by G. P. Taylor
Blythe could feel the creature tugging and pulling on his innards as it twisted and convulsed within his body. His hand snapped from his grip on Raphah and was thrust into his jacket grabbing the long knife he had managed to hide. He pushed Raphah away and then pulled out the knife, slicing it through the air. It caught Raphah across the cheek. Unable to control himself, Blythe lurched towards Raphah who had stumbled by the edge of the path. He fell on to Raphah, trying to plunge the knife into his chest. Raphah grabbed hold of Blythe’s arm, the blade only inches away from his face.
‘Think you could stop me with words, did you, boy?’ the Dunamez hissed. ‘In this body I will take a lot of stopping. I could pick up a dead cow with these arms and soon I’ll pick up a dead Cushitic priest and hurl him into the sea.’ The Dunamez shook as it tried to force Blythe’s hand closer to Raphah. ‘I want to see your blood on this blade and when you’re dead I’ll dance on your grave.’ It slobbered as it spoke, snorting like a pig.
‘In … the Name … of … Riathamus … I command you to leave.’ Raphah screamed the words at the top of his voice. They echoed around the mine, deep into the woods, and were carried far out to sea by the wind. Blythe leapt to his feet, stumbling across the path. Skerry turned and began to run back down the hill. Consitt scrambled up the slope as fast as his weak, fat and throbbing legs would carry him. There was a loud ear-splitting cry as the Dunamez was torn from Blythe, who was cast aside like a piece of chaff. The beast stood before Raphah bound in chains of light, unable to move as they grew tighter and tighter. Blythe hid his eyes behind one arm, shielding his face from the horrible sight of the creature. Skerry could not believe what he was seeing as he ran towards them down the narrow path.
Raphah got to his feet and looked at the pitiful creature that cowered beneath him. It stared at him through its narrow slit eyes and attempted a half-smile through a mouth so full of protruding, jagged teeth that it could hardly speak.
‘Have mercy on me, I meant you no harm,’ it said pathetically. ‘If you let me I will leave this place and cause no trouble. Let me go and find someone to carry me through their life.’
‘What right have you to meddle in this world? Did you give this man a chance to say no?’ Raphah gestured towards Blythe as he spoke angrily to the creature as it writhed in the tightening bands of light.
‘He’s a human, he has no rights. They turned their backs on Riathamus just as I did. We fell from heaven, you were thrown out of the garden … cheated by a snake.’ The Dunamez laughed as it panted and gasped for breath. ‘What do you humans know about life? Three score years and ten, then what? Most of you are destined for Gehenna, a desert of shadows populated by ungrateful souls.’ It stopped speaking and looked at Skerry, who was standing petrified a few feet away.
‘Let me go into him. What harm could I do in a body like that? He could use some brains. I could give him a life like he’s never seen.’
Raphah raised his hand towards the Dunamez.
‘Silence, spirit. You would never be satisfied. That’s why your kind were cast out of heaven. You wanted to be a god and steal the power of Riathamus. Even now you plot and scheme, hiding behind every misery you bring to the people of the world.’ The Dunamez winced with each word he spoke. ‘You remind the righteous of their past. Now is the time for you to find out your future.’ Raphah held out his hand towards the creature.
Blythe covered his face with his hands and crouched down behind a bush while Skerry dived into the thick grass at the side of the bank. Raphah raised his voice as he shouted out, the sound vibrating the air. ‘By the power of the Most High I command you to leave and go to the torment ordained for your dwelling place … Go!’
Strands of silver and gold thread engulfed the creature, spinning it around and around. Its body changed to the deepest black, the long white face was engulfed in a dark mist and then wrapped in strands of golden wire like the victim of some invisible spider being prepared for death. The creature screamed, summoning all of its strength to break out of its bonds. Then in a flash of light the Dunamez vanished completely. The night was again black and silent.
Blythe and Skerry were speechless and both too frightened to come out from their hiding places. Down the hill Consitt peered out from behind a large rock.
