Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #15 June 2015 | Page 65

Part Five – Winners and Losers
The castle grows in my mind as we draw ever nearer.
The tale my mouth tells distracts me a little but in the
gaps I imagine Him looking across the lake. Awaiting
my presence. It has been a good forty years, or more,
since I was last there. With my mentor. The meeting
between Him and the man who I was to apprentice my
life away with, for ten long years. I remember every
second. The day advances and my shivers abound, not
now to do with the cold. He awaits.
I crack an eyelid and glance at the Ferryman. He
stares ahead. I resist the temptation to turn and look
at the castle. Knowing that it dominates the western
end of the lake. Knowing that its slit-like windows
are like the eyes of spiders watching the lake, forever
watching, as the ferrymen bring their little morsels
ever closer.
“The tale is long.” I say, “And perhaps you will not
hear the end? But I will tell it until we dock upon the
western shore.”
***
The man in red clears his throat. “I’ll tell you about
the Bard’s competition next. But in order to understand I need to tell you a bit more about the Four
and One. We started in the east, the lands of the Red
Bull. If you go any further east, then you enter the
great forest, the lands of the Fair, the One, although
the One also extends into the wild lands interwoven
in the Four. The lands of the Red Bull, if you remember, are the most civilised, according to Phelan.
What he means by this is that the men of the Red Bull
are builders. The houses are well made, the water
is delivered by ingenious pipes, and there are shops
and inns and all manner of business. The lands of the
Green Salmon are the lands of poetry and song. They

lie to the south, if you continue south then you end up
in the lands of the Siren, the sea laughs and shouts as
it meets the land and all who hear its gay song have
a fire lit in their soul that can only be quenched by
the sea. Travelling upon it, forever. That is why it is
named the land of the Siren.
The lands of the White Hart lie to the west and the further west you walk the more you’d enter the forgotten
lands, the grey realms, the home of the Dan. Somewhere in the lands of the White Hart is the bridge
that crosses from the lands of Man to the lands of the
Dead. Later in our tale we’ll return there.
Finally in the lands of the north there is the Black
Boar. This is the land whose Righ is Cai. The last land
Phelan must visit. If you travel any further north then
you enter the lands of the Ice Hag. Cold barren wilds,
home to great white wolves, snow and ice. The men of
the north are a hard race, dour and full of spite. Their
bards recite war poems and dirges to the fallen. One,
named Donnal, we’ll meet soon.”
***
Elise sat fidgeting in the glade. Teilo was late. The
pond, the foxgloves, the willow, the drowsy flies all
irritated her today. Ostensibly the glade was part of the
One, but Elise doubted that any of the Fair had ever
visited this place. It was so, well, ordinary. She wondered why Teilo was late. A noise caused her to turn.
Teilo, tall, muscled, dressed in the plaid of the north,
carrying his sword of office nonchalantly across his
hip stood with a wry smile upon his face. Elise leapt
up.
“About time!” She accused.

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