Crack! The fire-axe sunk into the last zombie’s head. It collapsed with a grateful sigh.

‘Well done, young one,’ said the stranger. ‘You managed to keep your head when all about you were losing theirs.’ 

‘I suppose you think that’s funny?’ Zak groaned. He was beyond tired, he hadn’t the energy to argue any more. ‘Pointy-eared ponce.’

The corners of the elf’s mouth twitched. ‘At least your swearing has more poetry, now.’ The elf hitched up his Kevlar vest and pulled out a small vial. ‘Here, take this.’ He handed it to Zak. ‘It’s a restorative. You need to stay alert until we get to the pick-up point.’

Zak popped the lid and it flopped on its string. He took a sip, and liked it. Then he chugged it down. The elf laughed, a sound of happiness rather than mockery. ‘Feel better?’ he asked.

Zak couldn’t believe how he felt. His muscles suddenly turned from water to solidity, and his mind cleared the fog of violence and horror. ‘Yeah,’ he admitted, ‘That’s powerful stuff!’ He took a deep breath. They started walking along the deserted country track, away from the old barn. The sky was just starting to lighten in the east, picking out the horizon of the Kent countryside.

‘I shall be sure to tell Teleriel. She’s been working on those potions for a long time.’

‘Well, bless her. Who did you say you were again?’

‘My name is Fengon. I’m with MHI. Come on, it’s 15 minutes to the extraction point, and you’ve done more than I ever would have thought.’

‘Are you with some government agency?’

The elf laughed again. He always seemed to find something to laugh at, and it was nearly always Zak. ‘Heavens, no! If I was, I’d be asking you to fill in a form or something right now, wouldn’t I?’

It was Zak’s turn to chuckle. ‘So what’s MHI?

‘We are… bounty hunters, I think the term is. That’s what the other humans I know tell me. We hunt down monsters, and the taxpayer pays us a bounty. It’s a business.’

‘How do I know you’re not a monster, too?’

‘Good question – you’re learning. Well, monsters don’t need firepower. They’re mostly strong enough to do their killing… without technology.’

‘I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share any of that technology with me?’

‘Sorry, no. But stick with me, and we’ll see what we can do. You handled that fire-axe so well, I think the boss might even offer you a job.’

‘Will I get some of those guns?’

‘As many and as varied as you like!’ Fengon stopped, held up his hand. There was silence as they listened. Faintly on the dawn wind came the sound of eerie music.

‘You can’t be serious!’ Fengon sighed. ‘These fairies don’t know what’s good for them.’ He pulled out a small handgun. ‘All right, I’m going to make an exception, now. Those fairies might be peed off we disposed of those zombies. They were probably the ones who re-animated the corpses. Your axe was great for zombies, but fairies need something smaller and faster. Here, take this.’ And he handed Zak a small, beautiful sword-like weapon. ‘This is a dirk. Try not to stick me or yourself with it.’

Zak took the pretty weapon. ‘Is this silver?’

‘No. That’s for werewolves and speaking undead. Iron is fatal to fairies.’ Fengon took out a small handgun.

‘Ah – of course.’

‘Just loosen your belt and hang the axe on it, you’ll need…’

Suddenly the pre-dawn sky exploded in a riot of colourful clouds. Zak gaped as he looked around at the light display around him. ‘What is this?’

Fengon looked at him intently. ‘What is what?’

‘Don’t you see all this – colour?’ Zak sounded drunk to himself.

‘Shit!’ was all Fengon came up with. ‘It’s a Glamour, don’t look at it!’ 

‘All the pretty colours,’ Zak said, giggling. He looked around, then back at Fengon – but in Fengon’s place stood a horror, laval red eyes glowing from under a rotten hood of musty cloth. Zak realised with growing horror that the elf was a monster – he just hadn’t seen it before! He had to get away! It was just too horrible to see. If the elf caught him, he could be eaten alive, or his soul sucked out of his body, like a fly in a spider’s web!

Sobbing with terror, Zak dropped axe and dirk and ran! He ran down the lane to a place where a copse of trees grew close to the road. The elf followed him, calling out in a horrible, low-pitched bellow like a devil in Hell! There was a faint light in among the trees, and Zak made for it. Anything but the dark and the horrible elf!

In the deep dark of the trees, Zak was utterly blind. The light he’d thought he saw vanished. He stumbled on blindly in a funk of terror. Suddenly came a flare of ghostly blue light like a lost soul, and a small, beautiful child stood before him. His eyes were bright, his expression reassuring, and he looked like an angel. ‘Over here!’ called the child in a hoarse whisper. Zak lurched  towards him, but tripped. His head hit something hard, and the world dissolved into sparks.