‘Don’t kill us,’ he called fearfully. ‘We won’t harm you. Let us go about our business and we will leave right now.’
Skerry peered out from the ditch that he had slid into, as Blythe lay back in the long grass mumbling meaningless words to himself and hoping to wake from this horror. Raphah sat on a big stone at the side of the road and began to laugh. To him all this was a part of the living universe.
‘What are you frightened of? This morning you were prepared to kick and beat me and drag me through the mud. Now you cower like children after their first nightmare.’ He beckoned to Consitt to get out from behind the rock. ‘Come on, take me to Demurral, I have unfinished business with that old dog. He has something of mine and now is the time for its return.’
Blythe sat up and looked at Raphah.
‘Are you a spirit like the one that took hold of me?’ he asked faintly, almost too afraid to speak.
‘Can one spirit cast out another? Can an army fight against itself?
‘Then by what power do you do these things?’ Blythe propped himself up in the grass and looked at Raphah who was silhouetted in the moonlight. ‘What kind of creature are you?’
‘A man just like you with no special powers, no witchcraft, no sorcery.’
‘Then how did you do that? How did you know? That thing wanted to kill you – how did you destroy it?’
‘It was by the power of Riathamus – the one true God. Do you not know of him?’ Raphah could see that these people only believed in superstition and knew little about the truth.
‘God? How can you know something that is so far off? Why would this Riathamus want to know someone like me? I am just a farmer.’ Blythe paused and looked at Skerry who was climbing out of the ditch. ‘Both of us were farmers; we lost everything to Demurral. The rent got higher and higher and neither of us could afford to pay so now we are prisoners of our debt, doormen in the workhouse.’ He looked again at Skerry, hoping he would speak, then went on. ‘Why would this Riathamus want to know people like us? God is for rich people in fancy clothes and big houses. People who are Sunday saints and get the best pews in church while we sit in the free seats at the back unable to see or hear. What would God want us for?’
‘Perhaps he would want you for that very reason. Have you never thought that God might love you? Have you never looked out to sea and wondered at this creation? Do you think this entire world is some sort of accident?’ Raphah held out his hand to Blythe to lift him from the grass.
‘Maybe in your country that is true, but here …’ He looked at the ground. ‘I have thought of all those things, but then I looked at the mud on my boots, the sheep starving in the field, the rent I couldn’t pay, and I realized that the only sure things in life are death and the church tax we pay to Demurral. After all, isn’t he God’s man? He’s the Vicar, he’s the one to show us the way, but all he’s done is give us board and lodging in the workhouse.’
Blythe got to his feet and sat next to Raphah on the stone. Together they looked out to sea. Skerry stood behind them wondering what he should do, while Consitt struggled up the steep path towards them. Raphah put his arm around Blythe.
‘Whatever this man is, he is not a man of God. He follows something, but it is not Riathamus. He’s a thief and a liar. He will answer for these things.’
Skerry now spoke, his voice faltering. ‘You’re just a lad, how do you know so much for one so young?’
‘To know Riathamus is to know wisdom, and the knowledge of him will bring understanding. That is all you need for life.’ Raphah smiled at Skerry.
‘So how can we know him? He’s up there in his heaven and we are down here in this hell.’
‘Open your eyes and tell me what you
see.’
Skerry feared he was being tricked. ‘I can see the sky, the sea …’
‘No. Tell me what you really see.’
Skerry paused and looked again. ‘There’s the darkness and the light.’
‘There is something else,’ Raphah said gently. ‘Riathamus stands at the door of your life and knocks. If you hear his call and answer him he will share your life and live with you always. He can set you free from all your poverty, free to be the person he created, not the one you have become.’
Consitt came panting his way towards them, his fat legs shaking with tiredness, his face red and swollen. Raphah looked at him.
‘I want you to take me to Demurral. Don’t tell him what you’ve seen. When you leave me with him I want you to go from this place. You will be free men. Go and start your life again, find Riathamus for yourself.’ He looked at Blythe. ‘You have known evil and been dominated by it. By the power of the Most High you have been set free. Remember, when he sets you free you are free indeed.’
