A Fable's Origin: Fynian Encounter

By Yalmact Swillirs

Misfortunes are an unavoidable part of life, but what if they are the result of something more than just bad luck and poor decisions?

When Michael and Patrick become unlikely friends after meeting in a boys' reformatory, they have no idea that the tragedies that had plagued their families for generations aren't so wholly unrelated.

When Avianca, a Fynian princess, materializes in front of Michael to uphold the faeries’ end of an ancient deal struck between his ancestor and one of her people; neither Michael nor Patrick's lives will ever be the same again.

After all, meeting your soul-mate doesn't guarantee you'll live happily ever after.

A Fable’s Origin: Fynian Encounter is the prequel to The Fynian Fable series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yalmact Swillirs
• Release date: Jan 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370715466

Yalmact Swillirs

Being born and raised in Adelaide, South Australia, demanded Yalmact to develop an overactive imagination in order to tolerate the city's dreary atmosphere. A twisted sense of humor enabled Yalmact to survive a series of dead-end jobs and difficult life events while penning Mad Town, the first novel in the Fynian Fable series.Often escaping reality into a wide variety of written works by remarkable authors such as Stephen King, J. K Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, enabled Swillirs to develop their own unique voice and writing style.Had these elements not been present and Yalmact had not taken up writing, it is in all likelihood that Swillirs would have thrust their head into a cement wall to escape the monotony of their life.

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A Fable’s Origin: Fynian Encounter

Yalmact Swillirs

Copyright Yalmact Swillirs 2016

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Every book you pick up has its own lesson or lessons, and quite often the bad books have the most to teach. – Stephen King

Chapter One

History repeated

On a fine autumn day, a seemingly normal baby was welcomed into the world. As Marie held her son in her arms, for an instant it was like time had reversed. The deep ridges strewn across her brow softened, and a long-forgotten youthful glint entered her eyes. If it weren’t for her wiry silver hair, many would have thought her to be thirty-five.

The moment was interrupted when a nurse aged in her early twenties with painted red lips, dressed in a white starched uniform and bonnet, entered the ward.

‘Mrs O’Neil, would you like me to bring in your husband?’

The look the sister received should have been answer enough.

‘What a bloody stupid question! Bring him in, you daft girl!’

‘Mrs O’Neil, I am unaccustomed to hearing such bad language!’ gasped the nurse, clapping a hand to her mouth and smudging her lipstick. ‘You should know better at your age—’

‘Young lady, speaking as someone who’s been on this earth a while, let me give you some advice,’ began Marie, her eyes narrowing. ‘If you ask stupid questions, then don’t be surprised when the world makes you into a fool.’

The nurse’s bottom lip trembled and her eyes welled with tears.

‘Dear, I’m only prepared to deal with one baby, not two,’ snapped Marie. ‘Go and fetch my husband.’

The young woman stumbled as she bolted from the ward.

A few minutes later, an older man, wearing a dusty red and orange checked shirt and worn jeans, stood in the doorway. Years spent under the sun’s harsh rays had darkened his skin to an ashen brown. Trembling, he took off his weather-beaten, wide-brimmed hat.

When Marie noticed him, her face relaxed. ‘Gerald, what are you doing just standing there?’ she asked in a tender tone. ‘Come in and meet your son.’

‘It’s a ... I have a ...’ He wrung his hands and met her eyes. ‘We have a son?’

‘Come and see for yourself.’

As Gerald approached his wife and newborn, his footfalls were uncharacteristically light against the linoleum floor.

‘Why don’t you take him?’ suggested Marie, watching him sit on the very edge of the bed.

Gerald’s eyes widened. ‘Are you mad? My stupid clumsy hands will break the little sod—’

‘You’ll be fine,’ reassured Marie, depositing their son into his arms. ‘Just support his neck like that … and … there you go.’

Mr O’Neil’s eyes glistened as he cradled his son for the first time.

‘Gerry, you’re an old softy,’ teased Marie, leaning back into her pillow.

‘Well, it’s not every day a man becomes a father,’ said Gerald, clearing his throat.

Marie sighed and tucked a strand of silver hair behind an ear. ‘At least you’ll be able to remember it.’

‘We’ll get through this, love,’ said Gerald, patting her on the knee. ‘You can’t take what doctors say as gospel. This little fellow is proof that most of them are quacks. Despite what they said, we’ve managed to have a child!’

‘We did,’ said Marie with a sad smile. ‘I just wish we’d had him when we were younger.’

Gerald cleared his throat and changed the subject. ‘Do you know what Allan said to me the other day? He said, Gerry, I feel better at the age of sixty than when I was twenty. Marie, I believe him. The man is a stallion. We’ve both seen him working his land. He’s out there every day, from dawn until dusk, working like a dog, and he still has energy to keep his missus satisfied.’

‘You mean his child bride?’

Gerald ignored the catty comment. ‘My point is; we’ve both still got some good years in us.’

