The Erlking

Anyway, some people thought that The Erlking was going to take Vernon’s soul – he isn’t. He’s going to take Dudley’s. The Erlking has a boy he likes; so he’s going to take away a boy Vernon likes.
Thanks for the reviews guys!

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Words: 2,879
Chapter 3
Prince of the Forest
April 1986.

The mist was still swirling around the feet of the Huntsmen. It rose and flowed, like a river in a storm, swelling and cresting against flesh and falling back to the ground with the imaginary sound of thunder. Or at least that’s what Harry thought it was doing. He still lay in the Erlking’s arm, but his face was no longer pressed to the creature’s neck. Instead, his chin rested on the shoulder of the King, while he peered over at the mist that ate at the Thestral’s hooves, devouring them from sight. He shuddered lightly, and pulled the cloak of human skin tighter around him.

The Erlking looked fondly down on him, before tugging at the reins of his steed. The Thestral stopped and stood unnaturally still as the Erlking took Harry from his lap and placed him in the arms of a woman who now stood beside him.

Harry looked around as the Erlking dismounted. They were in a clearing, deep in the forest where he’d been abandoned. There were tents of some sort, erected in threes in various patches through the clearing. Small fires burnt beside the tents, and Huntsmen crowded around them, despite the fact that they could no longer feel the cold. Harry looked enviously at the men standing close to the flames and shivered. The woman who held him looked up at the Erlking for permission. When the creature nodded, she walked towards one of the fires and placed the child on her lap when she sat on the floor. The men who had been sitting there, stood and walked away.

“Why did they do that?” Harry asked quietly, holding his small hands out to the flames.

The woman smiled. She wasn’t a stunning beauty, but she was pretty in her own right. Harry thought she looked like one of those TV mums; they ones who always smiled and sung her children to sleep at night, while spending the whole day baking for her husband. She was homely, and warm and soft, and from the look of her, Harry assumed that she was safe. Aunt Petunia certainly didn’t look like this woman. The only thing they had in common was light brown hair.

“They show respect to the Erlking’s beloved, and his daughter.” She mentioned herself last; because of course Harry was the most important thing in the Erlking’s life right then.

“You’re one of his daughters?” Harry turned around to grin at her excitedly. She nodded, and his smile widened. “My name is Harry. What’s yours?”

Her eyes softened at his smile, and she grinned widely back at him. “Genetrix,” she answered softly, her voice warm. “My King has work to do, beloved child. My sisters and I will care for you.”

As she spoke, two other women came closer to him. One was older than Genetrix, and she too was pretty with her long dark red hair like crimson silk and her china white face. She gave a small curtsey and held her hand out to be shaken. As Harry took it, she said, “My name is Aduro, enchanting child.”

“I am Presul, it is an honour dear boy.” The other woman, not more than a girl really, was the youngest of the three. Now she was stunningly beautiful, and she began swaying softly as Harry reached out a hand for her to shake. Harry was only five years old, but already he could see that she was an amazingly good-looking female. He was hard pressed to look away from her. It was only when Aduro began to hum under her breath that Harry’s eyes were dragged away from the Succubae and drawn to the Siren.

Genetrix sighed and lightly touched both her sisters on the arms. Presul flicked her long blond hair out of her eyes, and smiled at the child. Harry smiled warmly back. “Be careful with him,” Genetrix warned her sisters, as Presul began to sway again. “She likes to dance,” the brunette whispered to the dark haired boy.

From the other side of the clearing, the King of the Alders watched his children interact with his beloved boy. He smiled under his hood and turned back to his Thestral. Once he had mounted the horse, he looked at the handful of Huntsmen standing by his side. Each of them fell to one knee as he turned his gaze upon them. “We ride tonight, to Little Whinging.”

An almighty cheer went up, like a rocket to the sky, loud and explosive and it made Harry jump in fright. The Erlking turned his steed, and with the sound of thunderbolts, the Huntsmen rode out, their horses’ hooves echoing like gunshots through the forest and the streets. The daughters watched them go, and each smiled serenely at the other, before returning their attentions to the enchanting, delicate child seated in the Mother’s lap.

XXX

As always with a Hunt the Dark Faerie scouted ahead. It was they who sought out the awake and restless. It was they who led the Huntsmen and the Hounds to their quarry. They were small creatures, no bigger than an adults thumb. They were all black; their skin was black, their pupils were black and stood out sharply against the whites of their eyes. They wore dresses made out of dead, withered leaves held together by thorny vines and briars. If they were to rub against you, their clothing would cut your skin. Which was usually what they wanted, as the Dark Faerie fed of the blood of humans. A handful of Faerie would drain an adult drier than the desert almost as quickly as a bloodthirsty vampire. Small, translucent black wings sprouted from their shoulder blades, fluttering lightly in the wind and mist as they flew with the Hunt.

