Arran is one of my favourite places in the world. It treads the delightful line between familiar and novel. Evidence, perhaps, that we go there far too often. After all, there is so much world out there to see and I have experienced a pathetically small sample. Despite this I am firm in my belief that Scotland is the best place on Earth. In the interests of scientific rigour, I must try to prove myself wrong. I doubt I’ll manage.
This week’s picture is looking inland from the beach at Brodick. We were taking a post-dinner stroll, having skilfully duped my parents into putting the kids to bed. I remember a feeling of deep calm that evening. Something to recall when the now all gets too much. Naturally, I plan on completely ruining that with what follows.
Looking at the photo, I want to write something idyllic. A beautiful romantic scene or even a moment of peaceful solitude. If only my skills lay in that direction. Understand that it’s not for want of trying. When I read back such scene’s there’s nothing wrong with them. They just fail to engage in any way whatsoever. So instead I’ll chuck in some magic and monsters. Oh for a gram of artistry!
As a side note, the monsters in question are my own variant on brollachans as used in The Fall of Witches (The Wizard and The Imp Book 2), which I hope to release later this year. This story is otherwise unrelated to the series.
Shadows lengthened alarmingly as I crested the last rise. Soon they would be large enough for my foes to manifest. Adrenaline fought to quicken my feet but I couldn’t let it. Though my destination was in sight the shortest path was not smooth. A wrong step now would be worse than fatal. A stumble would mean disaster for us all. The enemy must not lay hands on any of the Keys.
I am the East Guardian of the Island Keys. There are four of us, obviously, and four Keys to match. The Keys harness the natural magic of the Island and present a shield against The Darkness. If that’s news to you then further explanations about the Keys and The Darkness are for another time. That’s a much longer conversation. If you already know, then you also know what was at stake.
Sanctuary lay ahead: the lights of home battled against the glow of the sun setting behind the hills. A fight they would soon win. Woe betide me if I hadn’t reached them by then.
I slid down the bank towards the stream and my eagerness nearly cost me dearly. My foot snagged on a rock and I tripped. I was in the water before I’d regained my balance. Loose slipping shingle gave way to sucking mud and I staggered into the shadow of the far bank.
Goosebumps prickled my skin as I heard the sound I’d been dreading. From deep within the shadow before me came a hissing like wind from a tomb. Twin pinpricks of red flared into being less than a metre ahead of me. Then another pair. And another. They were here.
I bolted for the last glimmers of sunlight and as I reached that temporary safety I felt the rush of air from the outstretched claws that missed by a hair’s-breadth. I waded down stream desperately for the shallow bank. Sand beneath my boots once again and I took off at a run. There was no time left for caution.
I tripped again as the sand gave way to heather. An error that saved my life. A burning bolt of red energy lanced through the space where my head had been. By then the only sunlight left was reflected from the underside of clouds. Dim enough that the fiends could venture beyond the deep shadows.
I paused for long enough to snatch a signal flare from my belt, light it and lob it over my shoulder. Moments later I was rewarded with a shrill scream of pain. If luck was on my side that would buy me another 20 metres or so. I scrambled to my feet and took off.
30, as it turned out. I left the beach and my boots gripped more surely on the solid turf that led to my door. My heart leapt. I was going to make it. Against the odds I’d outrun the brollachans.
No such luck.
The shadows in front of me condensed like a black fog. Four pairs of red eyes burned like hate as they formed and focussed on me. Behind them the protective lights of home seemed dim and distant. As one the brollachans lunged for me. Their outstretched claws were like compressed darkness and dripped with distilled hatred.
My arms flew up and I fired my Flash-Gun. The intense light blasted a hole through my foes. It wouldn’t last long before they reformed. I took off over the grass before the recharge whine of my weapon had even begun. Seconds later I reached the floodlit safety of home. My enemies screamed their frustration into the night.
Brandon Lim 