Leaf and Branch (New Druids Series Vol 1 & 2)

by Donald D. Allan

  As the roaring in the ears of the Archbishop subsided, he heard cries and shouts echoing down the Church hallway outside his office. He then heard the unmistakable metallic sound of a sword on sword but dismissed it. Surely not, he thought. Not here in the Church that is not allowed; swords are not permitted past the sacred entrance.

  He heard muffled voices and cries growing louder and then he heard the voice of the King. With a roar his King strode into his office and stopped, standing just inside the entrance looking around for the occupant. The Archbishop looked up at his King and then over to Ronald. They must look the pair lying on the carpet in front of his desk. I should stand for my liege.

  "What in God's name are you doing sitting on your ass?" yelled the King.

  The Archbishop just gawked. He now noticed that the King was clutching his sword tightly in his hand and blood ran down its length to drip to the stone under his feet.

  "Your Eminence!" barked the King. "Get up!" The King strode forward with wild eyes and reached out to grab the Archbishop.

  Ronald cried out and pitched himself forward to place himself between the Archbishop and the King.

  Instinctively, the King impaled the man through his stomach and drove the sword up into his chest. He grabbed the priest's frock by the collar and held him for a moment, growling. Ron twisted his head to look to the Archbishop, and the Archbishop watched as the look of pain and horror in his lover's eyes dulled to nothingness. The King spilled the priest off his sword.

  The Archbishop followed the priest's graceless fall to the floor and sat staring transfixed at the dead eyes of the young man lying beside him. That can't be right, he thought. Ronald's okay, he just isn't moving, was his next thought. He was just alive. You can't be dead that quick. He looked searchingly to his King for answers and was shocked to see the insane face that glared back at him.

  "Oh, for God's sake! On your feet, man! You're needed!"

  "Wh–wha?" stammered the Archbishop. He looked over at Ronald but he still hadn't moved. He had to help him. But he couldn't seem to move his own feet. My love is dead? That isn't possible. He was just alive. I had been speaking with him. "Ronald?"

  The King reached down and hauled the startled Archbishop to his feet and only let go when he seemed to be able to support his own weight. "Your man, Bengold, he's a traitor to the Church and the Realm! Follow me. We need to put this down at once!" He strode to the door and stopped and looked back at the Archbishop. "Now, your Eminence. We must be decisive!"

  What followed next was a blur of events. When they emerged into the gathering chamber of the Church, the Archbishop was startled to find that people from all over the castle had gathered there for guidance. They cried out to him for guidance but he ignored them. He could see bodies everywhere. Heads were missing from some! Surely this is some jest? Nobody just cuts off people's heads. That's not right. He thought then of Ronald and pushed aside the notion that he was dead. He can't be, he thought with conviction. Ronald? No.

  The passage here was a nightmare. The King had burst out of the Archbishop's office, trailed closely by his personal guard. His sword was crimson red with blood, leaving a trail along the stone floor. When they entered the hall, the nearby women started screaming in terror and scrambled to move away from the King. A panic almost set in then but the King screamed orders to his men and dozens of guards flooded in from the corridors outside the church and herded the occupants away and restored order amid the crying and screaming. The more unruly were struck down with little thought. Why were they killing some of them? They're only scared, not a threat...

  The Archbishop gazed around in numb shock. His eyes strayed to the bodies on the floor and he recognised some of them. The guards are killing people. They are killing people! He watched as someone moved toward the King only to be struck down by a guard. That looked too easy. The man had been alive. The sword had gone inside him, but only for a moment. A short moment. Too short to kill him, surely? But the man cried out and fell and then not moved. Like Ronald, he thought. He had to stop this madness! But he knew not how and he stumbled blindly after the back of the rapidly moving King. The Archbishop could see now that he was surrounded by guards and they herded him into the corridors racing somewhere with the King. Flashes of faces, torches bright in the early evening, guards fighting guards, the crushing sound of voices screaming in anger and pain overwhelmed him and he very nearly lost control of his bladder.

