Survival

 Survival

by Rosemary Clarke

WE'RE WALKING

covid covid

AND TALKING

covid covid

WE'RE EATING

covid covid

AND MEETING

covid covid

WE'RE LAUGHING

covid covid

AND BATHING

covid covid

WE'RE RESTING

covid covid

AND TESTING

covid covid

WE'RE DATING

covid covid

CELEBRATING

covid covid

WE'RE PLAYING

covid covid

AND STAYING

covid covid

Safety depends on keeping Covid constantly in our minds whatever we do.

Stay safe.

Copyright Rosemarie Clarke 

 AWAKEN

By Peter Woodgate 

When darkness begins to gently fade away

and shadows, black before,

become a shade of grey,

we wonder, at each object,

stark against the racing dawn,

the clarity of life, as each day is born.

 

Why marvel at these works of art

they are but shadows,

whispers of the great inception,

salmon, struggling upstream

swimming in the wrong direction.

 

For night must fall, decay concealing,

but truth, as light, is all revealing.

Pray then to hear the gunshot blast

for if we feel the bullet in our heart,

redemption is long since past

and pain is just the start.

 

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate (first published 1984)  

Abbalar Tales ~ 19

 Abbalar Tales ~ 19 Return to Corvalen 2

By Len Morgan 

   Aldor awoke and returning to his room recovered his few belongings.   He found to his surprise that Orden had left him a newly forged and exquisitely finished weapon.    It was a broad sword with almost perfect balance.   He made some experimental passes and it seemed to anticipate his intent, dancing almost weightless in his hands.   Orden had equipped it with a holster that fitted his shoulders like a glove; allowing the blade to rest lightly on his back without moving, even when he was in motion - behaving as though it were part of him.  This was obviously the special project Orden had lavished so many hours on.    Beside it was a small skin purse containing 500 Okes, and a note which read: 

Please return this purse to my good friend Wizomi, its contents are to cover your expenses on the homeward journey, you should visit the kitchen before you depart, good fortune friend.  

In the small kitchen, Orden had laid on a feast that Aldor could not resist, after his days of fasting.   It took him an hour to eat his fill and to pack as much of what remained, as he could, to provision his journey.   Then having accepted the gifts he carefully covered Orden with his own cape, the one he had himself so recently discarded, and left the Jellonan sleeping peacefully.   Aldor felt humbled and proud to have known such a humane soul, but most of all privileged to call him a friend.   He was a few miles into his journey before his tears stopped flowing.

A few miles beyond 'the Enchanters Wood' he came upon a horse ranch, the last stopping point, on Wizomi's original list of safe houses.   He had intended leaving his horse there, but he was forced to modify his plan slightly because of Skaa.   This time he would stop off, to buy horses, and enquire about the mount Skaa had promised to stable on his behalf.

"What do I owe you for looking after my horse?" he asked.

"Nothing, the old one paid for a month and, said if you returned earlier I should give you the balance.   He was however lame on arrival and is not yet fully recovered."

"Then he should stay here with you, and I will purchase new mounts for my onward journey."   He gazed back at the mountains, "do those three have names friend?"  He enquired conversationally as the rancher wrote him a receipt.

"They are known locally as Ordens pillars, but I know not why.   Few would go much closer than we are standing now.   The woods surrounding them are very dense and most of the locals maintain they can find many better things to do than Climb Mountains."

"You are not from these parts?"

"No!   I am from the Cheilin Empire, just the other side of the Sabre Tooth Mountains.   On a fine day you can see them breaking the distant horizon, he said shielding his eyes with one hand and pointing due south."

"It seems to be a good day," Aldor said with a smile.

"Now those are real mountains, not 'bum boils' like these," he said gesturing contemptuously over his shoulder - towards 'Ordens pillars'.    "I have placed panniers on both horses; they should contain sufficient feed for two weeks, although these mares will be quite happy to browse if you’re not in too much of a hurry."

He thanked the man and rode away in a Nor-westerly direction.   He soon discovered he could ride all day and all night without apparent fatigue, stopping only to feed and water the horses.   He felt a deep sense of anxiety for Genna and Wizomi, and rode on hard into a second night.   He thought because he still felt fresh the horses would be able to match him.   His overriding need was to return to Mandrell as fast as possible.   He allowed his desire to outweigh his own good sense.   He became oblivious to the needs of his mounts both, unknown to him, were fast approaching exhaustion.

