by Chris Ord
The dream ended, as it always ended. It faded away, dissolved into the pit of Gaia’s sleep. It was always before the person revealed themselves, before Gaia could see their face. When she woke the dream always remained, its presence hanging heavy like a dark cloud for most of the morning. It wrestled with Gaia’s other thoughts, played on her mind. It toyed and teased - the image of Kali, the room, and the boots. There was a feeling of fear, drowning, and hatred, the most intense hatred. There was a feeling of betrayal. Gaia always sensed the betrayal, and was left with its bitter taste.
The morning came, and the wind and rain remained. The group ate, packed up and moved on, wasting no time. Freya headed out first, running down the ravine to check the route ahead, and make sure the dogs had gone. Gaia and Freya did not mention the dogs to the others. There was no need to alarm them any further. The young girls would not understand, Aran knew they were being hunted, it was only a matter of time. The dogs were just detail, and not one to dwell on.
Freya returned. The path was clear. They headed out of the cave and back into the biting weather. Though it was morning the sky was dark, and the cloud was thick and black. There was little sign of it clearing, or the rain easing. The group made their way down the ravine, over the rocks and boulders, slipping on the muddy ground. They reached the narrow path that headed up higher into the hills and forged on. The going was tough, their spirits sapped. Gaia stopped to check on Ruth and Mary, both shivered. The girls were weary, but neither spoke, their eyes lost as ever. Gaia looked at Ruth’s face, as the raindrops trickled down the child’s raw cheeks like tears. Gaia knew they were not tears, but wished they were. Tears were a sign of emotion, feeling, and life. Better the children cried than showed nothing, just stared. The girls had been through so much, and it was better they grieved. All emotion had been crushed and locked away inside the sisters. They had learnt to fear emotion, so buried it, maybe they did not even feel it anymore. The children were alive, but no longer lived.
Gaia and the others trudged on, slipping on the drenched earth, their boots caked in mud. They walked for hours seeing little and no-one. The only solace was each other, the only companion the weather which ebbed and flowed throughout the morning, but never let up. The group crossed some moorland, and struggled up the brow of a hill. The wind and rain were relentless and visibility was poor. The sky remained dark with a thin mist mingling with the moisture of the falling rain. In the distance on the edge of the moorland Gaia spotted something, a structure, but not something natural in shape. As the group neared Gaia saw it was made of wooden planks, stretched horizontal and vertical in the air with a bar across in support making a triangular shape.
They approached the wood structure and could see something hanging from the end of the outstretched horizontal beam. It was hooked to the end, and looked like a head in a metal frame. Gaia drew closer and could see it was not a real head, but a wooden one carved to look like that of a man’s. She stared up at the macabre sight, and spoke.
‘What is it?’
Aran replied without removing his eyes from the head as it twisted and turned in the wind.
‘It’s a gibbet. It’s where they hanged the people they’d executed. They didn’t kill them here, but they’d bring the dead bodies and display them on open moorland like this so people could see them. It was a warning to others. The bodies would rot and be taken away, but they’d leave the skulls in the metal frames as a reminder. They didn’t mess about with criminals in those days.’
Gaia grabbed the girls and hugged them close, turning their heads away from the ghastly sight. Gaia’s mind drifted back to the image of Rebecca hanging from the tree. Her limp, lifeless body swaying in the woods, just the day before. Freya noticed a wooden board at the base of the gibbet. She approached it, wiping it with the sleeve of her jacket, and read the words out to the others.
‘There’s some writing on here. It says, ‘The body of William Winter was left here following his execution in Newcastle on August 10th, 1792 for the murder of Margaret Crozier. He was executed along with the sisters Jane and Eleanor Clark whose bodies were sent to a surgeon for dissection. William’s body was brought here to Whiskershields Common where it was hung in chains until it was cut down and the bones scattered. It stood as a warning to all of the consequences of their crimes.’
