by Roy Bright
Judas raises his head up and looks at him with venom in his eyes.
“…once I possess your mind, have broken you down into meaningless atoms, and completely own you, I will be in your head, and from that moment, everything you experience will be physical, it will be real, and when you fight me, it will be the end of you.”
Judas stands up. He rolls his neck from side to side and it cracks. He takes a deep breath and swallows hard. “We shall see, Azazel. But – when I figure you out entirely, then it is you who will be mine, and at that moment we will discuss the terms of your eternal servitude.”
Azazel laughs. It echoes and reverberates all around, bouncing off every surface. Then the chamber plummets into darkness save for a solitary beam of white light from above Judas, pinpointing him.
Somewhere, from out of the darkness, he hears singing – a woman’s singing. He moves toward it and light fills the chamber once again. This time, however, it is no longer a place hewn from rock and dirt, it is a home. The sound of singing drifts away and a woman approaches him. He recognizes her and bewilderment spreads across his face.
“Good morning, my love,” she says, smiling at him, “I didn’t expect to see you rise so early but I am glad you have, there is much to do. I haven’t finished making you breakfast yet though.”
He looks around the meager dwelling, nothing more than a hovel. “What? What is this? Where am I?”
“Are you feeling all right my love?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head, “I don’t understand. I was just doing something but now I seem to be struggling to remember what.”
“Doing something?” she says, smiling once more. “You were sleeping, that is what you were doing.” She walks over to a bland wooden table and picks up a bunch of flowers. “You must have been dreaming, my love; no doubt it was just a dream.” She smiles again. “Was it a nice dream? Was I in it?”
He shakes his head, unable to recall it or what he had just been doing. It bothers him. “I don’t know, I just can’t—”
“Well, never mind all of that now. Come, let us have breakfast and then you can be about your chores for the day. There is much to do and the animals need to be put out to pasture.”
He nods, still a little unsure of himself, and tries to think back but the remnants of what now must have been a dream are dissipating. “When is this?” he asks, clinging to his confusion.
She laughs and smells the flowers. “When? What an odd thing to say. Why, it’s Wednesday of course, you dolt.”
All protestations within his mind lift and familiarity hits him. He smiles. “Of course it is, Alice.” He rushes to her and lifts her into the air, laughing and squeezing her tight. He rests his left cheek against hers and closes his eyes, smelling her scent. “Of course it is.”
Twenty-Two
Brumleye, Lancashire, England – 1391
Judas dropped the spoon into the wooden bowl and it rattled, almost falling over the side, then took a deep breath and smiled as he patted his stomach. “Fit for a king so that was; fit for a king.”
Alice Cranshaw smiled as she placed a mug of milk down on the table in front of him and picked up the empty bowl. “Well then, my king, shouldn’t you be out tending to your royal subjects?”
“By royal subjects I assume you mean the pigs?”
“Indeed I do your Highness, indeed I do.”
He roared with laughter as he grabbed her, pulled her down onto his lap, and seated her upon his knee. He admired her face. He couldn’t remember a time without her or indeed having loved any woman as much as he loved her. Her beauty was surpassed only by her strength of character, and she knew how to get the best from him, how to make him feel human despite understanding the fundamental nature of what he was.
Since he landed upon these shores almost 100 years ago, he had been wandering, struggling to find his place within a land where being a foreigner with dark skin would see him treated with more than just scorn, while hiding his abilities from others. He had lived through dangerous times where the knowledge of what he could do, should he be caught, would find him at the center of an execution pyre, and he hated fire… hated it a great deal. Not that any of that would have mattered, no, it would just have meant having to move far away again, something which he had grown very tired of.
But as Judas looked into the face of his beloved Alice, he had felt that maybe it was different, that he would be allowed to experience a life of love however brief it may be as determined by her life cycle. That had made him happy a great deal.
Once more, he endured a time where the actions of man seemed to go unpunished. The notion had befallen him that the powers above had again retreated, leaving the world to its own devices, to figure out its own solutions. If that was the case, he intended to make the most of the lack of supervision.
“Come on then big man,” she said, snapping her fingers in front of him, “time to work. The pigs need sorting and the woodpile at the back has all but vanished. You will need to head into the forest and bring in a fresh log or two to work on.” She kissed him.