Without warning his mount stumbled and fell, on uneven ground, breaking a leg.   She cried out in pain and terror, all her fear and anger aimed in his direction.   The anguish she felt washed through his mind like a douche of ice water; followed by a stream of incandescent lava, at the very moment she expired.   Big though it had been, he had taxed her heart far beyond its limits.   The raw feelings and emotions were totally unexpected, hitting him like a hammer blow.   Suddenly, he realised what he had done.    His mind recoiled, with guilt, unwittingly moving into the mind of the survivor.  He found no forgiveness there.   Receiving instead, the full force of her deep resentment and anger at the burden he had, selfishly and unthinkingly, placed upon them both.   He started to remount, then felt her quiver beneath him, bringing home to him her true condition.   He knew then, that she too had been overtaxed, and the fault was his alone.   She had been ill-used and was badly in need of rest.   She would not otherwise last another ten miles.   He dismounted and they walked on, side by side, at an easy gait for a further two miles.   As they came within sight of a farmstead, she seemed slightly improved.   He was resolved to purchase new horses anyway and leave her to recover fully.

He was shaken and disturbed.   Nothing had prepared him for his first contact with the minds of other creatures, or the depths of feeling he discovered there.   That was only the beginning and was as nothing to the angry emotions stirred up in the mind of the farmer on seeing the state of the surviving mare.   He did not know there was a second, lying dead two miles down the road, yet he seriously considered refusing to sell mounts to Aldor.   But, when he observed Aldor looking to the needs of his horse - feeding, watering, and rubbing down - before even asking if he might purchase a hot meal for himself, the man had a change of heart.   He agreed to take the mare and return her to her previous owner on condition Aldor took two mounts in her place.   The horses viewed him with trepidation but, accepted his coaxing and soothing mind contact.

Two days away from Mandrell, he was more mindful of the needs of his mounts.   Although he himself seemed not to require sleep to anything like the same degree he had, prior to his conversion.   He now made regular stops to rest his mounts, pressing on as soon as their physical needs had been satisfied.   In addition, he regularly dipped into the clear shallow pools of their minds, to ensure they were happy, contented and experiencing no stress.   During one such foray, he discovered a sense of unease.   He checked the other mount and found that she too was very skittish.   He cast around using his mind like a net.   Something was there, something that was not to their liking.

A few yards further and they sidled to a halt, nickering nervously, despite the calming influence he was lavishing on their minds.   He could sense three men and their three companions – three large dogs - with common thoughts in their minds, fear and hatred for their handlers.   Scanning the minds of the men was not a pleasant act.   They were cruel and self-seeking; they believed it was their right to take what they desired without regard for the lives or feeling of others.   They were here to kill and rob innocent travellers.   They had been doing so for a number of years, to the chagrin of their parents.   It was plain to Aldor that reason would be wasted on them.   Instead, he centred on the hatred in the minds of their beasts.   He enhanced it just sufficiently, prior to the confrontation, to cause the animals to be difficult and unruly.   He dismounted as the three men stepped into his path, each struggling with an enormous dog on a chain leash, fighting to maintain control.   The horses reared up, backing away.   He made soothing noises, reinforcing them with calming thoughts.   They now stood passively as he carefully wrapped their reins in the gnarled branches of an ancient briar.   He turned to face his adversaries.   No words had yet passed between them.   He entered the minds, of each dog, in turn, planting final instructions.

"Should I appeal to your kindly natures?" he asked.  They didn't reply.   He felt sad.   Two large bull-like men, with piggy eyes, started slowly towards him their features twisted cruelly. 

"I really would like to prevent you from taking any action that you would later regret…" he said.

They grinned mirthlessly.   The third, a small man with rat-like features, and feral eyes smiled.  

"Such beautiful gifts you bring me, just the kind of friends I need to protect me on my long journey," said Aldor in a friendly voice.   "How much will they cost me?" 

The small man ignored him & launched into a well-rehearsed script, "You will place your purse and any valuables on the ground before you and walk back to your horses.   If you with-hold anything we will kill you.   If you try to escape we will kill you," he said.

"And, if I resist?" he asked.   There was no answer.   "Don’t  say anything - you will kill me!   Seems you are intent on killing me, one way or another, regardless of what I do,” he said.

"From your attitude, I will assume you do not wish to make this easy," said the little man.

"I think not," Aldor replied.  "But I will make one last offer to spare your lives if you just turn around and walk away."

"KILL!"   Was the little man's answer, and the dogs were released.  