The wind blew and rattled the heather at the side of the path. The three men looked at each other and then at Raphah, wondering what to do.
‘Take me to Demurral now. From the signs in the sky it will soon be time.’
Raphah led them up the hill, through the darkness of the small wood, across the lawn in front of the Vicarage and past three freshly dug sepulchres cut out of the cold, black earth.
The Burning Man
BRAVERY comes easily to some people, but for Thomas and Kate it was bought at a price. Together they had tramped the lonely six miles from Boggle Mill to a clearing in the woods to the west of Stoup Hill. An old stone circle broke through the grass in the centre of the clearing. Each stone looked like the tip of some shrivelled finger sticking up through the earth. In the light of the moon they cast grey shadows against the tufts of heather that grew in patches.
Isabella had given Kate a long black cloak; she hugged it to herself to keep out the cold wind that blew in fresh from the sea, bringing with it a smell of salt and seaweed, and huddled closer to Thomas. They had been told by Crane to wait until he arrived and then he would take them to find their friend.
Kate was still angry that her father had conspired with Jacob Crane and helped him smuggle contraband for so many years. It was as if he had lived a lie, said one thing and then done another, Customs officer and smuggler.
She wondered if there would be any more lies, any more surprises that she would find out about as the night went on. She had lost all the trust she had in him, in fact in everyone. Life with her father was never easy. It was his drinking that had always been the problem. He would fly into a rage at the slightest thing, shout and scream and then break down in tears. For many years she had thought it was her fault, that in some way she was responsible. Kate could never live up to his expectations, she could never be a child, never play games. Her lot in life was to cook and clean, to sew and mend. These were his demands. He wanted her to be a mother, a servant, but never a daughter.
Tonight she had learnt that he had been living a double life, and realized that her father had been slowly poisoned by the death of her mother, the guilt, the pain, and now the deception. ‘It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault,’ she kept repeating under her breath as she thought of her father and of how he had betrayed her.
The trees clattered their branches and beat out the rhythm of the breeze. Her eyes darted around the darkness that encircled them looking for a sign of Crane and his men.
It was not long before they heard the sound of horses. Thomas looked at her and gave a reassuring smile. He put his arm around her and pulled her close.
‘Whatever happens, Kate, I will always be with you. When we were in the wood I had a dream. I met a man.’ He paused, thought and then went on. ‘Well, he was more than a man – I think he was God. He spoke to me and my name appeared in a book. It was written out before my eyes. He told me he was a king and that if I believed in him I need never fear death. What do you think it all meant?’
Kate could not reply at first. She could feel the welling-up of tears as her throat tightened. She blurted out: ‘Why did we get involved in all of this? We should have known something bad was going to happen.’ She had tried so hard to keep herself from crying. It was a mixture of anger and fear, a sense of helplessness and predestination all rolled into one unexplainable feeling of impending disaster.
As the horses picked their way through the trees, Thomas and Kate waited for them to come into the clearing. Without warning the sky cracked with a low rumble of thunder. It shook the ground beneath their feet. A horse whinnied at the other side of the clearing and then they saw one of Crane’s men ride out of the wood. He rode the horse to the centre of the stone circle, stopped, and for several moments looked all around him. He looked at Thomas and Kate.
‘Come forward,’ he shouted in a rum-coated voice. ‘Come forward so I can see you both.’
Thomas walked towards him and gestured to Kate to stay close behind. He had a growing distrust of Jacob Crane and his men.
‘Where’s Jacob Crane?’ Thomas asked the man.
‘He’ll be here right enough. He had to go and find your friend and then he’ll be back for you two.’
‘What if we change our minds? What if we run off into the woods and find our friend for ourselves?’ Thomas asked.
‘What if I cut you down with this cutlass here and now, young Thomas?’
Crane stepped out from his dark hiding place at the base of a large stone three feet from where they were standing. They both jumped with fright.