‘But Allan doesn’t have Alzheimer’s,’ said Marie, her face now showing all her forty-five years.

Gerald clutched his wife’s hand. ‘We don’t know for sure that you’ve got it.’

‘I know,’ said Marie, blotting her eyes. ‘Dad was the same at the beginning …’

He knew she was right. He’d been at her side and witnessed her father’s mental faculties deteriorate. Gerald was a man that could admit when he was in the wrong. However, this was the only subject throughout the course of their marriage for which he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

‘We both know that if you were like your father in any way, I wouldn’t have married you,’ said Gerald. ‘He was a good man but we both know that when the stork dropped him, he hit every branch of the ugly tree on the way down.’

‘Oh, Gerry.’ Marie giggled. ‘You’re terrible.’

He pulled a serious expression. ‘Now that we’ve clarified that subject, can we please talk about the elephant in the room?’

‘Oh?’ asked Marie. ‘What’s that?’

‘You’ll be a wonderful mother, of that I’ve no doubt.’ Gerald glanced at his dozing son with concern. ‘But you know how my back ails me. Marie, I’m afraid you’ll be tasked with changing his nappy. There’s no way I could possibly lift it. However, I’m sure I’ll be able to do the fun things—’

‘Oh, you old fuddy-duddy!’ exclaimed Marie, playfully hitting him on the arm. ‘You had me worried for a second! I swear your tongue could make a conman go on the straight and narrow!’

‘Marie, this is a very serious subject—’

‘If your father was alive he’d give you a kick up the rear!’

Their son’s cry broke the banter. Marie took him from her husband and soothed him with gentle rocking.

Gerald cleared his throat. ‘What do you think about naming him Patrick?’

Marie glanced at her husband with surprise. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’ Gerald laughed. ‘He was the best man I ever knew, even if the sight of him could bring a tear to my eye.’

‘You bad man,’ tutted Marie, staring down at her son. ‘You know, he looks like a Patrick.’

‘Then it’s settled,’ said Gerald, kissing his son’s forehead. ‘Patrick O’Neil. I’m sorry to inform you that your grandfather left some pretty big boots to fill, but I’m sure you’ll live up to them.’

***

By the time Patrick was a toddler, Marie’s disease had begun to sink its claws into her. One day, Gerald returned to the farm house for lunch and was met by an unsettling sight.

Black smoke billowed from an unattended pot on the stove and Patrick’s distressed cries were coming from his nursery.

‘Marie! What in God’s name is going on?’ Gerald called out as he shoved the pot into the sink and blasted it with cold water. ‘Marie!’

He went and collected his bawling son, who was wearing just a cloth nappy, from his cot.

‘Hey, mate, are you alright?’ asked Gerald, picking up the blond tot and scanning his unblemished torso. ‘Yeah, you’re fine. Where’s your mummy? Where’s your mummy? Marie! Marie!’

Gerald went through the house, opening up each window as he went. A cold sensation entered his chest when he found the back door flung open.

‘Marie?’ he called, hurrying down the back steps.

When he saw her kneeling in the vegetable garden in her straw hat and floral apron, his relief was soon replaced with ire.

‘Marie!’ snapped Gerald, marching across the lawn. ‘What in heaven’s name are you doing out here?’

‘Gerry, what’s wrong?’ asked Marie, turning her head. ‘What’s got you worked up?’

Patrick’s tiny fists smashed his eye sockets as he howled louder.

‘Oh, dear!’ cooed Marie, getting to her feet and taking Patrick from Gerald. ‘Poor baby! Yes, I know! Poor baby!’

‘Marie, what are you doing out here?’

‘What do you bloody think, Gerry?’ scoffed Marie. ‘Does it look like I’m out here mopping the floor? Why have you brought Patty out? He should be down for his nap.’

As she began to turn toward the house, Mr O’Neil caught his wife by the elbow and met her gaze.

‘Marie, I’m serious. What were you doing out here?’

‘Gardening,’ she explained, giving a befuddled look. ‘While Patty was down for his morning nap, I thought I’d nip out here for some onions. Why on earth are you pulling that face?’

‘I came home to find a pot on the stove almost set alight, and Patty screaming his head off in the nursery.’ Gerald shook his head. ‘You know that I don’t scare easily but I tell you, I was petrified.’

‘You’re pulling my leg. There was no pot—’

‘Go inside and check the sink.’

Marie’s face fell. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

She cupped her own cheek. ‘Thank goodness this is the first time that anything like this has happened, and you got home in the nick of time.’

Gerald nodded, finding it hard to speak.

Marie noticed his expression. ‘Wait. Gerry, is this the only time that something like this has happened?’

Gerald avoided her gaze.

‘Gerry? Is it?’

‘No,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s not.’

‘What ... What else have I done?’

‘It wasn’t anything major,’ clarified Gerald, raising his palms in defence. ‘Just a few items put in the wrong place, that’s all. We’ve all done that. Remember that time I accidentally put the keys in the fridge?’