Aldor smiled, as they turned immediately, attacking their handlers.   One of the big men fell heavily and his throat was ripped out before he could raise a hand to protect himself.  

His twin grabbed his attacker by the throat, despite being heavily savaged.   He jerked its head back and twisted viciously, snapping its neck like a twig.  

The little man struggled and kicked frantically, emitting a liquid gurgling scream.   He succeeded in drawing his dagger, stabbing the beast repeatedly in his death throes, soon man and dog lay still in a macabre embrace.   The surviving dog turned to avenge its dead brothers, but Aldor called him off.

The surviving man circled Aldor, drawing his sword, with a wary eye on the remaining dog.   It sat calmly on its haunches observing his discomfort, smelling his fear.   He gleaned all this from its mind and from that of his adversary.  The piggy eyed giant stood there holding his sword like a toothpick and sweating like an ox.

"Your family will be troubling no more hapless travellers," said Aldor reaching slowly over his right shoulder, to grasp the hilt of his sword.   He read murderous intent, in the man’s mind, long before the attack came.   "Murder?" he thought. One swift cut, he never stood a chance.  He wiped the tip of his sword on the heavy cloak his victim had been wearing.   That was it, he'd taken his first life.   He thought of all the things the man might have accomplished, the potential that had been cut off in its prime, tears blurred his vision.

Then he deliberately sheathing his sword, and wiped his eyes, "Come!” he called.

The dog followed as he walked towards the horses.   He turned and the dog came to him, at his mental command, the horses skittish and nervous, he calmed them and introduced the dog whilst petting it fondly.

"Well, what shall we call you?" he asked delving into its mind.   It had been known as 'Bdagg' but it became distinctly nervous when Aldor spoke the name.   "You need a new name," he said watching the big animal gambolling in a verge of large aromatic, late flowering, daisies.   Aldor realised suddenly this was probably the most freedom it had ever been given.   It was then he came to a decision, "Blossom!"   He smiled at his small joke but the dog came running, to the sound of his new name, as though he had never had another.   After a moment’s reflection he spoke, "Ladies, meet our new companion - Blossom!"

 He seemed perfectly happy with the name, and with his new friends, so Blossom it would be.   As he idly stroked the dog he entered its mind, hoping to discover something of his past.   Aldore winced at the cruelty he discovered had been inflicted on Blossom and his kennel mates.   He tried to discover more about the owners, without causing distress, by uncovering unwanted and painful memories.   He travelled slowly back to the dogs earlier years when suddenly he experienced great waves of sadness.   He found himself in a forest glade.   Two enormous dogs the image of Blossom and three tiny pups had been surrounded by a seven-man hunting party armed with bows and spears.   As he watched, the two large dogs were killed and the puppies chained, muzzled, and taken to the hunters' village.

Aldor felt sad, but he knew that packs of wild dogs were dangerous to humans and posed a real threat to isolated communities.   Culling their numbers in this way was therefore not uncommon.   Many hunters would have wiped out the whole pack, including the pups.   In this case, they had at least been afforded an opportunity to live.   What was less admirable was the use they had been put too.   The question was, should he visit their lair and exact retribution or, were these three simply rogues, and not representative of their community.   If so, they would not be missed.   If however, the community was rogue, they would follow and hunt him down, and then at least only the guilty would suffer.   This was after all not his country.

The decision came down to experience and therefore was not really difficult to make.   His priority was, helping his friends, who even now, were captives somewhere in Corvalen.   At the pace he could set, limited only by the speed of his horses, nobody would be capable of catching him.   He was, therefore, a little surprised when a man strolled into his camp, that Blossom recognised on sight.

"You will be joining me I hope?" said Aldor hospitably, proffering a steaming bowl of stew.

The figure stopped beside him, smiled and accepted, "Thank you, I will," he replied.

They sat and ate in silence.   His guest produced a fine bottle of wine and two tumblers.   They wiped out their bowls with rye bread and both had a second helping, washed down with the wine.   After eating their fill they lay back and rested against their packs, silent and content.

Finally, his visitor spoke, matter of fact, in a rather off-hand manner.   "You had a meeting today with two of my sons and their cousin.   You also briefly met the other two members of Blossom's litter…"

"Blossom?   But, how could you know?"

"My name is Ragesh.   You are the 'beast master', I have known of your coming all my life.   I have relived this day hundreds of times since I was a child, it was a recurring dream.   I came here to await your arrival, following the night of the dry storm."

"Ah!" said Aldor.