  Throughout the chaos, little bits of truth slowly pieced themselves together. Bengold had declared the heathen the victor in the Debate and had removed his robes of office before all who stood witness. The castle had erupted into violence. People supporting the heathens were openly fighting those who retained their Faith. It had spread into Munsten. Hatred for Bengold rose swiftly in the Archbishop and the implications of what was happening continued to be revealed. The King, who ruled and was granted his authority by virtue of God's graces and the Church, was now being threatened from within. The King fought for his crown.

  A period later, and he knew not how much time had passed, he stood in the large open courtyard of the castle beside the King. There, kneeling in front of the King, was Bishop Bengold. His clothes were torn on his body and he had been beaten. He was covered in filth and someone had cut his hair and beard from him in anger leaving deep cuts that still bled freely. His head was bowed but there was no mistaking him. The courtyard was filled with yelling and jeering people. They clustered in as close as they could and even sat up on the battlements and roofs of the buildings that surrounded the area. The were screaming for the blood of Bengold.

  The Archbishop looked around in wonder. These were his most devote flock in the Church. And now they surrounded him with such anger; thankfully not directed at him. There was fear there, too. He could taste it and smell it. It filled his senses and wiped clear his thoughts. There was a sense that something significant was about to happen and an anticipation filled the air and squeezed out the fear. Perhaps it was a sense of more violence yet to come that was unstoppable, almost destined to occur.

  He struggled to understand what he was feeling and seeing. The horror built within him to a point of breaking. He had lost his love. Ronald was gone. His Church was in ruin and it had happened while he was Archbishop. History would record him as the Archbishop who failed the Church. He who had failed God and his King. The weight of this realisation threatened to choke the life from him. He could see no escape. Panic devoured him. The taste of fear and horror of witnessing the senseless deaths narrowed his vision to a small tunnel of light. He fought to free his mind. He shook uncontrollably and he clutched his head in a silent scream. The pressure built unbearably. God! Answer me! I need your guidance! Suddenly, like the breaking of a soap bubble, his thoughts cleared and a profound sense of detachment filled him.

  He felt the presence of God all around him. God Himself was watching what was happening in this very Courtyard. Of course He was! All this was meant to be and God's wrath would be swift and violent. That was God's way! He met evil with death! He slew his enemies and blessed those that remained. Death was the doorway to Heaven and the afterlife! The Archbishop looked around at the sheep that surrounded the disgraced Bishop and knew that should God command it, he would righteously strike them all down and find redemption in their blood. An ecstasy splashed through the Archbishop like a cooling breeze and stole his breath away. Such rapture! Everything around him was nothing! Only God mattered! He would strike down all that stood in his way. He would raze the very earth to fulfill God's desire. A loud ringing filled his ears, the hairs all over his body stood up, and an unmistakable erection pushed painfully hard against his underclothes. He was being filled with God's love! Lust and hunger filled him and he arched his back with the intensity of it. He wanted it to last forever. And then, with an almost audible snap, the feeling was gone, and he staggered at the loss.

  Despite the loud ringing in his ears, the Archbishop heard a sharp intake of breath near him and glanced ov
er to the source of the sound and spied the heathen Benjamin Erwin standing only a few people away from him. Benjamin was staring at him in alarm. This heathen was the worst kind of evil; he would soon die at his hands. Seth had explained what this man truly was. The secret of the druids. This was God's plan. His purpose was to seek them all out and eradicate them from the earth. To rip the Tree from the earth, roots and all. The Archbishop imagined how he would take this man's life and his excitement returned and he moaned as he ejaculated into his underclothes. The Archbishop wanted this moment to last forever, and he thanked God. Ronald and Benjamin were forgotten, and the Archbishop turned his attention back to the King and the kneeling figure of the Bishop.

