RIPPLES

By Ed Ainsworth

The train ride was quiet, with the Knightraven hanging in the darkness of the cab, or at least what little there was of it, and Brian sat a full two seats away from Bloodstone and Druid. He looked over his shoulder every so often.

Druid had ignored him that morning, with only Bloodstone muttering something about visiting a large Pond network in South Yorkshire. Brian wasn’t really listening. He didn’t care about what she had to say, or what she did.

Druid kept wincing as he moved his arms to flick through the pages of the fables book before him, trying to find anything to be useful in their search.

“Near as I can tell,” Druid began, Brian could hear him fine, despite his hushed tones. “The events here are more to do with the British Unconscious than anything being let loose. It seems that Otherworld was just the holding vassal for all this information and culture, something that is now gone, so all of this…mythology, almost has shot out directly into England itself.”

“Which means what, exactly?” Bloodstone asked, looking over the top of the poorly maintained chairs to Brian, whose angry eyes focused on the Blackberry in his lap.

“It means that we’ve got more than just fables on the loose, we’ve got Folklore as well.” Druid narrowed an eyebrow and pushed Bloodstone’s hands off his chest. He couldn’t imagine wanting to sleep with her, despite her obvious attractive qualities.

“How long til we’re there?” the Knightraven asked.

“Twenty minutes, I guess.”

While the others discussed their ideas on the idiotic situation, Brian tapped away at his Blackberry. Over IM he was in talks with Captain Cornwall and the others.

CORNWALL1965: It seems that there has been a lot of “Pop-Ups” in the last 24 hours.
IRISHFAE: At least 3 recorded.
BRITON: Pop-Ups?
CORNWALL1965: Yes. In central England, a large, white maned Lion was seen walking through the fields, with birds flying around it, and all manner of English animal walking beside it.
IRISHFAE: We’ve also had confirmed sightings of the Scottish Stag, on the hills of Edinburgh, and the Welsh Dragon, high above Cardiff.
BRITON: So what does this mean exactly?
CORNWALL1965: It means the British unconscious has tacked itself onto England again, and the longer we leave it attached to England, the harder it will be to remove.
BRITON: Forgive my ignorance here, but why should we remove it?

After a few moments of silence on his Blackberry, both of the users signed off.

“Dammit,” Brian muttered under his breath.

“He’s not getting it, Morganna.” Cornwall sat in his chair hunched forwards, arms crossed on the table and looking rather angry.

“I’m aware of what he said, Richard.” Morganna ran her fingers through her perfectly straight hair. Looking to the other Captains as well as the other occupied chairs. Chairs that weren’t occupied when Brian had visited.

The blue-skinned, red-haired woman smiled, and laced her fingers together. “What makes you think he’s wrong, Richie?” She tilted her head to the side as she spoke, a smile creeping across her features, and yellow eyes widening at his response.

“Well, obviously he is. Would we have needed Otherworld otherwise?” Richard was getting quite irate in fact. It was always more obvious as he began to wave his hands around more. “Besides, who gave the newbie speaking rights?” he added, pointing towards the blue-skinned woman.

“Spring Heel has earned her right to be here according to Roma, Richard.” Morganna was obviously not quite as trusting as Roma it seemed. She’d placed a stern guard on Spring Heel’s quarters.

In the other seat sat a quiet looking woman, who drew circles on the table with her index finger. Her long, pure white hair hung in a sharp, thick fringe.

“Linda?” Morganna asked, trying to get her attention.

“Hrm?” the white haired woman replied.

“What’s your view?”

“My view,” Linda replied, looking up at the others. “Oh, I don’t have a view.”

As the debate began again, with Spring Heel stating her case, that Brian wasn’t wrong, and Richard leaning over the desk even more to yell, a small voice spoke up, as he stared down at the table, rubbing the lenses of his glasses through some clothe.

“I don’t think he’s wrong.” It was rare for Captain Wales to say anything, especially to disagree with the others. He looked up, as Scotland downed the rest of his bottle, and Richard almost choked on his fist.

“WHAT?! FOR GODSAKES MAN, THIS IS OUR HOME!”

“And this is our Folklore, Richard,” he answered quietly, getting up from his chair. He removed his glasses nervously.

