by G. P. Taylor
‘Kate, come on. We’ll run for Boggle Mill,’ Thomas shouted as Kate crashed through the bush and into the glade. ‘Run, Kate, run.’
A Varrigal thrust at Thomas with his sword. Thomas struck a blow, sword on sword, green sparks flashing into the night. He and Kate began to run. He had never run so swiftly. He dragged Kate by her arm to pull her faster. They both crashed through the bracken as it grabbed at them like so many sharp fingers.
From the glade they could hear the Varrigal screaming to each other. Then there was silence. It was a silence broken only by the pounding of their feet as they fled along the path deeper into the wood. They ran blindly through the trees along a small deer track that took them from the glade towards Boggle Mill. They had covered nearly a mile. Thomas stopped, his lungs bursting as he gasped for air; he could go no further. Together they slumped against the trunk of a large oak tree. Here in the wood the only thing that Thomas could hear clearly was the thump-thump-thump of his beating heart. He looked at Kate, who tried to smile and hold back tears at the same time.
‘What were they, Thomas? They had me frozen,’ she whispered, gulping for breath and fearful of being heard.
‘Whatever they were, I know that Demurral had something to do with them.’ He tried to smile at Kate. ‘It was a good shot, it saved my life.’ Thomas gently touched her face. She was still so cold. ‘Come on, we’re only a couple of miles from Boggle Mill, we can hide out there.’
‘What about Raphah? Are you going to leave him behind?’
‘No. It was all part of the plan,’ he panted, still short of breath. ‘When we got to the secret entrance to the Vicarage, Demurral appeared holding some kind of burning hand and muttering curses. The lamps were flickering out, so Raphah hid and I made as much noise as I could to get the old codger to chase me. With luck, Raphah will be safe inside finding what he has to find. If he’s not back by tomorrow I’ll go and look for him.’
Kate took hold of his hand. ‘I’m frightened, Thomas. I’ve never seen anything like them before. I shot one … Dead.’
Thomas knew he had to show no fear.
‘Life has changed, Kate. It may never be the same again. There is no going back and what has happened tonight can’t be put right. There’s a madness. Something is altering the world. In the tunnel you could almost feel it. There was a sense of something very evil and wrong. It twisted my stomach.’ Thomas took hold of the sword he had stolen from the Varrigal and rolled it from side to side, looking at the blade now stained with a purple smear of Varrigal blood.
Kate whispered: ‘What are we going to do? My father will be looking for me in the morning. I can’t go to the Mill – I’ll have to go home.’
‘Home? If Demurral gets his way none of us will have a home. When I touched the creature I saw the place it had come from; I could see inside its mind,’ he paused and looked at Kate. ‘You don’t realize, Kate. Demurral has a plan for the future. If he succeeds, this world will be transformed beyond our understanding. Raphah told me that Demurral has a power that can call up the dead, control the wind and sea, and make those beasts in the glade follow his every word. There’s no going back; it is beyond our control. We have to help Raphah because he is the only one who can stop Demurral.’
‘How do you know? You’ve only just met him.’ Kate began to sob. ‘I want this to stop, I want to go back to how it was. I wish I’d never met him with all his stupid talk. Has he bewitched you as well?’ Kate spoke through her tears. ‘I killed something tonight … I saw it die. It tried to kill you. Please, Thomas, make it stop, make it stop.’
She pulled her knees tightly up to her chest, making herself as small as she could. If she closed her eyes, she thought, maybe she could shut everything away, like a bad dream that vanishes in the first light of morning. Thomas put his arm around her. He had never seen her cry before. She had always been so strong, always in control of every emotion. Now she was weeping like a child, like someone who had boasted of her own strength only to be beaten by someone stronger and more powerful. In the black wood they held on to each other, not speaking. Thomas also felt afraid, but dared not say so. How could they fight against Demurral? He was the Vicar, the owner of the alum mine, the Magistrate. He was everything powerful in Thomas’s world. Thomas was powerless – a child, homeless and poor, and now an outlaw.
