Duncan rose, pointed an angry finger at
Gillecomigan, “Think well before you defy me,” he warned.
Gillecomigan sneered, “Think well before
you risk my defiance, Prince Duncan.”
The scene stilled and the stag spirit
continued, “The Weird Sisters needed Duncan to remain alive, it
was important to them that you not discover the truth of who was
behind your father’s murder until they chose to tell you.”
Macbeth stood stiffly with his hands
clenched into fists, “So they made Gruoch marry a man she did
not want or love, and they made me hurt her by telling her I did
not want her anymore because I could not ask her to go into
exile with me.”
Demona stared at him; she had not known the
last and couldn’t really imagine how he had managed to get
Gruoch to believe him. She had often been envious of the two of
them and their obvious love for one another, especially then
when Goliath had been in his stone sleep for so many years and
she had been alone. She couldn’t imagine how much Macbeth must
have hurt while watching Gruoch take another as mate. Actually
yes she could, she thought, staring at the rug underneath her
talons, all she had to do was think of Kendra with another to
imagine his pain. She didn’t see Macbeth turn and stare at her
for a long moment, it was the spirit realm, one felt the
emotions directed toward them.
The Ancient One did not respond, instead
the scene around them changed and they were back at the room
where Duncan had received Findlaech’s medallion from
Gillecomigan. Duncan was standing at the fireplace staring into
it, the three Weird Sisters were present as well posing as there
nursemaids holding the infant Canmore. There was a knock at the
door and young Macbeth entered, “You summoned me milord?”
“Please cousin, enter,” Duncan said, waving
to the three Fey sisters for them to leave. “I’m in need of
your council. I’ve learned the true identity of the mysterious
Hunter.” Duncan turned back to the fire, “It’s terrible,” he
said lifting his arms in the air for emphasis, “shocking.”
Demona heard Macbeth growl, she didn’t
blame him, it was a masterful performance and Duncan was setting
up the young Macbeth to get rid of his problem.
“You know who killed my father?” the young
Macbeth asked hopefully, approaching Duncan with his hand held
out in supplication.
Duncan turned around to face his cousin,
“It was…is…” he hesitated as if having difficulty uttering the
next word, “Gillecomigan.”
“What?” the young Macbeth recoiled.
“Och, he fooled me completely. The wrongs
I’ve done you cousin,” Duncan he held up his hands helplessly.
“At least you weren’t lying about that
part,” Macbeth growled from where he stood near the Ancient One.
“Were it not for this blackguard,” Duncan
continued his acting, “you’d be high steward of Moray and have
Gruoch for your own.” He paused to let that sink in, “I dare
not attack him openly. It could start a war between Moray and
the rest of Scotland. All would suffer, what can be done?” he
asked plaintively.
Demona could hear Macbeth grind his teeth
at this; she could have probably heard it even in her human
form.
“Leave that to me,” the young Macbeth swore
furiously while gripping his sword. “With your permission
milord I will take my leave to return to Moray.”
“Of course, cousin,” was all Duncan needed
to say to have the young Macbeth turning about and striding
purposefully out the door. The young man never saw the
satisfied smirk on Duncan’s face as the prince stared after him.
Everything around them froze and Demona
glanced over at Macbeth. He was still staring at Duncan, raw
fury evident in his eyes. Their surroundings changed, now they
were standing once again outside the cavern where Demona’s small
clan was located.
“The hunter will resurface tonight at
Castle Moray. We offer you another opportunity,” Demona heard
one of the Weird Sister’s say. She stepped closer to the
opening so that she could look into the cavern, the three Fey
were masquerading as old gargoyles once again.
The Demona of this time interrupted them,
“to destroy my enemy!”
“To ally yourself with Macbeth of Clan
Moray,” the yellow haired one corrected her.
“Never, to ally with a human,” Demona
turned away, put her hands on the cavern wall. The Demona
standing outside watching remembered her thoughts at this time,
she had been thinking of the Captain of the Guard as she stared
at the rock that formed their home. “Never again,” the Demona
inside the cavern said softly.