He closed his eyes, held the back of her head, and caressed her long dark hair.
“Oh be off with you,” she said, breaking the embrace and removing his hand from her hair. “I have only just gotten this how I like it.”
She stood up and he slapped her backside causing her to let out a short, playful yelp.
“Well,” he said, getting to his feet, “you don’t have to tell me twice.”
“No, you’re right – I have to tell you at least four times, my love.”
He stuck out his tongue at her and laughed. “Fair enough, but I will collect the log first and sort the pigs second as the sun will be on the pasture in a few hours and we can enjoy it together.”
She smiled and nodded.
“And it means I will get to frolic with your gigantic rump amongst the grass.”
“Hey,” she said her eyes wide, her mouth open, and smiling, “my rump is not gigantic.”
He just managed to duck out of the door and close it as the wooden mug she had thrown bounced off the other side. He laughed. “I miss you already, my love.”
“Go and do your work, horrible man,” came the exasperated reply.
He breathed in the morning and stretched, moaning aloud from the pleasure that the unknotting of muscles and cracking of joints brought. “This is going to be a wonderful day; I can just feel it.”
Behind him, smoke began to rise from the chimney vent of the cruck, the thatched wattle and daub home in which he and Alice resided. She had lit the oven fire, eager to get the day’s baking underway.
Walking around the back of the dwelling, he grabbed the large ax planted into a tree stump next to a small pile of chopped wood. We really have used a lot of wood this week, he told himself, probably best to bring two logs instead of one, just to be safe. Although the recent days had basked in glorious sunshine, the nights had been bitterly cold upon the exposed Lancashire hill and it had been necessary to keep their home heated for much longer than usual. Not that it affected him in any way as he had given up all issues associated with feeling cold centuries ago but his concern for Alice was great as she was getting close to an age in life that not many women living in their conditions survived past. He shook his head and tried to put it out of his mind. The last five years with her had been the best he had experienced in a century and the very thought of having to go through losing her hurt him to the depths of his soul, but he would not trade his time with her for anything even knowing of the suffering that was yet to come and the inevitable loss.
Although the early morning chill still haunted the air, the stroll down to the forest was a pleasant one with the dawn chorus of birds ringing out around him.
His feet became wet from the dew dangling from the tall grass, but it didn’t bother him. It never had, and he swung the ax over his left shoulder and began to whistle. Entering the forest, he searched around, taking his time to survey the ar
ea for the perfect set of trees to fell. The smell of pine and damp moss tantalized his nostrils and he smiled. He loved it here, where it was cool, peaceful, and pleasant. On many occasions, he would come to this spot for enjoyment; to sit and read; to let go of the horrors and troubles of the past. He had to be careful however. Reading was something he took great care to hide from the nearby villagers, as living the life of a peasant who was well educated would bring scrutiny upon him, attention he needed to avoid for Alice’s sake if nothing more. He had been teaching her to read for a number of years and it was something she had become very good at indeed. But the discovery of a scholarly peasant woman would be a swift path to suffering a Hellish fate, such was the suspicious nature of the age. The penalty for witchcraft was severe, too severe for them to have taken chances on any misunderstandings of their situation.
Judas stepped in front of a long-dead pine tree and looked it up and down. It was perfect. He smiled. He may have to move further into the forest a little later to find a small oak in a similar condition that will form the core of their heating material, but the pine is just what he needs for its kindling and quick ignition properties. Smiling, he shrugged the ax off his shoulder, angled it downward, and swung. It bit into the trunk and pieces of wood splintered off. He swung it again and again and more chippings dropped to the ground forming a brown and cream surface at its base and around his feet. He swung again and again, continuing to work his ax into the trunk as the sun made its way over his left shoulder, toward its apex.
Beams of light filtered through the woodland canopy creating a magical air of wonderment as motes and particles danced and sparkled in their radiance.
He threw more weight into each swing.
chop, chop, chop
Although his body would never change from the rigors of the exercise, never grow any larger or muscular than it already was, he enjoyed it all the same, felt alive for it.
chop, chop, chop
Sensing the end for his quarry, he increased the intensity of his swings.
chop-chop-chop-chop-chop
At last, it fell and the mid-morning air came alive with creaking and ripping as the huge tree toppled to the ground. He wiped his brow and breathed out deeply, more for the sentiment of the act rather than feeling any physical fatigue. Smiling, he set about trimming the fallen tree, removing unnecessary branches from its trunk; he would come back for those later and break them up into kindling. The priority was to cut the tree up into moveable pieces for transportation back to the house, something he would have to do by hand.
