Veronia - Part II
By Matthew Steer
Raedan recalled Luke’s words as he returned through the rain to the old railway bridge. "Beneath the bridge you will find several doors in the wall of the arch. One belongs to an old toy museum, another holds electrical equipment. A third one, green painted, is padlocked. But the padlock does not close. It is broken."
Raedan found the door without difficulty, unhooking the padlock and pushing it open. Warm air spilled out. He slipped inside. Luke had not mentioned the stink; urine, mildew and wet stone. Wrinkling his nose, Raedan peered down the long passage, dimly lit.
"There are a few lights hooked up inside and small fires. You will, dressed like that, receive looks of unguarded contempt. Unless you are lucky, you will be accosted by violent men." Two men had stepped forth before he’d gone ten yards. Big and grim, dressed in cast-offs, with the stink of beer on their breaths. Who the fuck was he, then? Why doesn’t he bugger off, right now? With little patience, Raedan called upon his glamour to command the two thugs. The deep echoes of the tunnel lent power to the spell, forcing the pair to bow and scrape before backing up into their alcove.
"Few dreams and little hope dwell amongst the people in this tunnel. They have been forgotten by society and live in the shadows. You must guard yourself well against their despair." The tunnel was apparently home for almost twenty of society’s unwanted and unknown. Bleak and uncurious faces peered at him from alcoves and rooms furnished with rubbish. Partway along an old tape player blared out Queen from a shadowy chamber. "Who wants to live forever?" Freddie Mercury’s haunting lament rendered by ancient speakers and strange acoustics into a banshee wail, rolling around the darkness like waves in a sea-cave. A heavy pall of banality lingered in the air and Raedan felt his spirits sapped as he echoed past.
"The woman you seek dwells almost to the back of the tunnel, in a long room which lies beneath this very station. And this finally I have to say. Tonight I pray that I have not made of that room a mausoleum for a soul." Raedan stooped through the low doorway. Veronica’s face, lit eerily by a crackling fire, twisted into a snarl of hatred as he entered.
"Get out. I dunno who you are, with yer fancy suit and yer shiny hair, but you can bugger off back to the hole you crawled out of," she snarled, advancing past the fire. And as her body blocked the flickering light, autumn leaves drifted over her eyes. It seemed to her that perhaps he was just a suit. Just some bastard from the welfare come to cart her off to some home. Not bloody likely.
As she thought these thoughts, Raedan staggered, a sharp iron blade of banality slicing through his chest and into his heart. "Stop! Veronya, please. You don’t know me now, but you must let me explain. Please."
His words were stricken with emotion, both fear and love. Her fae name spoken aloud broke the fragile illusion she was building. Once more he stood before her, the proud and handsome sidhe, with his cloak of crimson and a blade at his side. Glowing with the glamour of his faerie soul. And now she knew him. His name spoke to her from behind its prison walls, her one true love, her Raedan.
"Veronya, it is not too late. I shall always love you. Come with me, come to Goldenleaves and I shall bring you magic and glamour." Love and fear still mingled in his words, both directed at her.
Not too late! How many years ago had it become too late? Five? Ten? Was it even possible to pick one particular day, even one year, when her youth fled from her and left her alone? Veronica strode up to the sidhe before her, unconsciously drawing herself to her full height. Her finger stabbed at his chest, a dagger-thrust, punctuating every word she spoke.
"Freak. There is no magic and no glamour!" For if there was, then fate had denied her its company for twenty-eight years. And Raedan flinched.
"You are really, truly screwed up, mate! Nutcase!" For if his words were true, then the pain of her loss would drive her into the most awful insanity. Raedan spoke, but all she heard was the tone in his voice. Fear growing stronger as his glamour flowed from him.
"I’ve never been anyone else but Veronica and you’re just a childish dream. Veronica! Homeless, loveless, bloody ruthless Veronica!" For if she could have been someone else, someone perpetually young and beautiful living a life of wonder, then all the years of her youth had been stolen from her. And Raedan’s glamour drained away, like fine wine down a gutter.
"There are no faeries, there is no Arcadia, you’re a screwed up, deluded little shit!" she screamed, her every muscle rigid with fury. For if all that was not true then the most hideous joke in the whole hideous world was her own life story. And Raedan’s cry of terror matched her scream. He dragged his shining sword from its sheath and swung, a desperate sweeping blow that sliced straight through Veronya’s midriff. It met no resistance at all. Instead, the treacherous blow struck straight into Raedan’s heart. Her terrible words had destroyed his love. And without his love, he lost his faith, lost his belief in himself and everything nobility stood for. To try to cut his beloved Veronya down in defence of his soul was the final confirmation that he had fallen. The sword slipped through his fingers but instead of an echoing clang, it melted and vanished in the shadows. In that moment, Sir Raedan ap Fiona died. Raedan’s body fell back and cracked its head against the doorway, dropping to the ground like a discarded marionette. Breathing hard, a gaping hole in her memory where the last few minutes had been, Veronica staggered away. She leaned against the wall gazing blankly at the unconscious stranger on the ground, unaware of where she was, who he was. A minute, and she had her wind back. A few moments more and she was crouched over him, picking through his pockets, cursing when she found no money. She rose slowly and stepped across the body, stooping through the doorway. Oh, but she would have words with those two louts by the door, letting a lunatic like this in. She marched down the tunnel towards the distant entrance, her cracked mind already weaving a patch across the hole in her day. Some weirdo, perhaps, who thought she had something worth taking in her dingy room.
She pulled back her sleeve and glanced at her watch. Five o’clock? She unstrapped it and shook it vigorously. Still no ticking. So now her watch had let her down too. Or perhaps not. Perhaps the entire evening was a daydream and was still yet to happen. Maybe she’d get on the bus and arrive home just in time to catch Raeden half way out of his car. Better, he’d arrive on a milk-white stallion, in desperate need of a companion for a quest! Aliana thumped the watch idly on the table, taking some frustration out on it as her mind wandered through the perfect evening that never was.
"Hey, there’s no need for that," a voice interrupted, reproving but friendly. A girl she’d never met frowned at her over a pint of beer. Leaving her friends, the girl pushed her chair across the few feet separating their tables and plucked the watch from Aliana’s surprised fingers. She flicked a fringe of dark hair from her eyes and turned the reluctant timepiece over in her hand, peering at the back in the poor light. "Watches are like people, you know. You’ve gotta look inside to see what makes them tick."
But that is another tale.