  Benjamin stared at horror at the Archbishop. He had felt and heard his connection to the earth snap. The man that remained was no longer the man he was before and Benjamin knew what he had become. All creatures on earth were attached to Gaea. By the Word, all creatures on the earth are Gaea! And yet the man who was Archbishop had just had that tie severed by Gaea. He was now adrift on the world – separated and no longer protected by her presence. He was aos'si, one of the sluagh sidhe. He had read of them in the manuscript. Nothing grounded the Archbishop to the earth and Benjamin knew fear. All around him he could sense the people. They were born of Gaea and received sustenance from Gaea. Without that tie, life should not be able to continue. The Archbishop was no longer physically there. Years of sensing everything around him at all times warred with what his eyes were telling him.

  He expected the Archbishop to drop lifeless to the ground, but he remained standing with a face flushed red with clearly orgasmic delight. Why Gaea would sever this man from her was beyond his understanding. He sensed only satisfaction from her. His attempts to find the Cill Darae had failed. She had left with his wife and daughter just as she said she would. No worry, he thought, I know where they went. I'll rejoin them soon enough.

  The events of the last few hours were muddled. He could look back at the events and see how Gaea had served him up to his role, and he had performed it perfectly well without knowing it. Now he worried for his friend and grieved for the poor man. There was nothing he could do. The mob tasted blood, and they felt that killing the Bishop would correct what had happened.

  He could sense the intent of the King and knew nothing could sway the desires of the hundreds of people that now bore witness and craved the outcome. These were the deniers. The last remnants of the Church. Those who refused to believe the words Gaea had spoken through the Bishop. Benjamin could not use his powers to help here. They didn't work that way. His powers were for maintaining the balance. It was also forbidden and sworn in his vow to Gaea. He also knew that Gaea would deny him any attempt to intervene. All the events of the last few hours had pushed him here – to this Courtyard – so that he could bear witness in silence and sorrow. His impotence filled him with shame. The Bishop was a good man. He had an intelligence that was rare these days. And he was doomed. He only hoped his death would be swift and painless.

  The King strutted around the poor figure of the Bishop and repeatedly pointed at him with his bloodied sword as he spoke to the crowd. Words of hatred. Accusations of betrayal to the crown and the Realm. All words to stir up the crowd. Benjamin could sense the anger in the King and how much he enjoyed playing to the crowd. Through his ties to Gaea he could also feel just how much more the King felt. Anger, yes, but deeper than that was a profound fear. A fear that drove the King to commit whatever he felt was necessary to protect his Faith and safeguard his rule of the Kingdom. He saw the Bishop as nothing more than an immediate threat and a means to an end he had not clearly thought through. He would remove that threat and hope to use it to solidify his position. And he would remove it in a way that no one would ever forget. He would make an example out of this man.

  The King cried out and demanded oil. The Bishop jerked his head up upon hearing the word and looked around in panic. The King must have told someone of his needs before this assembly, for a gallon barrel of oil appeared almost immediately. The King grabbed the small wooden keg and brutally slashed at the top, barely missing his own hand. The power of his anger shattered the wood top, and the King hoisted the barrel up in the air and poured the contents over the head of the Bishop. Thick oil poured down the Bishop and Benjamin watched as he tried to wipe the oil off himself. He pleaded directly with the King. His voice was high–pitched and verging on hysterical. He screamed for mercy from the crowd. The crowd roared in approval and the King smiled at the praise.

  The King stepped in front of the Bishop and stood with his arms and sword outstretched, turning slowly until he had captured the gaze of the entire audience. The crowd grew quiet and some near the back pushed back to escape. The crowd was now starting to understand that their King had lost his mind. The reality of what was about to happen was too much for most of them.

  The King called out and a burning torch was handed to him. A small burning ember dislodged from the torch with the movement and drifted down toward the oil that pooled under the Bishop. The Bishop tried to squirm away from the small ember but the oil caused him to slip and his cries renewed. All who noted its fall watched and a collective exhale occurred when it touched the oil and went out.