He leant back against the oak tree and looked up through the bare branches into the night sky. The Oak King had lost its glory; it was now the season of the holly. The oak tree had lost its strength; it had been drawn back into the earth. All around lay decaying leaves; the broken acorn cups lay waiting for the Jack-in-the-Green to wake them in spring, to wave over the land the flag of new life, the never-ending genesis.
Thomas spoke in a soft voice above Kate’s gentle crying. ‘We’ll stay here until dawn, then we’ll go to the Mill. Try to sleep. I’ll keep watch.’
Kate didn’t reply, but buried her face into his shoulder to keep warm. Thomas pulled up the rough, torn collar of his coat. He held the sword in his hand and stared into the night. Through the trees he could see the small lights of Baytown to the north beneath the glowing cloud. He tried to keep awake, but the call of sleep pulled his heavy eyelids closed, as its warmth numbed his mind to the fears of the day. His thoughts turned to dreams, and reality gave way to reverie.
The earth was like the soft bed at the end of a long road. The gentle and rhythmic bickering of the branches soothed his mind. He snuggled into Kate, her hair pressed against his face. She smelt of soap, earth, and gunpowder. Thomas breathed softly, feeling safe, knowing he had a friend.
The Golden Altar
THOMAS was dreaming. It was pitch dark; he was in a cold stone chamber. The blackness pressed against him and wrapped him like a tight shroud. Far away in the corner, a candle burst into flame sending shards of light across the chamber. He could see that it was a large, vaulted stone room, as big as any building he had ever seen. The ceiling hung high above him and was held in place by seven stone columns topped with carvings of rams’ horns. At the far end, Thomas could see a golden altar with a tall jewelled cross standing on it. It was encrusted with jasper, chalcedony, sardius, topaz and chrysolite, which completely covered the surface. A golden circle looked as if it hovered in the air behind the cross. It was set with seven fine emeralds. He began to walk towards the altar. The large blue stone at the centre of the cross turned to black, then as he stepped closer all the jewels changed to crisp, blue, human eyes that followed his every step.
From the wall stepped seven tall, winged figures dressed in long, white, flowing robes. The wings of each creature curled forward and covered its head as they walked towards the altar. They had long golden hair, each strand shining like thick wire. Their skin was deep brown and had a richness that glowed. They were strong and bold, at least seven feet in height, with wide shoulders and piercing dark eyes. As they walked in step they began to chant, their powerful voices filling the chamber. Every word was like music. It pulsed and pitched, echoing around the vast hall, filling every inch with a deep sense of peace. Thomas started to shake as each wave of sound vibrated through him to his soul. He clasped his hands to stop them from shaking, linking his fingers together and knotting his hands. He listened to every word.
‘Holy. Holy. Holy. Lord of Hosts.
Heaven and earth are full of your Glory.’
The words echoed through his body. They spoke the words again and again as they walked to the altar. One of the figures carried a large sword, another a shield, another a helmet. Thomas was drawn closer, as if it was his right to be a part of this ritual. It was as if he was being drawn to a moment in his life that would change him for ever. He neither knew nor cared if the creatures could see him.
They were half-human, half-something else. With each step they took, the chamber vibrated. Their white robes shone with a purity that Thomas had never seen before. He could not believe this was a dream, it was so real, so true. A voice in his head called to him.
&
nbsp; Wake up, wake up.
He had never felt so awake, never felt so alive. In this chamber, among the brightness, in the presence of the winged creatures, was more life than he had ever known. Thomas felt that someone was looking at him, that he was not alone in watching the ritual. He turned and noticed that a man was standing to his right. He was dressed in a linen tunic, long baggy trousers, and a pair of the finest, yet the strangest, silver-tipped pointed shoes that Thomas had ever seen. The man was neither white nor black, but had the appearance of being burnished by the sun. He had hair that was very dark, and curled and twisted like a tangled hawthorn. The man smiled and spoke to Thomas in a rich warm voice, calling him by name.
‘Thomas. This is all for you.’ He motioned towards the altar. ‘Fear not, Thomas. The powers that you will fight against are not of flesh and blood. They are the rulers of darkness and the spirits of wickedness.’