‘Oh, Gerry …’ whispered Marie, her face crumbling. ‘I–I have it …’

Gerald enveloped his wife and son in a hug and, for the first time, he didn’t dispute the statement.

‘What am I going to do?’ she wept.

‘I took you for better or worse,’ said Gerald, resting his chin on the top of her head. ‘We’ll deal with this together.’

‘I can’t stay here.’

‘What?’ asked Gerald, looking at her. ‘What are you talking about? Are you leaving me for a lover you got on the side?’

‘It’s not safe for Patty,’ continued Marie, ignoring his joke. ‘I could hurt him without even realising I was doing it. I don’t want to do anything like Dad did to Toby.’

‘Four things: one, Patrick isn’t a dog; two, you aren’t your father; three, you aren’t obsessed with faeries,’ said Gerald. ‘And four, you belong at home with your husband and son.’

‘You know there will come a time when that won’t be the case. You need to promise me something,’ begged Marie. ‘Promise me that if I ever put Patty in danger again you’ll arrange for me to go into a home. We need to do what’s best for Patty.’

‘Love, having you in our home is what’s best for everyone.’

Marie stared at her husband with imploring eyes. ‘Gerald … please … no more jokes …’

Gerald swallowed the lump which had formed in his throat. ‘All right, I will.’ He gave a shaky laugh. ‘But you wait and see – it’ll be a promise that won’t need to be kept.’

***

Within a year, Gerald had no choice but to make good on his vow. On a cold winter night, when the temperature was just two degrees Celsius, he woke to find himself alone in bed. He soon discovered that both Marie and Patrick were missing.

An hour after Gerald began his search, the emergency services and fifty volunteers helped him scour the ten acre farm and surrounding bushland. At four in the morning, Marie and Patrick were discovered two kilometres away, shivering beside a creek that they had been attempting to cross. By the time Gerald heard of their discovery, they had already been rushed to hospital suffering from hyperthermia.

When Gerald reached the emergency department, he was confronted by the local police sergeant.

‘Gezza, I need a word.’

‘Not now, Pete,’ croaked Gerald, his eyes red. ‘I’ve got to see my family …’

The sergeant used his bulky six-foot frame to block Gerald’s path. ‘I’m here on an official capacity.’ He removed his white cap and his silver moustache ruffled as he spoke. ‘But as a mate, I need a private word with you.’

Gerald glanced at Peter’s pale blue shirt and navy pants, only just realising he was in uniform.

‘Can’t it wait?’ asked Gerald. ‘I need to see them …’

‘They’re both still in the ICU and can’t have visitors,’ Peter explained and nodded toward a closed door. ‘We have time for a chat. You go in and I’ll get you a hot coffee.’

‘All right,’ sighed Gerald, heading into the room.

He sat in a lime green chair at a scarred wooden table. The once white walls were stained yellow and mildew dotted one of the corners.

Peter came in carrying two styrofoam cups and nudged the door shut behind him. He took the chair opposite his old friend, chucked his hat onto the table and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his front pocket.

‘Smoke?’

‘No thanks. Marie and I quit ten years ago,’ said Gerald. ‘What’s all this about, Pete? With the night I’m having, I’m not really in the mood to chew the fat with anyone.’

The sergeant lit up a cigarette, took a long drag and met Gerald’s gaze. ‘Right, I won’t beat around the bush with you. It was dumb luck that both your wife and boy were found alive. Another half an hour and we’d have found corpses.’

‘I know,’ muttered Gerald, the whites of his eyes pink. ‘You can’t fathom how grateful I am to you and all the volunteers that came out tonight—’

‘Mate, you’d have done the same for any of us. You’re always ready to lend a hand when needed.’ Peter cleared his throat. ‘Gary Walden asked me to have a chinwag with you about your circumstances.’

Gerald crossed his arms. ‘You tell Gary that this is none of his concern.’

‘Mate, I know you don’t like him, but he has certain responsibilities that he has to uphold—’

‘Bullshit!’ snapped Gerald, jumping to his feet. ‘He’s a low down, good-for-nothing politician! His only goal is to swindle farmers out of their land—’

‘Gerald, he wants to call social services,’ interrupted Peter. ‘He doesn’t think Patrick is safe and as much as I hate to admit it, I agree with him.’

‘Wh–what?’ stammered Gerald, his knees weak. He steadied himself on the table. ‘You’re meant to be a mate and here you are stabbing me in the back.’

‘I am your mate,’ said Peter. ‘That’s why I’ve persuaded him to hold off for the time being. Gerald, please hear me out.’

Gerald resumed his seat.

‘I know Marie hasn’t quite been herself,’ said Peter. ‘There have been reports made of her doing odd things.’

‘That’s not a crime.’

‘No,’ admitted Peter. ‘But the incidents are concerning. She’s been enquiring after people who have been dead for thirty years, and last week she phoned me in a tizzy because she thought her car