The words chilled Gaia. The consequences of their crimes. The others soaked up the words along with the pelting rain. Gaia thought of the year, 1792. She had no idea what year it was now, whether it was a long time ago or not. This was how people dealt with criminals in the days before. Their leaders killed them and hanged their bodies in chains on display. Gaia had been told the ways before were brutal, but this was worse than she imagined. It was primitive, and reminded her of the words in the red book. Those were words of terror and vengeance, clear and unequivocal. You reap what you sow. Gaia turned and addressed the others, the words spluttering through droplets of rain on her lips.
‘1792. How long ago was that?’
Freya began to pace around the gibbet, studying and admiring it. She shouted in reply to Gaia.
‘I’ve no idea. It can’t be that old. It’d rot pretty quickly out here. It’s only made of wood.’
Aran shook himself from a daze, a mixture of exhaustion and fascination at the grim discovery.
‘I don’t think it’s been used for a long time. The board sounds like it was here for information.’
Freya was fascinated, but confused.
‘What? Out here? Who’s going to see anything out in the middle of nowhere?’
Aran shrugged his shoulders.
‘It does seem strange, but why put a sign here? They obviously wanted people to read it.’
Freya continued to pace, circle and study the wooden structure. Gaia was lost, almost in a dream, her words came without thinking.
‘It’s the beauty.’
Freya stopped pacing as Gaia continued.
‘People come here for the beauty. You must have seen it? This whole place is incredible. It’s like Yann said, remember? People messed up the world, but the world is still a beautiful place. The mainland, this part of the world. It’s magical.’
Aran thought about Gaia’s words. He had not looked for beauty on the journey. The primary goal had been survival, watching for predators or threats, and whether the group were being followed. Aran’s mind was always on other things. For Freya beauty was irrelevant. It was a raw, untamed world, a place you treat with caution. You respected nature, or it would take you. There was no room for romance in Freya’s world. It was weakness. Gaia was different. She had thought about Yann’s words. They had touched Gaia, and she had looked for the beauty on the rest of the journey. Even now, staring at the face of death she saw it.
‘Yann saw the beauty in everything. That’s why he always seemed so content, happy. We thought he was in another world, but he wasn’t. He was in this one, but he saw it for what it is, what we can’t see. We’re too busy trying to survive. They’ve taken everything from us, even the beauty in the world, especially the beauty.’
Gaia held the two girls, as Freya sat against the gibbet and closed her eyes, the cold rain spitting against her frozen cheeks. Freya thought about what Gaia had said. Maybe she was right, but Freya had little time for such folly. Nature was heartless. The natural order was about balance. You survive first, then you live. If you were lucky you might get a chance to experience something special. Beauty was a luxury Freya could not afford. Aran surveyed the moorland around them. All of a sudden he stopped and plunged to the ground, crouching low on his knees. Aran hissed at the others.
‘Get down.’
The others fell to the ground. Gaia looked in the direction of Aran’s stare. In the distance, on the furthest visible edge of the darkness and hazy mist Gaia could see a shadowy figure. It was standing still, and appeared to be alone. Gaia moved her stare across the moorland and saw another person step into view. Facing forward, both of the figures were about ten metre
s apart. Both were just silhouettes, and Gaia could make out little. Her head moved in a panoramic sweep and more shadows appeared. Every ten metres or so there was another figure standing still, watching and waiting. The group were surrounded. Gaia waited, but there was still no movement or sound from the shadows. There were no dogs, just human silhouettes. Freya was crouched by the gibbet, the first of the group to speak, her voice quiet.
‘We’re surrounded. There’s quite a few. There’s no use making a run for it.’
Aran looked at Gaia, then Freya who slipped out her knife and continued.
‘If we have to, we fight. How many are there?’
Aran’s stare was locked on the silhouettes, whispering a reply.
‘I count twelve, at least that’s all I can see, but there could be more.’
Freya hissed a response.
‘I don’t hear or see any dogs. If they’ve got dogs we’re done for. Do you think it’s them? I mean the community we’re looking for? Do you think they could have found us.’