"They are all dead," said the man continuing.

"I'm sorry Ragesh," said Aldor, gazing down sadly.

"I know how it begins, but not how it ends…   I have killed you many times in my dreams, and at other times I have accepted their loss and gone my way, the ending is never the same, you have never once done harm to me.   When I think on it, I have come to terms with my loss, I am here simply to tell you - It was not your fault!   I know that you shed tears, after killing them, and that is more than I or their mother will do.   We have warned them countless times to mend their ways.   I particularly pleaded with them before coming here.   In the end, it was their choice to attack you," he added.   "You mourned their wasted potential but, just think on the potential of those they would have killed, in the future, had you not taken the action you did?"  

"Thank you for your kindness and understanding" Aldor replied.

"I came here because I wanted you to know, you acted correctly, you are blameless!" said Ragesh.   "Now I must go, I have kin to bury; Blossom will accompany me if you don't object."

"I would consider it to be his decision," Aldor replied, his mind touched briefly with Blossom’s mind the warmth of feeling he displayed, for Ragesh, was undeniable and overwhelming. 

 Aldor bid them both farewell, and watched until they eventually disappeared from sight.

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

 An unexpected meeting

By Len Morgan

I've met more people over the last nine months (walking my dogs) than I've met over the last 20 years living in Hullbridge.  There seems to be a friendly atmosphere (almost wartime comradery) did we need to endure such adversity to bring out the best in us?  There must be a million stories out there... 

I’ve not left home other than dog walking, most of the people I’ve met recently have been on YouTube. 

So, I got to seeking old acquaintances from my youth.  In my teens I was a singer with a pop group in Barking, ‘Tony Nelson & the Colts’ we played local pubs, clubs, & Weddings, but we split up in the 60’s and went our separate ways.  I hardly remembered their names, but slowly through the mists of time, they began to return.  It’s quite a process trying to remember a forgotten name: 

I start by picturing faces, and when I have a likeness firmly in mind I begin to compile the information I recall, adding little details as I go.  Then two days later, in the middle of the night, I wake up with a first name ‘youreeka’.  I write it down then a few weeks later I read what I’ve written and the Christian name just pops into my brain by osmosis (the gradual, often unconscious, absorption of knowledge or ideas through continual exposure rather than deliberate learning).  It’s not a fast process, it takes weeks but eventually, it comes. What can I say, some people have quick brains, mine works by slow assimilation. 

So with a name in mind, I Google it and I’m astounded at how many people have the name ‘Paul King’.  So I trawl through the entries, looking for a UK resident, view pictures looking for somebody my age, with vague similarity to the 15-year old I knew 60 years ago.

All those old fogies, why couldn’t they have stayed young & handsome like me?  Then I look in a mirror.  So, I gave up and went back to walking the dogs, maybe I’d try the other members of the band when I get time. 

June said, “the kids are getting tired of the same old walk, let’s take another route for a change!”

“Okay, to be honest, I was thinking along the same lines.”

So, we varied our route, wishing everybody we met a good afternoon, as usual.

One chubby old baldie said, “Aint you Tony Nelson?” (stage name).

I stopped two meters away, “How d’you know that?”

Then I looked closer ”Stevie Oliver?”

“That’s me,” he said.  He was the group’s bass player.

“Can’t believe you live two hundred yards away from me.”

“The others don’t live far away.  Paul King has a guesthouse in Shoebury, and Glen Dethridge has a string of pet shops in Essex, If you can play rhythm we could reform the old group…”

“You’ve stayed in touch with them?”

“Of course, we meet up on Skype on a regular basis, here’s my email,” he produced a piece of paper, got a pen Tony?”

I produced a pencil.   Now when Covid is over we plan to meet every Thursday for a Jam session.

June still want’s to know who this Tony Nelson is!  

Len Morgan

 

 

ABYSS

By Peter Woodgate

The tempest rages

dashing fury on the rocks,

the sound screams out to drown your cries

amid the darkened rolling skies.

The heart is fearful

lest the storm should last forever,

aberrations seen through moistened eyes

leave sorrowful, weakened, fitful sighs.

Lightning,  flashes,

sanctuary glimpsed through blinding rain,

winds subside, the clouds depart,

you see the harbour once again.

 

Is that solid ground?

and why so hot?

Your trembling step recoils,

the sea, so deep, above your head

still boils.