“The hunter is enemy to you both,” argued
the black haired ancient looking gargoyle.
“Together you can defeat him,” added the
white haired one.
“But separately,” the yellow haired one
started.
The Demona inside the cavern interrupted
them, “I make no promises,” she said turning to face them.
The words were sooner said than the world
around them changed again and they were at Castle Moray watching
the fight between the young Macbeth and Gillecomigan. Macbeth’s
anger almost cost him the fight before it had barely begun; only
Gillecomigan toying with him allowed the young man to keep his
life. On the other hand, perhaps it was the influence of the
Weird Sisters making sure he lived, thought Demona, as she
looked around in vain for any sign of them.
A gasp of dismay from below had the
gargoyle looking back down, Gruoch had stepped out onto the
parapet and Gillecomigan immediately grabbed her, using her as a
shield and a threat to Macbeth, forcing the younger man to
surrender his sword.
“But what is a Hunter without his prey,”
Gillecomigan boasted as he pulled on his hunter’s mask. Demona
looked above them toward the tower she remembered watching all
this from. Yes, there she was with her mace swooping down to
knock Macbeth out of the way of Gillecomigan’s descending sword,
blocking the blow meant for the human with her mace.
“Still laughing Hunter?” the Demona on the
parapet asked Gillecomigan, “Come meet your doom.”
The Hunter still had Gruoch hostage, “You
want her, take her,” he said sending the woman toward Demona.
The gargoyle on the parapet caught the woman and then thrust her
off to the side watching the Hunter who came rushing immediately
after the human female with his sword upraised.
The Demona watching from above snarled in
annoyance, “what is it with me and these battlements,” she
complained as she watched Gruoch barely stop herself from
falling over the edge, only the young Macbeth’s quick action
saved the woman from falling to her death. Why she couldn’t
have been a bit gentler with the young woman, she thought with
annoyance, watching herself. Then she remembered the sorcery
the Magus had placed upon her, she altered her vision, there it
was a black mass of magic influencing her emotions and actions,
causing her to react rashly whenever she became angry.
The fight below between herself and the
Hunter continued until she had him over the edge of the
battlement. She ripped off the mask over his face, “Look
closely creature, tis your handiwork,” Gillecomigan accused the
gargoyle that held him, “done when I was but a boy, remember?”
Demona stared at his face once again
searching her memory just as the gargoyle that held him was
doing, once again she came up blank, but then were many gaps in
her memory of the time right after the massacre at Wyvern Castle
and that would have been when she encountered a young
Gillecomigan.
“No,” said Demona from below, her voice
carrying her conviction.
The Hunter glared at her, “You,” he growled
as he gripped the gargoyles arms and pulled her over with him.
Demona remembered what happened next, her
surprise at seeing the young Macbeth leaning over the
battlement, reaching down and holding onto her wrist to prevent
her from falling. She remembered seeing the strain on his face,
knowing that he was not strong enough to hold her for long
especially with the Hunter holding onto her legs. She had felt
Macbeth’s grip give and in desperation had struck the Hunter
with her tail as hard as she could. He had fallen, screaming
the entire way until the sound ended abruptly. Macbeth had
pulled her up back onto the parapet. She looked below, Gruoch
was rushing into Macbeth’s arms, and they embraced.
The Demona below placed a taloned hand on
young Macbeth’s shoulder, “Thank you.”
Demona remembered saying that. It was one
of the very few times she had ever said thank you to a human
until Kendra.
“I owed you,” Macbeth replied simply.
“Then we’re even, good,” Demona responded
brusquely, before flying off.
The landscape changed again, and now they
were in a small round room. Judging from the sunlight streaming
in through the window it was late afternoon. Duncan was sitting
in the casement of a narrow window watching something outside
the room and holding his infant son. The three Weird Sisters,
posing as human nursemaids, were present as well.