Fengon ran into the copse. The pre-dawn dark was no obstacle to elven eyes. Too late, he saw the fey flash of deathly blue. He aimed his pistol, but hesitated. Zak floundered in the dark between them. All too soon, all was gone: the blue glow, the fairy, and Zak.

Fengon’s shoulders slumped in defeat. The filthy little Fey had won, this time. Zak, if he was lucky, would spend the last years of his youth as a slave to the fairies, blissfully happy, profoundly stupid and utterly forgetful of where he had come from. Then, they would kill him, either as a gladiator in their entertainment, or given as food for a worse beast they kept for dark purposes of their own. Fengon could not follow. The unholy magic of the elves who had never left the shadowlands was forever opaque to him.

‘Oh, Ero,’ prayed Fengon, ‘let the traps set by evil recoil on their own heads.’ Best not to wish any more evil than had already been done.

He took out a mobile device, tapped a few times on the screen, pressed Send. Every point of Fey magic could tell a story, and one day… one day, that story would lead to their downfall. For that was the reason – or one of the reasons – why the Elves of Avalon had come back.

This was another response to DanielandAngel's weekly writing contest on Minds.com. The prompt was, anything to do with a forest. As it turned out, the forest was only in the background of this story. It's based on an earlier version of a chapter in The Ironwood Staff.

It was dawn when the barking began.

Normally, baboons barking isn't a big deal. It means they're in trouble - same as hyenas laughing. They can be pests, so anything that thins their numbers saves us the trouble. Now, when you're an old soldier like me, you don't forget the wars. Just because I have a peg leg these days, doesn't mean I can't remember... or think. And, this made me wish I still had some kind of weapon. But no-one needs a blade in the Monastery. The Militia was away, fighting Bashmuul the Foot and his orc horde. The barking sound was only faint in the early morning. Then, after I'd done the morning post, I was taking the weight off my leg in the cloister, it came again. But this... this was LOUD. I had ever heard it that loud before! The pale, dusty winter sunlight suddenly felt cold.

Curiosity got the better of me. I should have gone inside, like a small part of me wanted to; but no, I had to lever myself up with my crutch and totter off to the corner gate, the one leading to the herb garden. The sound seemed to come from there. I shuffled through the cold stone corridor, shielding my eyes against the sun shining into it. I looked over the herb garden, towards the stream at the bottom. The bank on the far side was lined with thorny acacias. Just here the road ran right along the top. I saw a man, riding hard. What was a Dukesman doing here? Then I saw it, and my insides turned to water.

Loping along behind the fleeing horseman was a monstrous baboon! Man-height at the shoulder, its fur dusty grey-black, limbs like tree-trunks. Its lips were peeled back in a snarl, showing fangs easily as long as my forearm! Like most people, I had grown up hearing stories, like how a half-tame one could be sitting placidly, and without warning, gut a dog with their claws. What a giant one could do... As I watched, this monster gave up chasing the horse. It paused, puffing in the trees, and looked down at the water. It started climbing down the bank.

It was too much. I turned and frantically started moving back down the corridor. Halfway along, I realised I should close the gate. I turned, only to see the baboon, standing in the herb garden, small, close-set eyes looking through the gate, right at me!

Stuff the gate, I thought! I couldn't move fast enough. The paved pathway across the cloister had never seemed so long. My treacherous peg-leg made a steady clunk along the paving stones, even as my crutch thumped in counterpoint. I daren't even look back as I made it to the four wide steps up to the Abbot's house. The doors were thick, as befitted an Abbot, but stood wide open in the sunlight. Battling up the steps, I risked a look back. It was in the cloister! It looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. I gained the door, swinging myself around the jamb. I pulled the left door out, and it creaked. Crashing it into place, I shoved the bolt down. I crossed to the other door. The baboon was moving towards me! Almost crying with fear, I pulled frantically on the door. It swung, but the baboon was there! I shoved the door closed, but the baboon's hand was in the way! The monster gave a roar of pain as the heavy door thumped closed, bouncing off the massive claws. They were yanked back, and I bolted the second door closed. I relaxed against them, looking around at the entrance to the Abbot's hall. Then there was a shock, as the baboon attacked the thing that had hurt him. The doors bent with the blows.

I'd had enough. I had to get further in, even if the Abbot was in his pyjamas! I looked around. There was another door to the kitchens, to the right. The door opened, fast. A monk suddenly appeared, waving at me. 'Tom, get yer old arse in here, now!'