As he began to trim the last few yards of the trunk, a smell hit him, one that did not belong among the splendor of the forest. It burned in his nostrils, sour and foul, nauseating. He closed his eyes, tilting his head to one side in an attempt to move himself away from it but it followed. By now he was all too familiar with the smell, and he could feel dread rise within him. He lifted the ax, looking around, turning in circles, attempting to locate the source of the Hellish odor. A chuckle from behind caused him to whip around in time to see a jackal demon slink out of the shadows.
“Really, Iscariot, are you not yet tired of this game that we play? Are you not tired of trying to find someone to love, to settle down, only to have my kind sent to remind you of that which is not allowed? Are you not exhausted by all this?”
“I thought this time it would be different,” he replied, swallowing hard to wet his croaky and cracked voice, “I thought they had forgotten about me.”
“Forgotten about you? They would never forget about you Iscariot. You are the prized jewel in their crown, their sparkling reminder to one and all of the nature of the punishment in store for those mere men who would take on the throne. You are a reminder to those beings with mortals under their charge that they must not let their little insects get out of control, that they must not think they have the right to interfere. You, Iscariot, are their greatest example of incarceration anywhere in the world, and they will never, ever forget about you. Even my master’s punishment pales into insignificance compared to yours – at least he is allowed to take a woman as his own, should he choose to do so.” The demon chokes out a low guttural laugh.
“Oh I don’t think so,” Judas replied, unimpressed, “it isn’t a woman or companionship that the King of Lies wants, it is control of the three realms and he will never get it. His punishment is being forced to sit in his dark tomb for evermore. He is nothing but a child throwing a tantrum for being sent to his room.” He laughed at the demon who had begun circling him, forcing him to keep turning to stay within his line of sight. “I think his understanding of our two punishments will differ a great deal to that of yours, lowly minion.”
The demon cackled. “Don’t be so sure of yourself, Iscariot, my master has something exquisite planned for this world in due course, but that is a conversation for another time.” It morphed into its human form, dressed in nobleman’s clothing, smiled at him, and what was a sneering, demonic voice was replaced by that of educated gentry. “It seems someone has been a downright scoundrel and let slip to the villagers that your darling Alice has been practicing the ways of witchcraft. Let me tell you, they are not impressed, not impressed at all. Oh and before you ask, it really is amazing how quickly they will believe a man of my… stature.” He smiled, and made reference to his form, sweeping his hands down over his attire.
A multitude of dark emotions flooded Judas. He grabbed the demon by the throat and raised the ax. “What? What have you done?”
“My job, Iscariot,” it replied, unfazed by his aggressive posturing, “I have done my job.” It grabbed his hand and moved it away from its throat. “You know the rules and you have broken them yet again! At this time, we are not concerned with you or your petty sentence, but even we have to obey the balance and His word, for now at least, and we have again been issued the command to intervene. True, we do enjoy this part of the job – immensely I might add – and of course all of the drama associated with it, which is why I am telling you, Iscariot, that you should be scuttling off to the village rather than trying to strangle me if you are to stand any hope of saving your little bitch.” His voice changed back and he erupted into hoarse demonic laughter.
Stark realization crashed down upon Judas and he dropped the ax, sprinting out of the forest with the beast’s laughter echoing behind him. His mind raced as he powered up the hill leading to their home, praying that she was safe, that she hadn’t been taken, that she wasn’t dead. He spied thick smoke rising from the direction of the cruck and his heart sank, causing him to sprint harder. As he cleared the apex of the hill, his worst fears were realized and he screamed at the sight of the house, burning with ferocity. He closed to within 20 yards of the conflagration and dropped to his knees, his eyes flooded with tears. The wind changed direction and a cloud of smoke engulfed him, and within it he could only smell burning wood and straw. He did not detect the all too familiar smell of scorched flesh and, filled with renewed vigor, he scrambled to his feet, and powered off into the direction of the village.
