The Two Confessions John Whitbourn (best books for students to read txt) 📖

the god-venom spat forth in unprecedented quantity. Scores wereimmolated or dissolved.

Thedispersing congregation wavered - and then rallied, raising hosannas ofwelcome. There'd never been two such proximate visitations. This might still bethe promised day of wonders.

Theground-spurners crossed the zone of devastation, skimming over the joyfuldying. They were rapt and oblivious.

‘Lord,lord,’ shouted Foremost Speaker, ‘we are blessed! Are we also forgiven?’

Therewas no direct answer. Speaker's breath was always deliberately shallow (to showhis disdain for the enemy's element), but never more suspended than now.Distant ructions from beyond the eye mirrored his own concern. It was badenough that their pious solitude and pure worship be disturbed, or that theyshould quarrel with ancient allies. These things were surmountable; ultimatelyjust seepage from the silly, pointless, world above. Time would erase them indue course. What Speaker really feared, a tiny worry possessed of giant strength,was that they had erred. It shackled him to the meat-medium and wouldnot let him soar. Maybe they had missed the crossroads and now strode foreveralong a wrong way!

ForemostSpeaker punished the thought, exiling it along with other distasteful memories,like those of breeding and family, and the days before perfection. Yet sentencewas disputed. The notion of ice-and-despair hammered for release withincreasing force; its brain-cell prison door began to splinter.

Thenthree words completed the work. Worst-suspicion acquired freedom and realityand mockingly capered about, turning everything to bitter regret.

‘Hewas here!’ confirmed the visitant voice from beyond the eye. ‘Hewas here....’

‘Andwe let him go...,’ said Foremost Speaker, before his god could.

************

‘Heis our nemesis.’

‘Thenremove him.’

Butthe old Elf woman only spoke in jest, just to provoke. She knew better.

‘TheUbiquitous Spirit would not permit, Joan, as you well know. Our survival ismerely tolerated: nor can we expect favours. You yourself were present whenthat bargain was struck.’

Shepersisted out of mischief.

‘So?We are tied but vermin are not. The life-haters were about the deed. Youprevented them.’

Samuel'srecent saviour languidly swerved that dart also. His tribe-sister had a realtalent to ferment trouble. He admired her for it.

‘Thatsame Spirit would have thwarted them in some other way,’ he said. ‘Better thecreature be in our charge.’

‘Inour debt,’ said another of the older-breed present.

‘Underour guidance,’ added a third.

TheCouncil was in broad agreement, as always. Free from all passions, they couldreserve conflict for entertainment only. Their rare civil wars werepainstakingly choreographed.

‘Verywell,’ Joan decreed, speaking for all. ‘He shall be kept from them. Anddiverted. Find out what the brute-beast wants. Then force-feed it. Stupefy thething with fulfilment. Thereby save us.’

TheElf emissary nodded.

‘Itshould be possible…,’ he agreed, as indifferent as ever.

‘Thoughthe life-loathers will fight,’ said Joan, smiling. ‘Their search will beravenous.’

Therewas a second allotted to mild amusement. Then one Elf round the table succumbedto open laughter: a thin and unnatural noise. His lapse proved infectious, butthey subsequently excused themselves. The balance of power had changed: thatmuch was now accepted. Even so, there was still - grotesque - humour in lowerlife like humans presuming to oppose their betters.

************

FatherOmar felt the seizure coming. It gave fair warning in a moment of pure clarity:some final sunshine before nightfall.

Hemade it to his bedroom chair and so secured dignity for when he was found. Thenthere was time for the ‘Last Things’, like thanking God for this concludingmercy and all His other blessings; of which there'd been many. He also prayedfor forgiveness - and received grounds for optimism on that score.

Hisbrain was next commanded to release a clear memory of Jerusalem the Golden. Itwas just like being there. Only better.

Omarwas still beholding those beloved domes and spires when a giant pinched hisheart.

U[U[U[U[U[U[U

cHAPTER 39

The Sicarii somehow knewthey were revisited, although Samuel couldn't see how. The Negro was preparedwhen the Elf was suddenly amongst them again without even a heraldingdisplacement of air.

‘It'sall go, innit?’ he (or maybe it?) said, in unkind mimicry of how humanssounded to him.

TheSicarii also proved up to imitating London gutter-tones.

‘Andeven when yer get there yer don't fancy it, do yer?’

Abandoningthe Forge's supper, he walked overand shut the door to his room.

Trevanforced himself to remain seated. His alarm had been momentary. There werecallers he'd rather see, but days of confinement with the Sicarii meant anydiversion was welcome. Trevan had had to recount his story till it wore thin;plus the Negro's company was like continually handling lit fireworks.

TheElf slid a folded document onto the bedside table. It looked ancient thoughuncared for; thin and stained skin from some large animal. Once expanded Samuelsaw that it was a map or diagram.

‘Aboutyour lost monastery,’ said their visitor, sans greeting orpreliminaries. ‘The way-barriers are still maintained against you. But thereare also ventilation ducts. Even they do not know them all. This plan does.Pour down sufficient combustibles and the Bogomils will burn.’

‘Thussaving the Inquisition the trouble,’ said the Sicarii, taking up the sheet andstudying it with unfeigned admiration. His eyes tracked its extent. ‘Phew!There’s miles! Good job Mott stockpiled plenty of greek-fire.’

Theirguest leant over his shoulder.

‘Andincrease the proportion of oil to tar and sand, here, here and... here. Itshould find living things on which to adhere. Their roaming death agonies willspread the flames.’

‘Thankyou, I'll see to it.’

‘Doso soon. They are preparing to move.’

‘Actionthis day.’

‘Splendid.And speaking of movement: what about this one's associates?’

Hemeant Samuel, although his subject didn’t even merit a look.

‘Done,’said the Sicarii. ‘Rounded up. Compensated. Placated. Intimidated. On their wayto the ship. This hostel alone waits cauterisation.’

‘Eh?’Samuel hadn't heard such orders given - but neither had he ever seen theSicarii sleep: something he must surely do sometime. So, anything waspossible. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘Imean your family,’ answered the Sicarii, ‘your employees and all those you'veimpinged upon here. Trevan Farm's already to let. This place will have newowners. A bright new future awaits them one and all.’

‘Where?’

Samuelcould tell the desired response was 'what's it to you?’ For the momentthough, he was important (for some reason) and had to be humoured.

‘Malta,probably.’ The Sicarii shrugged. ‘Or Rhodes, maybe: wherever they're needed.’

‘Howabout the Bosphorus?’ Samuel suggested. He’d thought of old Walter the LondonWatchman, and then of rifles and Tartars - and the Trevan Farm crowd inlife-and-death competition  with both.

TheSicarii considered the idea - with growing favour.

‘Yes…,there’s pretty lethal. That’d do, I suppose. Why not?’

Samuelwas obscurely pleased.