Chapter 17
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.
Continued...