The Thestrals galloped behind the Faerie. Their eyes glowing red and rolling madly in their sockets. From their nostrils, with every breath, spurted streaks of fire, singeing any Faerie who flew too close. Their tails flew out behind them, thin and skeletal, like a demented whip. Their wings were kept tucked to their sides, because their riders did prefer to ride.

The Erlking rode at the head, his Huntsmen were spread out behind him in diamond formation. Each held the reins with one hand, and a weapon of choice with the other. The one robes in Mermaid scales was directly to the Erlking’s right, while the Thestral clothes rider was to the left. The Huntsman with the centaur skin cloak was behind the Erlking, with many more behind him. “Ramon,” the Erlking called and the Mermaid skinned rider rode ahead. The other two generals were named Galhar and Morfis. Galhar tightened his Thestral pelt cloak around his shoulders and waited for instructions.

When the Erlking called his name, he sped his horse up, catching onto Ramon. “We ride with the Hunt!” He cried as Ramon gave a blood curdling war cry. They stopped at the edge of Privet Drive, waiting until the other Huntsmen caught up. They were scouting along with the Dark Faerie for those who were awake.

At their feet, the Ghost Hounds gave pathetic wines and barks, each demanded blood and meet to quench their thirst. Unfortunately for them, this wasn’t a Hunt for food. Not unless the Hunt got lucky.

As it happened, they did.

There were at least five houses on the street where a child was still awake. That meant the Erlking could go to them, he could take them if he wanted. It also meant that, as the Erlking was invited inside, so were his Hunters. With smiles that would freeze the blood in your veins, Galhar and Ramon rode towards Number 18, while the Hounds followed Morfis to Number 2. The Hounds returned dripping blood, and Morfis was carrying nothing; the Hounds had obviously let themselves run wild. The Erlking looked disapproving, but said nothing. After all, there was a possibility that those people knew how his dear boy had been treated, and did nothing.

Galhar and Ramon each came back with someone thrown over their Thestral. One was a child, the other her mother. The other Huntsmen were sent to Number 10 and Number 23. The Erlking himself went to Number 4, Privet Drive.

He knocked lightly at Dudley’s bedroom window. When the boy did not answer, the mist slithered up the side of the house, creeping under the window ledge and squirming its way into the bedroom of the five-year-old boy. As the mist entered, so did the Erlking. His body seemed to blur and twist until he was one with the fog, and together they slithered inside the house.

Dudley was lying on his bed with the TV on. The volume was so loud that the Erlking actually flinched from the unnatural noise assaulting his ears. “Come to me, dear boy,” he whispered, his voice floating across the room as soft and inconsistent as lace, falling lightly into Dudley’s ears like rain. Each word dripped one by one, pouring over him until it was all Dudley was aware of. “Be with me, come with me. Come boy, embrace me.”

Dudley moved: jerkily standing from the bed and making his way towards the shrouded figure in a cloak that had turned dark with age. The Erlking bent down slightly, so his mouth was to Dudley’s ear. The blond boy touched the fur on the cloak lightly. The Erlking smiled, amused, as Dudley’s hand drew back and he gasped. The scalps were still tinged with red, the hair hanging on in clumps, matted with blood where it touched the skin. Dudley shuddered and tried to take a step back, but the voice of the Erlking assaulted his ears again, and he was powerless to resist.

He carried on forward, his arms moving to wrap around the Erlking’s shoulders. The King placed his hands around Dudley’s waist, pulling the boy against his chest. His head lowered, his red eyes – hidden under the hood – were trained on the blond boy’s lips.

The moment their lips brushed Dudley tried to pull away, but the Erlking held him tight. His tongue parted the child’s lips and forced its way inside. Slowly the Erlking began to devour the boy’s mouth, and with it, his soul.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Vernon and Petunia Dursley frowned simultaneously as screams began sounding from the house next door. The Dursley’s didn’t particularly like the people at Number 2, because their garden was always nicer than Petunia’s one. But, they were screaming. Any normal person would be worried.

“Shut up, I can’t hear the TV!” Vernon roared at the wall that separated the two houses.

More screams started. This time they were from outside the house. Petunia walked over to the window, brushing down her skirt as she peered through the net curtains. Mrs Lewis and her daughter from Number 18 were lying in the street right outside the Dursley’s front garden. The young girl was naked and spread eagle while one of the Huntsmen enjoyed himself within her. The Hounds were holding the mother back; occasionally one would lunge forwards and dig its claws or its teeth into the woman, who shrieked, before being ordered away.

The Dursley’s didn’t know the man who lived at Number 23 as he had just moved in. However, his two children went to playschool with Dudley. But that didn’t really matter, as the man was hardly recognizable now. The Huntsmen had beaten him to death with their weapons. A mace was still embedded in the side of his head. As Vernon joined his wife at the window, a Hunter placed his foot on the man’s neck and yanked the mace out, taking half of his skull with it.