“We shouldn’t take it for granted and try and push it away, it’s something important. Something we should keep. We always have Americans defending us—well, now the UK has got us, and now the UK can prove why it’s different to America and the rest of the west—we embrace Culture.” He replaced his glasses and walked out of the room, down the long, dark corridor to the door in the wall.

Spring Heel smiled. She liked him.

As they walked down the long stretch of Barnsley Train station towards the main road of Barnsley itself, Brian looked up into the sky to see what he could glean from this area of England.

“God,” Druid said, rubbing his ribs, and staring with anger at Brian.

“Come on day-dreamer, we don’t have all fucking day.” He walked past Brian, who bared his teeth and stamped forward, making the Druid flinch.

“That’s right,” Brian said, kneeling down to the ground, and smashing his fist through the concrete. Before he had left the shadow Captains base, Captain Scotland, or as he had insisted on being called, Calum, had shown Brian how to do something he wasn’t aware he could do.

By pushing his hands into British soil, England could talk directly too him. Apparently Calum had been using this technique for months. It was all knew to Brian.

As he forced his fist into the ground, up to his elbow, he felt a tug on the back of his head. Bloodstone had her fingers in his hair and had pushed her face close to his ear.

“Brian, Darling. I simply must ask—what in your pretty little blonde head cried, ‘punching the ground would be a brilliant idea,’ pray tell?” she growled.

“A thought that was my own and not Druid’s, you ginger slag, now be quiet. I’m talking to England.” He pulled his head free of her grip, and closed his eyes.

“I know where we need to go,” he said after a few minutes, pulling his fist from the ground, and walking past the group. Bloodstone leaned towards Knightraven and whispered in his ear.

“He used to be such a tosser, but now? Oh, my god, I’ve never been so turned on in my life.”

Knightraven shrugged and turned his head to whisper into her ear. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I’m in a committed relationship right now. In fact, last night, my girlfriend laid some eggs!”

Bloodstone turned her nose up at Knightraven and put some distance between the two of them.

“Disturbing little bastard,” she whispered to herself.

As they walked down towards the Nature reserve, Druid felt the pull of nature all around them, the twig between his legs leading him forwards, at a quickening pace compared to the others. He turned to the largest Oak tree he could find and move towards, undoing his trousers and walking towards it.

“Oh God.” Bloodstone clapped a hand over her face, as Brian turned away with disgust. “This isn’t the time,” Bloodstone called after the Druid through cupped hands.

“I don’t think he’s coming back,” Knightraven said with a sunny disposition.

“Wasting time,” was all Brian said, as he continued his path onto the nature reserve, opening his Blackberry to see if there was any response to his message before.

He had a single e-mail from a Cardiff council email address, which Brian assumed was one of the Captain’s civilian identities. He was correct—it was a one line email from Captain Wales.

I agree with you – Wales.

Brian smiled and pushed it phone back into his pocket, waving for Bloodstone and Knightraven to follow him. As he walked along the wooden planks of the Pond network, he felt calm and serene.

He was shaken from his stare by the scream of a little girl and the crash of water not far in the distance.

Turning his attention to Bloodstone and the Knightraven, he took to the sky, shedding his coat, and pulling his shirt open to reveal a Union Jack t-shirt underneath.

“Captain Britain to the rescue,” Bloodstone muttered Sarcastically to herself, as Brian looked back at her, and smiled.

“Captain ENGLAND, actually.” He arced through the air, angling his body towards the water and crashing through the surface.

It was murky in the water, especially after his over enthusiastic entrance into the pond. The surface was disturbed causing the matt of pondweed to reflect patches of light through the water, casting beams that moved around in a circular fashion. He glanced around, trying to find what had pulled the child under the water.

Swimming for another few minutes he found nothing. Frustration grew within Brian as he pushed his head above the surface of the water, and he ground his teeth in anger.

“Anything?” Bloodstone asked, leaning over the wooden guard rails.

“No.” Brian walked out of the water, as leaches and nymphs clung to his body. He patted himself down, brushing the creatures off gently, and looking across to Knightraven, who looked confused.

“What’s the deal with you?” Brian asked, walking towards him.

“I think I know who this is. Or at least, who it might be.”