Aran placed his hand on his knife and steadied himself, still crouching on the ground.
‘I’m not sure, but let’s not take any chances until we know.’
Gaia put her arms around the girls. They were crouched beside her, as she scanned the moorland again. The shadows were watching. Gaia noticed one of them moving forward. With slow, steady steps the figure edged towards them. Gaia pointed.
‘One of them’s coming!’
Gaia, Aran and Freya gripped their weapons, each remained spread out, low to the ground. The rain continued around them, the mist swirling in the wind. The dark shadow swept in and out of sight as it neared, sometimes the thick mist softened to reveal, then a grey blanket would return. As the figure neared the mist lightened and the shadow lifted becoming more real in form, no longer a haze. The figure was dressed in black wearing trousers, heavy boots, gloves, and a thick waxy jacket. This was not the standard issue clothing of the community. It was different, and not something Gaia had seen before. The face of the figure could not be seen as they wore a balaclava, mesh covering the eyes. Judging by the height, thick neck and build it was a man. Gaia noticed a belt with a small revolver attached.
The figure approached and stopped about ten feet away from Aran who was crouching furthest forward of the group. The figure waited, standing tall and erect, almost to attention. There was a bold, regimented air to his manner, a formality. His head pointed straight ahead, still and focused. The man spoke, his voice deep, firm, and commanding.
‘You must be runners from the island. We aren’t going to harm you.’
The group remained silent, each waiting for the others, hoping someone else would respond. The rain continued to lash down, and the bitter wind cut through them like the blade of a sword. Gaia pressed the two girls close to her chest as they all remained crouched on the ground. Aran and Freya were now on their feet, shoulders back, arms by their sides, poised for any sudden movements, or attack. The man spoke again.
‘Let’s assume you are. We’ve had others come to us before. It may be that you are looking for us as they were.’
Gaia, Aran, and Freya looked at each other all thinking the same thing. Gaia could feel a tingle of excitement mixed with a sweeping feeling of relief. She so wanted to believe it to be true, that their journey might now be at an end, hoping this was the moment. Gaia, Aran, and Freya had come so far, struggled through and lost so much. They had risked everything, but now it seemed as though it could be worthwhile. Aran edged forward, his voice louder and more commanding.
‘We’re from the island. We’ve come to find a community. Somewhere we’d heard about, but how can we be sure you are who you say you are?’
The man remained still, staring ahead, as though he were addressing some distant person or place beyond them. The air of regimented formality remained.
‘You can’t be sure. Perhaps you know of someone called Savas? Maybe he spoke of us?’
Gaia was filled with growing excitement. She looked at Aran, urging him to quiz further. Aran continued.
‘I know of Savas. He showed me a letter sent from the hills. If you are from the community you’ll know who signed it.’
There was a pause for a moment. Gaia was willing the man to answer. She still had doubts, part of her trusted no one. The others would have doubts, but the layers of uncertainty were being peeled back. This was the chance to confirm what they all wanted to be true. The man’s voice was the same dry and lifeless tone.
‘The letter was signed ‘M’. It stands for Mater. She lives with us in the community.’
A wave of excitement and relief hit Gaia. Her chest tightened and pulse quickened. ‘Just head to the hills and we’ll find you.’ That was the message. ‘Come to the hills. It is true, the community is here. There is hope, and a better way.’ The group had pinned their hopes on the thinnest of promises, a whisper of a dream that seemed to be fading with each day. Gaia clutched the dream, had faith it was true. This had driven everyone on, got them this far. Now it looked as though the promise would be fulfilled, the dream might become real, their faith would be rewarded.
There was still something, some doubt, a part of Gaia that wrestled with her wave of excitement. The young had been programmed not to trust. The instinct was caution, and Gaia was still wary. Through the maelstrom of emotions that churned within lay a faint cry of logic and common sense. She had to be rational about this, but could see they had little choice but to go. Aran seemed much calmer, as he quizzed the man further.