The man held Thomas by the hand. Thomas looked into his eyes, and he realized they were the eyes of the cross, deep blue, warm, all-seeing, all-knowing. He felt naked before him, as if this man knew all about his life. Every secret, every lie, every ugly thought was on display. Yet all of this was greeted with a smile as the man softly squeezed Thomas’s hand.
He spoke to Thomas.
‘Fear not. Whatever you have done can be put right, blotted out, forgiven.’ Thomas turned his face away, unable to look at him. He felt ashamed. Thomas saw for the first time that he was dressed in filthy rags that hung from his body like grave clothes. He hung his head lower, unable to look up.
‘Who are you?’ Thomas could hardly say the words. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the pattern of the stone floor and awaited the reply.
‘I am a king. Have you not heard of me? Don’t you know my voice?’
‘Our king is fat, greedy, and mad,’ Thomas said. ‘He would never speak to a thief like me. You cannot be my king.’ He continued to look down, not wanting to look upon the man.
‘I am King, but not of the world. All you have to do is believe in me. Thomas, I can be your king.’ He touched Thomas gently on the forehead.
‘How can I not believe in you when you stand before me? I have seen you with my own eyes. I can never doubt what I see.’
‘Do you believe only in those things that you can see? There is more to life than what we are told by our eyes. I have known you since you were knitted together in your mother’s womb. Before the beginning of time I set all your days before you.’
He looked at Thomas and smiled.
‘You can believe in things and yet you do not have to follow them. It is easy for you to believe in me when you stand in my world. But what will you believe when you return to your world? What will you believe when you cannot see me?’ The King placed his hand on Thomas’s shoulder.
‘I will believe, here and in the world to come.’ Thomas reached out to the King. He took Thomas’s hand.
‘Thomas, if you believe in me, will you follow me?’
Thomas could hardly speak; he had never stood in the presence of someone like this before. He could feel the unspoken majesty and authority. The man’s face began to radiate pure white light, filling the chamber and bathing Thomas in its glow. It was so bright that Thomas closed his eyes and looked away.
‘My Lord. You will be my king. I will follow you.’ Thomas spoke out the words slowly, his head bowed low.
‘Do you really know what you are saying, Thomas?’
‘I do.’ Thomas was certain in his reply.
‘Then look up and see.’ The man lifted Thomas’s face by the chin. ‘Open your eyes. This light has never blinded anyone who looks upon it in truth. It is the light of the world. A light that the darkness will never understand.’
Thomas opened his eyes. The chamber was full of winged creatures bowing before the man, their chanting growing louder and louder.
‘Holy. Holy. Holy. Lord of Hosts.
The Heavens proclaim you King.
The earth is full of your Glory!’
Thomas did not understand. ‘Who are they?’ he asked, with disbelief in his voice.
‘They are the Seruvim, they are the army of the Mulkuth. Come to the altar. There is something important that must be done.’
He escorted Thomas to the altar. In the powerful radiance of the King the chamber echoed with light. There were no shadows, no dark places, no secrets. The Seruvim circled around Thomas and the King. The chant grew louder and louder. At the altar, Thomas stood before the cross, the eyes illuminating his soul. At his feet was an old book, with a cover of hammered gold, its pages made of thick parchment. The book opened by itself. Thomas could see that it was full of names. One by one the pages turned and there on the final page his name began to appear, written by an unseen hand without ink or quill.
‘This is the Book of Life. Everyone whose name is written in here need not fear death.’
The King smiled as he spoke. ‘Thomas. Today I will give you two gifts. Carry them with you always. They will be of use to you in the time to come.’
With that, one of the Seruvim stepped forward to the King and handed him a thick leather belt with a golden buckle. The King placed it around Thomas’s waist.
‘This is the belt of truth. Your enemy will use lies and deceit. He is the father of all lies. Beware. He is a devouring lion and will destroy your soul. Keep my truth and you will never fail.’