“Care to share it with us?” Bloodstone asked, pulling an Uzi seemingly from nowhere. Brian cocked an eyebrow. Where did she keep all this ordinance, sometimes it seemed as though she would just yank something from inside her coat that was far to big to be there.

“It’s the Green Teeths,” Knightraven began, as a long, thin wizened arm exploded from the surface of the water, pulling him by the ankle into the guard rail.

“Dammit!” Brian yelled, as he sprang forwards, only for Knightraven’s blade, as black as the night sky, cut through the creatures limb from the wrist upwards.

Brian looked to Bloodstone, who’s blue eyes narrowed, as she took aim with the Uzi. Brian grabbed her wrist and pulled it upwards.

“You’re useless to me when we’re in the water. Pull back.”

Bloodstone growled and pulled her arms away from him, pushing her face against his and scowling. “You’re not to tell me what to do, Braddock.”

He wrapped his fingers around her arm, around the elbow and lifted her into the air.

“I’d say otherwise.” He pointed at Knightraven with his free arm.

“You. With me.”

Letting go of Bloodstone, dropping her onto her bottom, he dove back into the water. Knightraven followed, after tucking his shirt into his trousers. Bloodstone snorted through her teeth.

“I fucking hate bog monsters.”

Under the water, Brian propelled himself forwards, trying to catch a bead on the monsters under the surface of the water. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the murky depths very well, and Knightraven wasn’t faring much better. It seemed that his powers as a fictional entity were somewhat useless underwater with no birds to talk to—sadly parrot fish were not native to Britain.

Catching a glimpse of something ahead, and noticing that the water around was slightly tinted with blood, he waved for Knightraven to follow him, diving deeper into the murk, and towards what appeared to be an opening.

Pushing himself through the opening and into the cave, he dove deeper, and then followed the curvature of the formations around him, looking for anything that might be indicative of this monster.

Slowly walking form the water, Brian didn’t expect to see what was before him. Four beautiful women, one cradling her arm, lacking a hand from the wrist upwards.

“Greenteeth.” Brian said, as he pulled some pondweed from his hair.

“Captain Britain,” came the response from all of them, In Unison. As Knightraven pulled himself out of the water, looking across the women, he adjusted his not dark brown stained shirt and addressed the ladies.

“Brian, let me introduce you to Jenny and Ginny Greenteeth, Peg Powler, and Peg O’Nell.”

“Ladies.” Brian walked towards the group. The four women were all wearing petticoats and various other flowing dresses, sat around a nice decorated kitchen, with a pot of tea steaming on the table.

Unfortunately, on their plates were the limbs and body of a child they had pulled into the muck infested water. Brian bristled at the sight of it.

“I’m dreadfully sorry ladies, but we’re going to have to murder you in the most horrific way possible for this,” Knightraven remarked with a bit of sing-song in his voice, almost as though he delighted in the idea of rending them limb from limb.

“Hrm, I’m not so sure—ladies, have you ever thought about not eating children?” Brian asked, holding his palm flat out to prevent Knightraven from advancing.

“What do you mean?” they asked, as Brian sat down at the table, taking the hand of the nearest lady, Ginny.

“I mean, you gorgeous halfwits, that you should have thought that with your new place in the world, I mean obviously, you’re not the ugly, horrid, twisted little things you used to be, you should have thought a bit more about changing your ways and not just your appearances.”

“We could think about changing our diet?” Peg looked to the rest of them, as Brian got to his feet.

“You could.” He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “But really, you don’t stand a chance in this world.” He threw a punch forwards with such force, that it blasted Ginny’s head apart in a spatter of gore, wasting no time, he pulled the chair up from underneath him, and batted the top half of the already mutilated Jenny from her torso.

The other two made a break for it, with Knightraven’s bare foot colliding with O’Nell’s stomach, and his blade rending Peggy’s body in twain. The duo looked down on the fallen bog monster, as Brian placed his heel against O’Nell’s throat.

“England’s a forgiving place, you know, but there’s two things we hate here—the French and child-killers.”

As his boot bore down on O’Nell’s throat, cutting off her air supply, she clawed at his calf, managing to gurgle out a reply.

“Sorry,” was all she could muster before her neck snapped and ended her existence.

NEXT: Trip to Cornwall!