‘If we decide to come, where are we going?’
‘I can’t say. Put these on and hand over all your weapons. You won’t be needing them.’
The man took out some masks and blindfolds from his pocket and held them to the side above his head. Freya’s instinct had been to fight, but could see the group were out-numbered. It would be a risk to fight. In all likelihood the group would lose and be captured and taken, or worse. Freya said what Gaia and Aran were also thinking.
‘Why do we need to wear them?’
The man continued to respond, his tone never changing.
‘We need to conceal our location. It’s for our own safety. We’ll lead you there. You’ll be safe. You’ve nothing to fear as long as you do as we say.’
Freya did not want to give up her weapons. It was different with Jack and the priest. They were old and offered little threat to the group. Freya felt vulnerable now, but realised that with or without weapons the three of them were no match for these people. Despite this Freya was defiant, wanted to make it clear to the man she had not agreed to anything. This would be her decision.
‘And what if we choose not to?’
The man lowered his arm, placing the mask and blindfold back in his pocket. He pressed his gloves together.
‘You don’t have to come. You’re free to stay out here and roam the moorlands. But be warned. There are others looking for you. Many others. We don’t have much time. A confrontation wouldn’t be good for any of us. If you don’t come it’s likely they’ll find you soon. Like I said, the choice is yours.’
Gaia, Aran and Freya all looked at each other. Freya’s face was awash with worry. Gaia could see the doubts. Freya’s instinct for caution and mis-trust was deeper and more difficult to overcome. Freya was a fighter and survivor. Every part of her was tuned to avert risk, maximise the chance of survival. The instinct was to strike, not negotiate or compromise, but Freya was not stupid. She could weigh up the chances, and knew it was best to go with the people or face a bleaker alternative.
Aran seemed more relaxed, almost resigned to this. Gaia thought he looked weary, and sick of running. Perhaps, Aran was happy to take this risk, and planned this outcome. The note to Savas had been the spark of hope and the man knew of the note. That was all Aran needed. Gaia was torn. There was the elation of all this could be, and an alternative that was too terrifying to contemplate. Gaia was tired, wanted an end, and was prepared to make the leap of faith. This ha
d to end at some point.
Gaia nodded to her friends, took out her axe and long dagger and hurled them on the ground in front of the man. Aran did the same. Freya waited, the others giving warning looks. Freya took out her weapons and one by one thrust them onto the pile. The man was impassive, head still staring forward as he spoke.
‘Are you sure that’s all of them?’
The man turned his masked head to face Freya and waited. It was the first time he had moved from the stiff, formal position, the first time he had looked at one of them. Freya scowled and lifted her trousers. A small knife was in a pouch on the side of her right leg. She removed the pouch and threw it with the other weapons. The man took out the masks and blindfolds and stepped forward, handing them one in turn. Gaia helped the girls to put the masks on. The masks were black, woolen balaclavas, the same as the one worn by the man. Gaia stretched the blindfold over her head and across her eyes. It was elasticated and tight, plunging her into a deep darkness. Gaia’s mind rushed back to the cave. It was the same alternative world of sensory overload. Gaia’s hearing sharpened, her smell and touch become more alive. All the other senses clicked back into place as they had the night before.
Gaia and the others waited. Gaia could hear the soft, squelching footsteps of others approaching. There were no words. Someone approached and took Gaia by the arm, lifting it and spinning her body round a couple of times. Gaia heard the voice of the man.
‘This is so you don’t sense the direction we’re heading.’
Gaia laughed in her head. As if that would fool any of them. Giddy and disorientated, Gaia took a tentative step, then another, and another. One foot forward, the start of every journey, and this one nearing its end. As with the first steps on leaving the island this journey was beginning in darkness, a different kind of darkness. As with the escape Gaia did not know where this would lead, or what lay waiting. The group were at the mercy of hope and faith once more, their destiny was in the hands of others. Today would be their judgement day.