Copyright Peter Woodgate (first published 1984)

Abbalar Tales ~ 18

 Abbalar Tales ~ 18 Return to Corvalen 

By Len Morgan

Wizomi made his way to Corvalen with all due haste, hot on the trail of Jazim and Genna.   Yes, they had been seen en route.   Four mounted men and a coach with two occupants.   One, a woman of obvious quality, the other may have been her maid but, nobody at any of their stops got more than a cursory glance at either.   He pressed hard to make up time, but he started seventeen hours behind them.   Not easy to make up that sort of time on a four-date journey.   He was confronted by heavy traffic as he entered the city and immediately realised the trail had gone cold.   But, he knew where they would be.   He entered the palace grounds, heading boldly for the main entrance.

"Yes!"   An officious courtier asked.

"I am here at the request of your master 'the Caliph' to tell stories at his court."

"Your summons pleases sir," his voice modified seamlessly, to suit Wizomi’s potentially elevated status.

Without hesitation, Wizomi removed a document from his body pouch, and looking the man straight in the eyes, said: "I think you will find these in order."

"Thank you, sir, that is fine," he replied handing the document back with a smile. 

 Wizomi walked past him without a backward glance.   Without hesitation, he walked along the main corridor, heading away from the main entrance.   He knew exactly where he was going, he had consulted with Aldor through the HM, and had a detailed map of the palace fixed firmly in his head.   It was unlikely that a young woman would be housed in the dungeons, so he needed to find either Jazim or one of her Huren escort.   He was heading for Jazims quarters; her two sons had been good friends of Ahlendores.   Unlike most of Endrochines wives, Ahlendor's mother had not treated Jazim as being of inferior status, because she was just a concubine, and the two women had become good friends.   Had Jazim known who they were tracking, she may not have been so willing to help Skaa and his band of bounty hunters.   She may indeed have been more sympathetic towards Genna, knowing that she was with Ahlendore.   Could be she would be more willing to co-operate with Wizomi to effect Genna's release.   As matters transpired, that was not to be.   She was not in her apartments; neither did her sons expect her back, anytime soon.   Changing tack, Wizomi decided instead to seek out Ahlendore's mother.   An hour or so later, he discovered she also had absented herself from the Palace.   In the emotive climate that now existed, she had decided upon a visit to her home in Pylodor, where her father still ruled as Caliph.   After a moments reflection, he realised it was the safest course of action for both her and her son.   In Pylodor she could not be used as a weapon against him.

His plan of action changed for a third time in as many hours.   He now needed to track down Jazim or the bounty hunters, preferably both.   No easy task in a city like Corvalen, even for one who is of 'the weirding caste'.   He would however give every effort to the task, he was not one to give up before he'd even started.   It may , however, take a further excursion into Aldor's experiences, to discover a link.   He was not able to discover any links to the group that had forcibly removed Ahlendore from the city.   However, he did discover the link between the Huren and Grym-Baal.   It was only a slim lead but, he was determined he would follow it up.   He took up post, watched the house of Grym.   He waited and watched for several days, allowing sufficient time for a situation to develop, during this time he noted the old vines had been grubbed up completely changing the profile of the house.   Day three was just a few hours old when he spied a familiar figure approaching the side entrance, through the infamous courtyard.

"Yes."   He whispered under his breath and settled down to see what happened.   He had about given up.  Dusk was falling, and there had been no further developments.   Only a thin blue crescent of Veinen was visible in the sky, as he waited, it cast soft blue light and a harsh shadow. 

 Ten minutes passed without further sign of activity.  Then, a light shone out from the room where Eldoriel had been murdered.   It burned dimly, it had been turned down low, and would only have been noticed by one who was expecting it.   For about fifteen minutes it was constant then abruptly extinguished.   A further five minutes passed before a man slipped out through the courtyard.   He turned right, heading swiftly down narrow and badly lit cobbled side streets.   His route had many twists and turns, most of the alleys he used did not appear on the map from Ahlendore's memory.   Only once did they cross a recognisable main road, so Wizomi took the opportunity to get his bearings.   Then, rounding a corner he realised the surroundings were very familiar, his hair became charged with static, and stood on end, he'd been led around in a circle, he backed away from the place immediately but, too late.    Heavy hemp netting was dropped over him from above.   Its weight alone bore him to the ground and a gang of men efficiently wound it around him, constricting his movements.   He was hit soundly on the head.   The inside of his skull momentarily became illuminated with light, then everything went black.