Petunia almost screamed as she saw two half naked men drag Miss Williamson, and her younger sister Anne, out of Number 10 and over to the Lewis’. Anne, who was only twelve, was left beside the girl being raped. The Huntsman, who dragged her there, sat on her legs and smirked lewdly at Miss Williamson, before tearing the clothes off of the child. As he made the little girl scream, his companion set the Dark Faerie on Miss Williamson. She cried and begged as the Faerie began to bite her and rub against her, their clothing tearing her skin and drawing blood.

Petunia and Vernon gagged silently while backing away from the window. They could still hear the screams, but now they couldn’t see anything. Only the child in Number 2 had been awake. But he was asleep now – forever.

A loud thump echoed through the house and the Dursley adults ran up the stairs as quickly as they could. Petunia screamed loud enough to drown out their dying neighbours, as she took in the sight of her son, pale and slumped over on the floor. Standing above him was the Erlking, his teeth flashing menacingly from beneath his hood. He raised a hand, in which there was a dagger. Petunia watched the blood drip from the blade before her eyes found the cut on her son’s forehead.

It was shaped like a lightening bolt.

Vernon Dursley fainted dead away. The Erlking gave a bellowing laugh as the woman sank to her knees and desperately tried to rouse her dead child. “And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ.”1 The Erlking whispered, before leaving the room through the window he entered. Behind him, the curtains flapped in the breeze and the mist swirled around the room before crawling after her master. The dead child and his family remained in the room that would forever smell of mould and decomposing leaves.

Whether dead or alive, the Huntsmen left their quarry when the Erlking stepped foot outside of the house. As one, they redressed and mounted their Thestrals. The horses trampled the few who remained alive in pools of their own blood as they galloped away, or the Hounds savaged them, as they lingered a little longer to finish their meals.

The Erlking led the Hunting party back to the clearing in the forest – and to his beloved.

XXX

Back in the clearing, the daughters were busy reading Harry. And no, they were not reading to him. They were reading him. Genetrix had her eyes closed, her hands pressed to Harry’s cheeks while Presul clutched both of Harry’s hands in hers and Aduro held her hands against Harry’s chest, his heart.

Aduro hummed lightly as they tried to read his magic and his aura. It was there, within him, deep inside of the child, but so many years away from magic of any kind had repressed the innate power within the child. And it was the daughters’ task to bring that power to the forefront. By reading Harry’s magic, they could see how powerful he would be, how much training he’d need, how useful he would be. And they also find out about his parents.

Genetrix gasped as she Saw a handsome stag and a beautiful doe standing side by side beside a Werewolf and a Grim. Genetrix knew this must be Harry’s family, but the people he was taken from were not magical in any way. His parents were deer – she delved in deeper and smiled happily as she caught sight of a faun.

Her father was the King of the Alders, and in time, his beloved would be the Prince of the Forest.

And so they began to teach Harry how to reach inside of himself and take hold of his magic. They taught him how to use his magic, after taking hold of it, how to push and pull it, to shape what he wanted. With the image in his head they helped him use his magic to change his body.

When the Erlking arrived back with the Huntsmen he was met with the sight of his daughters dancing in a circle around his beloved boy. However, Harry wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a regal and exceptionally pretty faun with a white lightening bolt between his eyes.

The Erlking gave a small bow to the Prince of the Forest, and the faun dropped down on his front legs, and bound forward to lick at the Erlking’s face.

“I am Audenarde,” the Erlking whispered, pushing down his hood. His face was china white, his lips a blood red, as were his eyes. His nose was thin and his cheekbones high, and from his forehead sprouted two curved horns that were sharpened into lethal points. “King of the Alders,” he finished, and every creature in the clearing bowed before him, and the branches of the trees trembled as if in fear.

“All hail,” they cried together, the wind howled along in chorus.

“Can we go home, please?” Harry asked, having changed back. He was naked, and the Erlking took off his cloak and wrapped it around his beloved, covering him from the hungry eyes of his servants. The Erlking remounted his Thestral and bent to catch Harry under the arms before lifting the boy onto his lap. The Huntsmen followed.

Magic packed their belongings and put out the fires, and one by one the riders and their steeds disappeared into the thickening mist, and reappeared on the other side.

In the Eternal Lodge.

XXX

1. The Erl-King by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

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TRANSLATIONS:
Matris, Mater Matris, Genetrix – Mother - Brown
Aduro, Ustilo Ustulo – Singer - Red
Presul, Praesul Presul – Dancer - Blond
Audenarde - Alders (as in, King of the)


TBC
Words:
Chapter 4
Manhunt
Coming soon….