The King looked at the tallest and strongest of the Seruvim and beckoned him towards Thomas. The creature had the most beautiful face that Thomas had ever seen. It was neither male nor female, young nor old. Its features were almost transparent and yet were of great strength.
Thomas noticed that the Seruvim’s white robe was woven with thread that gave off a beautiful gold and silver light from each strand. It was tied with a thick belt that was made of living wood. Fresh buds and green shoots intertwined with dark rowan twigs, growing around the waist to form a strong buckle and scabbard for the sword that hung from it. The wings of the Seruvim shimmered and glowed. The wings were neither bird nor reptile and did not look out of place attached to so human a creature. They appeared to pulsate, fractionally changing in size as if given life by every heartbeat of the creature. The Seruvim drew the golden sword from his belt, held it by the blade above his head, then slowly lowered it, offering it to Thomas. The King looked into Thomas’s eyes.
‘Azrubel will give you his sword. Before you take it, think of the battle that must be fought. Don’t take hold of the sword unless you are prepared to fight. Today you come of age, today you become a man. Remember, Thomas, it is harder to believe in me when you cannot see me, and to follow me when you are on your own. Remember this night. All you have to do is speak and I will answer. I will be with you always, even to the end of time.’
Without any hesitation, Thomas reached out and took the sword from Azrubel, gripping it tightly by the handle. The chamber was suddenly plunged into darkness. Thomas could feel the sudden drop in temperature as a cold wind blew around him. He could see nothing, his eyes frantically searched for the merest fragment of light. He was in total darkness … total silence.
Then the whispering began. First it sounded like the scratching of rats in the distant corner of the chamber. Then it grew into the sound of young voices, laughing and mocking. He could hear a child start to sob, then cry and cry in the black dark.
Very slowly, Thomas edged his feet along the stone floor. As he did so he could feel dankness with his bare feet. From all around he heard a scurrying and scratching on the floor, the familiar sound of long tails sweeping in the dust. Everywhere he could hear rats.
Edging his foot further he felt the warm, moist fur that made up the living floor he was now trying to walk on. With every footstep they scattered, jumping across his bare feet, gripping his ankles, and biting as they jumped from him. This was Thomas’s worst fear, a nightmare beyond nightmares. All around the sound of whispering grew louder. He could see no one. He could hear only the lost voices crying for help, s
obbing and restless. In the darkness a hand touched his face, another grabbed his leg, others took hold of his hair. He could feel the cold fear rising from his stomach. Fear that made his mouth dry and his lips tremble. Fear that knotted him up and took the strength from his limbs.
He heard the striking of a tinderbox, and the light of a candle appeared in the distance. There was no altar, no Seruvim, just the single light. He struggled free and walked slowly towards it holding the sword out in front. It had no weight and even in this blackness had an ethereal glow like the golden dawn of the darkest night. He could see the squat shape of a small creature cowering by the candle.
‘Who are you?’ Thomas shouted, but there was no reply. ‘Who are you?’ Thomas smashed the sword against the stone floor in anger. The chamber began to shake with the sound of the earthquake beneath him that shook him from his feet.
The stone floor broke open and from the rubble emerged the dark wood of a church pulpit. It thrust its way through the broken stone until it soared above Thomas. A solitary red pulpit candle slowly dripped wax on to the stone floor six feet below. Demurral stood in the pulpit, looked at Thomas and began to speak.
‘I will capture the heavens, I will be more important than God. I will sit in judgement of the earth. I will be higher than the heights of the clouds. I will be the most high. The whole world will worship me.’ Demurral began to laugh and laugh.
Thomas looked to the base of the pulpit. Kate and Raphah were tied to it with thick ropes that resembled a coil of thin snakes. Each strand of slithering rope moved and swirled around their feet and wrists, binding them tighter and tighter to the pulpit. Thomas stepped forward and lashed with his sword at the pulpit. It shattered like black glass, sending sharp broken crystals across the chamber floor.
Demurral fell to the ground and was immediately surrounded by several black foxes that jumped from the shadows and stood like sentinels protecting their master.