"Are you alright old friend?" somebody asked, with obvious concern; the voice was familiar and close at hand.   He continued to fake unconsciousness and carefully cracked opened one eye.   They were in a small stuffy windowless room, a pale yellowish luminescence emanated from the ceiling, enough to see by but no more.   On closer examination, the ceiling appeared to be completely covered with close-fitting perfectly symmetrical tiles.   He could smell her presence even before she spoke a second time.

"Wiz?   It's me…"

He opened his eyes and there standing before him was Genna.   "I found you, thank goodness," he said starting to rise.   His head spun, “oh!” he groaned.  That was some blow," he said rubbing his skull gingerly.   "What is your plan?" he asked of her.

"Plan?   I thought you were here to rescue me,” She answered.

"I was trying to find you, and since you've been here awhile I assumed you had made some notes on possible avenues of escape?"  

"I was originally held in a locked room, in another part of the house.   But, I managed to pick the lock and nearly escaped, that was when they brought me down here.   I've only been in this room for a few hours, the door is locked and there are no windows.   The air is stuffy but it not warm."

"Have you found anything?"

"Such as?"

"A key, weapons, food, drink, clothing, material, have you found anything?   What do you have on you apart from your clothes?   Flint, Tinder, knife, rope, a piece of steel wire, a nail?"

She laughed.   "I was thoroughly searched, and anything of use was taken long since.  There are shelves over here," she continued motioning towards the far wall.

"Good!   You search that side and the wall over by the door, while I search this side.   Be sure to investigate everything, leave nothing to chance."

There was a clinking sound.   "What was that," he asked.

"Bottles," she replied, then after a pause, "Ugh, Vinegar wine…"

"All of them?"   He asked.

There was another pause.  “There are five more but the others are all sealed, I can't open them.   Ah, this is interesting," she said tapping something that sounded metallic, ”a pipe," she said revealing her curiosity.   She tapped it again three times in quick succession, pause a while then repeated the same pattern, on the third attempt somebody echoed the pattern.

 

"We are not alone here," she said.   Wizomi didn't comment, instead, he blew into his cupped hands, rubbing them together vigorously as if trying to warm them up.   He removed his right hand, leaving the left upward facing, revealing a small bright orb of white light resting lightly in his palm.  He blew into his left palm and the orb rose above their heads taking up a stationary position above them, just below the ceiling.     By its light, they would be better able to explore the shadowy areas in their place of confinement.  

"Impressive," she said.

"Don't look directly at it," He warned, "it will spoil your night vision and fine discrimination."

Genna was first to spot the metal grill on the outside wall.   It was two feet long and eight inches wide, hidden beneath the bottom shelf, at ground level.   After closer examination, they decided it would be possible to crawl through the slot that would remain, if the grill were removed but, to do that they would need some rudimentary tools.   They tried, without success to pull it out using their fingernails, then looked around for something to use as a lever, there was nothing.   After five minutes, the globe began to fade.

 

Orden’s Cave

"Lovely work," said Orden, peering appreciatively over Aldor's shoulder.   He was admiring a jewel the young man was in the final stages of cutting by hand.   It was the culmination of a three-day self-imposed act of inspired creation.

"I was not aware that Gemmology was one of your talents."

"It was not when I first arrived.   My only prior experience with gems was, wearing them.   But, if you will recall you asked me to create something, that would concentrate my mind and this is it.   I spent some time studying, with a number of master craftsmen, through the HM.   You would I know have preferred me to craft a sword but, if I am to become the controller and diplomacy is to be my weapon, I must at least believe that I can become a good one."   He smiled briefly, accumulated tiredness showing in his eyes, "It is said that war is a failure of diplomacy.   If I attend negotiations with a sword at my side, it will only serve to increase the likelihood of failure.   There are other ways of showing strength, being confident enough to choose not to wear a weapon is but one."

"Well said sprout," Orden was barely able to disguise the pride in his voice.

The amulet was a thin band of white gold, a circlet with one perfect purple stone, an inch in diameter, on its outer rim.   The stone itself had a pale smoky lavender halo.   He tried it on his head with the stone resting on his brow, Orden nodded his approval.   Removing it Aldor stepped from the cavern, into the night.   The full grandeur of the bright blue orb of Veinen, contrasted with Vexen which revealed barely a third of its true glory.   Blue totally dominated the heavens; even the bright show of stars in the clear summer night could not compare, with its soft pastel hue that added stark highlights to discriminate the deep black shadows.   Orden remained within the cavern, this night was for Aldor alone. 

.-…-. 