The run would be punishing for any normal man but Judas Iscariot was no ordinary mortal. The ability of his brain to ignore pain caused by a demand for air from his lungs served him well as he sprinted the two miles to the village at full speed. Peasants working in the fields owned by the local Baron turned around and looked at him in astonishment as he raced past them at a pace they have never witnessed a man achieve before. He was a man with purpose. One so fierce, that every person in the village will suffer for if he was too late to prevent that which he now feared above all else.
Approaching the village, he saw smoke rising from its center and groups of peasants running into the village, frenzied, chanting “burn the witch, burn her” as they made their way toward the heart of the settlement. He careered through them, barging them to the floor, bouldering past at speed. At last he saw her, his beloved Alice, atop a pile of blazing wood and her terrible screams rose above that of the crowd as they howled and che
ered their appreciation of the spectacle.
Time slowed for him. Tears fell from his eyes. She was a shining light in a world full of darkness and they were taking her from him.
Reality crashed in. He ran into the fire, into its flaming heart, causing chunks of wood to crumble into embers around him, sparks bursting into the air and fluttering out toward the crowd, forcing them to shield themselves from the fiery insects.
He took hold of Alice and screamed. A scream so piercing that the mob fell into immediate silence. He looked into her eyes, her skin blistered and her hair scorched off, and within them he saw only great pain and confusion as her life slipped away. He screamed again. Not from the pain of the fire, continuous in pulling and tearing at his skin, trying to set him alight only to be thwarted by his regeneration process. No, he screamed for the pain ravaging his soul, for the horror she was going through. It was his fault; he had caused this. His selfish behavior and unwillingness to accept that to have such things was against the rules; and he had been her undoing. He hated himself for it and as she passed in front of his eyes, able only to retch and gurgle as heat and smoke had ravaged her vocal chords. Rage consumed him. Holding her in his arms, he turned to face the crowd as fire still danced all around him, and he screamed at them, a scream so fierce that a wave of terror spread over them. He walked out of the fire, still cradling her smoldering body.
The crowd parted and retreated to the side. Isolated voices rose up, shouting “she was a witch and he is too” but they are few as most had already run away, fearful that he was about to turn on them.
He walked out of the gate to another small, stunned, and silent crowd who again moved to one side, allowing him to pass, their faces stricken with fear. The clothes burnt from his body, he walked naked through them, angry and in tears. He re-traced his steps much slower than he had arrived, carrying Alice the two-mile distance to their ruined home that now just smoked, the fire having burnt itself out. He lay the charred remains of his love on the ground at the back of the dwelling, grabbed a shovel, and set about digging her grave. It took him little time to complete such was the anger burning inside him, fueling every shove, every pull and throw and, taking, great care, he lifted her remains and placed them inside, then covered her with dirt and laid her to rest. For a moment, he considered creating a cross to place at the head of her grave and then dismissed the idea, anger burning even fiercer in his eyes. As the sun broke from behind the clouds and painted the meadow with its rays, he looked up, allowing its warmth to caress his face. He smiled for a second as the feeling reminded him of how Alice would stroke him and gently kiss him; but she was gone, murdered. He lowered his gaze and darkness returned to his face. Dusting himself off, he stood and walked into the ruins of the property. With his hands he dug deep into the soil, grunting as he tossed mounds of dirt to his rear like a dog, his face blackened, his eyes lifeless as he crunched into the dirt, gathering speed and intensity as more anger wormed its way into him. His fingers struck a solid mass and he dug under it, enough to gain sufficient purchase in which to prise it out. Dragging the large, rectangular box out of the hole, he threw into onto the ground with a thud and opened it. He took out a set of clothing and changed into it, then attached two money purses to his belt. He grabbed another item wrapped in cloth and opened it. He ran his fingers over it, a spearhead, then wrapped it up again and tucked it into his belt. His last action was to remove a long piece of wrapped cloth, which he unfurled to reveal a sword, pristine in condition and Nordic in heritage with a black handle and shiny gold circular pommel at its hilt. He admired it, turning it around in his hands. Eventually, and having realized he had been knelt that way for a long time, he stood and took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. He didn’t bother to sheath the sword as he set off back toward the village, his eyes containing a darkness that was blacker than ever.