“There will always be a Hunter my son,”
Duncan said to the infant in his arms holding up the hunter’s
mask. He handed the boy over to one of the Weird Sisters.
Duncan put on the mask, stared out the window, “And there will
always be the hunted.”
Duncan didn’t see the three Fey turn and
smile in satisfaction at one another, but Demona did. Acting on
a hunch she looked for the tell tale green of fey magic, there
was more present on Duncan than the last time she had looked for
it, and to her appalled shock there were enchantments upon the
baby in the black-haired Fey’s arms. The child had been alive
for only a few months and already they were manipulating him.
She looked over at the great stag, the spirit’s brown eyes met
hers and his majestically antlered head dipped in silent
acknowledgement.
The room disappeared and now they were
standing upon a thin path winding up the edge of a steep cliff.
Demona recognized it; they were very close to one of the many
caverns her clan sheltered in during the day. “Their cousin’s
they should be friends,” Macbeth’s voice from further down the
path drew Demona’s attention. He was a few years older now she
saw, the same age she judged as when they had become allies. He
was walking with a much older looking Duncan who now had a
golden crown upon his head.
“Yes, well…some cousin’s are not that
close,” said Duncan staring at the land around him as he walked
up the path, carefully gripping the rocks on the side of the
path away from the sheer drop on the other side. Unexpectedly
the stone beneath his feet cracked as the rock underneath him
gave way, leaving him hanging on desperately to the remaining
rock as he danged over a dangerous drop.
Macbeth threw himself forward grabbing at
his cousin’s hand just as Duncan’s grip gave way.
“I should have let him fall,” growled
Macbeth from beside her, she glanced over at her former ally
surprised that he was standing as close as he was; he had been
keeping his distance from her since this first began. She
turned her attention back to the scene in front of them in time
to see the younger Macbeth pull Duncan to safety.
“Macbeth, you saved my life,” Duncan said a
surprised tone.
“I’m sure you would have done as much for
me,” Macbeth of this time assured him lightly.
Demona glanced over at the Macbeth standing
beside her; she wasn’t surprised when she saw the disgusted
expression on his face.
“This dispels any doubts about your loyalty
to me and to the crown,” Duncan said with a pleased expression,
but Macbeth wasn’t paying attention to him, he was looking at
something else. “What is it?” said Duncan, his expression
changed to surprise, “Gargoyles?!”
Demona started down the path toward the
cavern entrance; ahead of her, both men entered the cave. She
got there in time to see the young Macbeth standing protectively
in front of her stone form. Duncan had a large rock in his
hands, obviously about to smash her. “My lord! I beg you spare
them,” Macbeth pleaded, “There was a time when human and
gargoyle fought side by side, this one and I have a similar
history.”
Duncan dropped the rock he was holding, “As
you wish, we owe you our life. We will grant you theirs, for
your sake.” He stepped closer to one of the gargoyles, a
slender male, “We only hope that we do not come to regret your
council,” he said coolly staring at the stone form. He turned
and strode quickly out of the cave, “I tire of this outing.”
Demona took the opportunity to glance
inside the cavern; she had a feeling that she remembered this
day. Yes, this was the place she had woken with the Hunter
smashing her clan, and now that she knew Duncan was the Hunter…
“He came back later in the day as the Hunter, it was only the
sun setting that prevented him and the humans with him from
killing all of us.”
“It was that event that prompted you to
accept the Weird Sister’s offer to bind you to Macbeth,” the
Ancient One said.
Demona turned around and looked up at the
great stag, her eyes wide in realization, “Of course, they
manipulated Duncan into being the Hunter, once he found my clan
the Weird Sisters knew he would come back to kill us. I hadn’t
seriously considered the three old females proposal until this
night when he and his soldiers attacked us. There were only
three my clan left, I was desperate, no matter what I did to
keep my clan safe, there seemed to always be another Hunter and
I was becoming older and weaker and less able to protect them
every year. I made the decision this night to seek out the
three old gargoyles that keep visiting me to see if they could
help what remained of my clan.”