He viewed the circlet critically, lovingly cleaned and polished.   He gazed up into the clear night sky, the stars seeming to draw closer, spinning in the firmament.   He raised his creation to the heavens, "See what we have created!" he cried aloud.   He chanted a litany in a strange unworldly tongue, words of power from the hive.  Reinforced by the humming of a tune with magic undertones and something else, something feral untamed, chosen carefully to unleash the fury of the elements.   As the echo of his final utterance died away certain stillness came over the land, as if it were holding its breath…   

Lightning burst, forth from the heavens, randomly striking and enveloping the creation and its creator.   He became like flotsam on a raging sea of living coloured filaments of flame.   Seductively fibrillating, caressing him and the artefact, binding them into one entity.    Great gouts of sinuous blue-green and white fire burst into existence, fed by successive bolts of lightning.   Licking tongues of flame assailing the insignificant but immutable figure, randomly lashing and binding him to his familiar, now indistinguishable from his brow.   The band had sunk beneath his flesh, becoming one with the bones of his cranium.   Now, only the stone remained visible in the centre of his forehead, though it too would become invisible to eyes of mere mortals, err the night was over.

"AAAAAAAH!"   His yell of defiance, hurled at the heavens, was a bestial primordial sound, silencing the elements at a single stroke.   The sky became silent and passive.  He fell to his knees head bowed, rolling slowly onto his side into a foetal position.   Orden went outside, sensing it was ended he removed his cape and draped it over the sleeping figure.   He sat beside his protégé, keeping vigil over him, for three days and nights, until he too finally slept.  

When he awoke he found his cape had been draped over his own sleeping form and the boy was gone.

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

 Drought

By Janet Baldey

All through the summer, the villagers had been watching the skies. But all that moved in that hard blue desert were waves of heat burning their upturned faces and scorching the grass at their feet. Around them, their crops withered and bony cattle raised dust in arid riverbeds, pawing the ground as they searched for water.

Kofi bent, dug his fingers through the rock hard crust and scooped up a handful of gritty soil. Slowly he let it trickle through his fingers. Rising, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and his shoulders sagged as he turned homewards. As he walked his son Chidi, trotted by his side, his dark curls barely reaching his father’s elbow. They were halfway there when Kofi felt Chidi tug at his sleeve. A steer was staggering drunkenly along the dusty road. It bellowed mournfully as its front legs buckled and it fell to the ground. By the time they reached the animal its eyes were glazing over.

   “That’s one of Jengo’s,” Kofi said. “We must tell him”. He looked down at his son.  Chidi nodded and immediately turned left at a fork in the road.  Kofi followed him without argument. Chidi was different from the other children. He’d never uttered a word but he knew things that others didn’t.

 

“My well ran dry this morning. I pump and I pump but it does nothing but wheeze. That poor beast is the first to go but others will follow. I think I’m finished. I think we all are”.

  Jengo’s hands were hanging limply by his sides and his eyes were sunk deep into his face. He was but forty, Kofi knew, but at that moment he could have been seventy. The two men looked at each other. Things had never been so bad. Droughts were not new to them but this one seemed unending. Their womenfolk struggled to put food on the table. Their flour was almost gone, so also was the salt beef and pork and if the water table was drying up their crops would be lost and so would they.

“I hear the Elders are calling a meeting tonight”.

 Jengo shook his head. “We need to pray”. 

   That evening, a tide of anxious villagers surged towards the Meeting place. As if magnetized, their eyes were once again drawn upwards to where the baleful sun was melting into a blaze of orange fire as day gave way tonight. Muttering to each other, they entered the Hall and took their seats on the wooden benches that lined its perimeter.

In the centre, a group of black-robed elders were huddled together, their grey beards wagging as they talked.  When the last of the villagers had been seated and the babble of sound had muted, their Leader rose. His face was grave. Deep marks etched into his forehead as he looked at the sea of faces before him.

“My friends.  We all know why we are here. We have fallen upon hard times.   For three years now we have been fighting an enemy we cannot touch. The sun. Without rain, we cannot survive another winter.  Up until now, we have managed to survive by living off the fat of previous seasons but this we can no longer do. Our stores are empty. We have no fat left.  My friends, it is time for us to leave this place. It will take courage but we must flee or die.”

Although most of those present knew that what he said was true, his words shocked.  Panicky whispers ricocheted around the Hall.

“What about the old folk?”

“What about the children?”