  The King had missed this minor drama and continued to speak to the audience. Eyes turned to stare at the sight of the King. Few understood his words. They were now the words of a madman. The King had lost his senses and some of the people began to move away from him in fear. Benjamin clearly heard what the King declared: he had just sentenced the Bishop to death for the crime of abandoning his Faith and the Church.

  Benjamin was frozen in place watching the insanity of the scene play out in front of him and he thought furiously. The King had struck down and killed his own subjects with abandon. And now he stood there holding the bloody sword and a torch he meant to use to burn a Bishop of the Church to death. He had ordered his own guard to kill his own subjects. The only crimes committed here today were those of the King and select members of his guard.

  Thinking of the guard, he glanced over to spy Major Bill Redgrave standing near his senior officers. Bill was one of the few honest members of the King's Guard and by the clench of his jaw, he did not approve of what was happening here and now. How does one stand up to your sworn King in front of his subjects? Subjects he knows are in a near frenzy? Benjamin didn't know the answer to that, but he knew suddenly that Bill Redgrave might soon figure something out.

  Benjamin watched as the King turned to the recoiling figure soaked in oil in front of him. The Bishop fell to his back and held up his hands in front of him, pleading. Benjamin watched as if from a great distance as the King tossed the torch onto the Bishop. It seemed to fall so slowly, but as surely as a stone falls to the ground when released, the torch fell to land at the feet of the Bishop. It lay sputtering in the oil for a mere second and then with a soft whoosh of sound, the oil ignited and rapidly spread up the prone form of the Bishop and across the puddle of oil on the ground that surrounded him.

  The King stepped quickly away from the oil and checked the stone pavement around him for oil that might reach him. The Bishop was screaming in fervour now and beating at the flames. Benjamin could sense that the pain of the fire had not yet touched him. His screams were primal fear alone, and it tore at his heart. The Bishop batted vainly at the flames and ended up spreading them more quickly. It was clear when the first touch of burning pain hit the Bishop. In an instant the Bishop was transformed into a screaming banshee although his scream lasted only for a moment – his voice was torn from him. All watched in horror as the Bishop inhaled to scream again and the flames filled his lungs.

  Benjamin could no longer stand apart from the scene. His power called out to him to aid this poor man. He moved quickly and weaved past the guard that protected the perimeter that surrounded the Bishop and King. He had to reach his friend and end his pain.

  The Archbishop could not believe what he was seeing. Unabashedly, he st
ared in fascination as his Bishop was consumed in the flames. If anyone had chanced to turn from the macabre scene to observe the Archbishop, they would have been shocked to see an almost feral and hungry look consuming him. The Archbishop watched in fascination and glee as the man's hair disappeared in a burst of flame and his face erupted red with bursting blisters like pork fat in a fire. God rewarded his witness of the events with strong feelings of orgasmic bliss and he almost fell to his knees in prayer of gratitude. A movement out of the corner of his eyes pulled his vision to watch amazed as Benjamin pushed past the guards that ringed the scene to run to the side of the burning Bishop. The vision of what occurred next would remain forever burned in the eyes of the Archbishop.

  The heretic Benjamin strode with purpose through the inferno. All that watched swore later that the flames had not touched him. A few observers thought that it might be that the flames simply needed more than a few seconds to reach him or that he moved too fast. These thoughts also passed through the mind of the Archbishop but he had a unique vantage and could also see that where the heretic placed his feet that the flames were immediately extinguished. It was so visible that the lack of flames marked his passage like dark wet footprints on an oil covered stone floor. On reaching the Bishop, the heretic bent down and reached through the flames to grasp his shoulder and arm, holding firm to the writhing figure. The Bishop arched his back once more and then fell limp, his cries abandoned as he lay still. It was if the heretic had stolen his life from him.