“We should follow them,” Macbeth
interrupted grimly, indicating the direction Duncan and his
younger self had taken, “I’m about to meet the Weird Sisters for
the first time.”
Demona looked toward where Duncan and the
younger Macbeth had gone; she frowned when she saw the two
smaller forms with them. She hadn’t realized that the two men
had their son’s with them; she hadn’t seen the children
earlier. There was a thick fog hanging just above the ground
making it difficult to see the two men and their son’s, but it
kept clearing just enough for them to keep following them.
“Double, double, toil and trouble,” they
saw the three Weird Sisters, this time pretending to be there
old human females, about the same time as the four they were
following, “fire burn and cauldron bubble.”
“This was real?” exclaimed Demona,
surprised, she had just thought it was in that offensive and
horribly inaccurate play that the humans liked so much.
Macbeth snarled, “That playwright didn’t
get it entirely correct, I still don’t know how he knew about
this. Duncan must have wrote it down somewhere, or young
Canmore perhaps.”
“All hail Duncan, King of Scotland, father
of the king hereafter,” the three old crones were greeting
Duncan.
“All hail Macbeth, King of Scotland, father
of the king hereafter,” the three crones greeted the young
Macbeth as he stopped beside Duncan and his young son Canmore.
The two men turned to look at one another,
and Demona could see the confusion on the young Macbeth’s face.
Apparently so could Duncan, “You speak treason, old crone!”
growled Duncan, as he took a few threatening steps toward the
three Fey.
“You are but half right, good mothers,”
Macbeth said as he came forward to stand beside Duncan, “Duncan
is the right and proper king.”
“King now he is, but each of you shall in
turn be king,” said the white haired old woman.
Macbeth held up his hands, warding away
their words, “I say thee nay, Weird Sisters.”
The older Macbeth standing beside Demona
watching made a surprised noise, “I don’t remember saying that,”
he whispered, as if to himself.
The younger Macbeth was still attempting to
explain things to the three old women, “Prince Canmore is
destined to be king after Duncan.”
“You would lecture us on fate?” said the
white haired one just before the fog around them increased and
the three Fey disappeared.
Young Macbeth, obviously desperate for his
cousin to believe that he wanted no part of this, said, “My
king, we must not take seriously the ravings of three old
bedlams.”
“You speak wisely, Macbeth. Its utter
nonsense,” replied Duncan turning away, “of no consequence,” he
finished, but Demona could see that neither of the two men
believed that.
“And so they set Duncan and I at each
other,” said the older Macbeth in a grim tone as the scene
around them froze, “Though in truth we had always been, though I
didn’t know it at the time.” He turned toward the Irish Elk
spirit, “Were they truly telling us the future? Do those three
have the power to do that?”
Demona was already shaking her head. There
were too many events where the Weird Sisters had already shown
they were unaware of the future for them to be able to see into
it as they had just claimed.
“Why do you believe they cannot…Demona,”
the stag hesitated a second before saying her name and the
gargoyle knew the spirit had stopped himself from saying my
chosen. Macbeth turned toward her, a thoughtful frown upon his
face.
“They didn’t know that the Magus would
defeat them,” she began listing off the events they had been
unaware of, “they didn’t know about Macbeth and I before the
Archmage pointed us out to them, and they didn’t know that they
were the ones to give the Archmage the Eye of Odin, the Phoenix
Gate and the Grimorum Arcanorum. Their pretending to be the
three fates, and perhaps they have always been the three fates
that humans speak of, but they are manipulating events to happen
as they want and as they say. They aren’t predicting the future
and then sitting back and letting things occur without
interference as they would be able to if they could truly see
into the future.”
“Their foretelling the future and then
making sure it happens the way they said it would,” growled
Macbeth, staring at the place where the three Fey had been.
“You are both correct,” replied the giant
stag spirit, satisfied.
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