Generations ago, their ancestors had travelled to this place searching for a place of peace and plenty away from the world. Ring fenced as it was by the mountains, their hideaway had remained a secret ever since. The villagers looked at each other with fear in their eyes. It would be a long and arduous journey through the mountains and weakened as they were, many would not survive.

Everyone began talking at once and it was in the midst of this hubbub of sound that Kofi felt Chidi again tug at his clothing.

Kofi looked to where Chidi was staring. A stranger, carrying a sack over his shoulder, was lounging in the doorway, his strange blue eyes flickering back and forth.

Heads turned, following Kofi’s gaze and gradually all sound drained away and a breathless hush took its place. The stranger straightened and stepped out of the shadows. As he did, his creased white suit glimmered in the light of the moon that shone through the open door.     

“Good evening to you all”.

Nobody uttered a word.   Not within living memory had a stranger been seen in the village. It must have taken him weeks to travel over the plains and his progress should have been plain to see as he parted the grasses, but not a soul had spotted him. They watched as he walked into the centre of the Hall. There was something about him that triggered old memories, a white stranger with shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes.   The older villagers remembered seeing a man like him before, hidden amongst the pages of books, relics of their ancestors.

A shrill cry rang out and a woman pushed through the crowd. Her veined hands clawing at her stringy neck she let out a howl.

“Tis the Lord Jesus”.

The stranger smiled a secret smile.

“Not Jesus mother, but I do bring blessings”.

Reaching into his sack he pulled out a bottle of clear liquid. With a quick turn of his wrist, he unscrewed the top and poured a stream of shining water onto the beaten earth floor.

“Friends, I have seen your predicament. You can’t stay here. In my travels, I’ve seen many settlements turned into dustbowls by the drought as I have also seen the bones of those that tried to flee. But I can take you to a place, where you’ll never have to pump water. A place where all the water you’ll ever need will gush forth at the turn of a tap.  Follow me ….”

Turning, he strode out of the Hall. The villagers rolled their eyes and looked at each other, then one by one they followed. They found the stranger standing next to a strange machine. It squatted on the bare ground humming softly to itself as its fuselage glowed a dull silver in the moonlight.

“All you folks have to do is to make your mark on this piece of paper and all your worries will be at an end. This machine will carry you all to a place of plenty”. He patted the aircraft as if it were a lover.

Chidi circled the crowd that gathered around the stranger. Although he hadn’t heard the man’s words, he had been watching his face intently and had noticed something. Every now and then the surface of the man’s face rippled.  He looked around at the excited mass of people and saw the awe on their faces. He shifted his gaze back to the man and watched, seeing what others didn’t. The man before them was wearing a mask. If you looked closely, it slipped sideways for a split second and showed another face, a dark face that smiled an unpleasant smile while its eyes sparkled with malicious glee. Chidi shivered.

Suddenly a series of visions exploded into his mind.   He saw his father, his face drenched in sweat, his body bowed with fatigued, labouring day and night in a dark building that rang with noise.  He saw his mother, muffled up against the cold, crouched in an icy street, a sign at her feet saying ‘NO MONEY. PLEASE GIVE’.  He saw his sister, a smile painted on her once innocent face, being led by men into noisome alleyways.  He saw himself, his eyes empty and uncomprehending, locked inside a bare white room. He screamed and clutched at his father, trying with all his strength to pull him away.

Kofi looked down at his son who was obviously scared witless. He paused, a frown passing over his face. Chidi had always been a knowing child. He looked at the villagers crowding around the stranger and an unpleasant thought sneaked into his mind. The blankness of their faces reminded him of bullocks tempted by food before being herded into the slaughterhouse. His eyes flicked towards the stranger and he felt a sudden certainty. No, he did not trust this man. What did anyone here know of him? Nothing, yet they were willing to follow him to an alien place where they would be the strangers. Maybe they were bewitched. Maybe Chidi could break the spell that bound them.

He thrust himself into the melee and made his way to the front. Turning, he faced the crowd.

‘My friends,’ he said. ‘You know me. I am Kofi. A brave man who wears a lion’s pelt. But I say to you – beware of this man. His words are as honey but you all know the dangers of following the wild bee.’

He looked down at his son who was mouthing words that had never before passed his lips and a great gladness filled his soul. The child could speak at last. What he was about to say must be truly the word of the gods.

 ‘Listen to my son. He speaks for the very first time. It is a miracle.’ He lifted his son into the air and Chidi began to speak…… 

Copyright Janet Baldey