‘I’ve been here all along waiting for you to arrive. What kept you, Martin?’ Crane said to the man on the horse. ‘Couldn’t find the way out of the inn?’ Crane didn’t wait for a reply. ‘What about you two? Thought of running away already? I thought you were up for the fight. Find your friend and save the world, wasn’t it? What has changed your mind?’ Crane fired questions like grapeshot and didn’t want an answer.
‘I’ve found your friend, but if you want him back you will have to do what I say.’ He looked sternly at them both. ‘Even if you think you can’t, you must trust me at all times, whatever happens.’
‘How do we know we can trust you?’ Thomas asked.
‘Well, you can never know for certain what anyone will do. All I can say is that it takes fresh bait to catch a rat, but the catcher always takes care of the trap.’ He turned to the man on the horse. ‘Take ten of the men and go ahead to the Vicarage. Take up position in the garden next to the tower. I want one musket aimed at the door to the tower at all times. Don’t be seen. I’ll follow on with these two and the rest of the men.’ Crane slapped the back of the horse with the palm of his hand. Martin pulled the animal round and cantered across the clearing to the woods. The sound of other horses and other riders filled the night air as they came out of hiding and trotted into the night along the narrow pathways through the wood, over the moor top and towards the Vicarage.
‘Right, you two. Ever shared a horse?’ Crane walked across the clearing to the edge of the wood. ‘I have a mare for you, no saddle, so you’ll have to hang on. She has the devil in her so watch out. She’ll have you off if she can. It’s the only horse we have spare, or should I say the only one we could steal from Molly Rickets’s barn.’
They walked through the clearing; the great standing stones looked pale in the moonshine. Kate looked around feeling uneasy, scared of each sound that came from the wood. She searched each dark shadow for a trace of the redeyed creatures that attacked them before.
‘What is this place?’ she asked. ‘I was never allowed to come here, always told that it was where the dead lived.’
Crane laughed. ‘A story to keep you away from everything that free traders have hidden. Some say this place is like a giant clock that marks the travel of the universe and others believe it’s a place of worship for old gods, by a race of people long dead.’ He became more serious in his tone. ‘Before tonight I would
never have believed in such things, but now I am not so sure.’
At the edge of the clearing they found two horses tied to a tree. Crane gave a long shrill whistle and then waited. From the wood came a whistle in reply.
‘That’s my men; they don’t like dry land, always like to have the deck beneath their feet when they fight. Let’s hope that tonight they won’t have to.’
Crane helped them both on to the back of the mare, and leapt lightly on to the other horse. Thomas held tightly to the reins and Kate wrapped her arms around his waist. ‘Whatever happens, head for the Vicarage. If we get separated I will meet you there.’ Crane gently kicked the side of his horse as he spoke.
The two horses and riders walked slowly into the enfolding darkness of the wood. One by one, Crane’s men silently joined them as they picked their way along the winding path that led through the wood to the edge of the moor high above the sea.
Jacob Crane soon became conscious of a nagging doubt at the back of his mind that things were not right, and as the procession of riders hacked through the wood he became increasingly aware of a sense that they were being watched. He prided himself on always being one step ahead of the Revenue men and the Captain of the Dragoons. In all his years as a smuggler he had never been caught. There had been many a close encounter, but he had never been captured. This was not always down to his skill as a horseman, sailor, or fighter. Crane knew the powers of persuasion, the power of money and a cask of brandy to the right person. He knew that threats were often as powerful as action and that a reputation for murder was often all he needed to get what he wanted.
Here in the wood he knew one thing: they were not alone. He was never a man to admit to fear, but tonight in the wood, with each yard they travelled, a growing trepidation rose in his stomach. It was a sick, gnawing feeling that things were not right, a mounting apprehension that bordered on fear. The horses, too, were growing nervous. One by one, they began to shy and shudder with each step, to toss their heads, flick their tails and snort into the night, passing their fear from one to the other, as if speaking in some forgotten language.
