Timelock

by R. G. Knighton

  Joseph returned the day before the summer solstice and he hardly recognised his young nephew now dressed in the Druidic uniform and standing silently at Calatin’s side. The look in Yeshua’s eyes and the touch of his hand filled Joseph with such reverence it gave him no doubt in his belief that Yeshua had to be the one they have all been waiting for.

  For many weeks leading up to the summer solstice, temporary encampments had blossomed up around the foot of Tor in the surrounding grasslands as thousands of people travelled from far and wide to witness the longest day at the most important spiritual site in the land. For all of these native inhabitants, this day is the most important in the calendar. Great care and preparation had been taken between Calatin and Wobin, to organise the festival along the strict guidelines that have been passed down by word of mouth for thousands of years. All across the land similar events were taking place at hundreds of purpose built stone circles with the sole purpose of welcoming in the new dawn.

  During several hours of darkness on solstice eve, torchbearers guided the huge procession along each of the seven levels, slowly winding their way via every walkway until reaching the summit. From the marshes below, the bobbing string of flames burning in the darkness resembled a huge glowing serpent coiled several times around the treeless hill reaching from its base all the way to the summit. Junior members of the Druids had previously scrubbed clean and bedecked the stones with sweet smelling flowers which also helped mask the unwashed smell of the crowd filling the plateau to overflowing as they waited patiently in the pre-dawn chill. Balthazar stood inside the circle with his back to a pillar so as not to block the view of those behind and he silently watched the Druid formation solemnly march along the narrow avenue created by the crowd that closed in behind the last Druid and followed the procession. Joseph walked with Yeshua and Wobin at his side, directly behind Calatin who headed the group leading a white bull adorned with garlands of flowers tied to its horns and tail. The crowd parted to allow the Druids into the stone arena and closed ranks behind as the chief and his honoured guests stepped inside. Wobin and Calatin took their position on either side of the altar with the white bull between them. Raising his right hand to silence the crowd, Wobin turned to face Calatin who nodded his appreciation for the hushed silence. Pausing to clear his throat Calatin began to address the congregation.

  “We all stand together at the dawn of the longest day and we give thanks to the Goddess of the Earth for our first harvest. The runes predict that it will be a bountiful year so we offer a sacrifice of this pure white bull, whose blood will anoint the altar stone and bless the goddess of fertility that our tribe will grow and prosper.”

  Calatin nodded to one of his fellow Druids who pulled the rope attached to the bulls halter, stretching its head and neck over the sacrificial stone. Calatin removed a small golden sickle that hung on a belt around his waist and in one swift movement, he slit open the throat of the bull, spilling hot blood across the surface of the altar and pouring down the stone sides to soak into the earth. The bull moaned and sank to its knees as its life force drained quickly from its body. Its head rested for a short while on the altar top then slid quickly off the side as it rolled over and died, coating its left flank in its own warm blood that looked as black as tar in the torchlight. The crowd cheered and stamped their feet in satisfaction, pleased to see the altar completely coated in blood, taking that as a good omen for the future.

  As the crowd watched fascinated by the sacrifice, an unusual movement caught Balthazar’s eye. Two of the Druids, instead of watching the event, were circling around outside the perimeter of stones. They stopped, due east of the altar, in line to intercept the light from the sun at the dawn of the new day. The two figures seemed familiar to Balthazar but he could not remember from where. His attention was taken when he spotted Calatin take Yeshua’s hand and lead him to pride of place to greet the new dawn.

  The crowd hushed once more as a ruby glow filtered across the eastern horizon signifying that dawn was imminent. Balthazar stared along with everyone else as the first rays of the sun shone through a hole in the lead stone, casting a narrow beam of light across the altar and onto Yeshua’s body. It was at that exact moment in time the shorter of the two strange Druids threw back her hood, hoisted up on the shoulders of her partner and raised her golden amulet level with the far side of the hole in the lead stone. This immediately focused the sunlight through its emerald centre, transforming the shaft of golden rays into a vivid green while still focused upon Yeshua’s chest.

  “Yeshua.”

  Balthazar screamed as he began to run across the circle to save his young prince. Before he could reach halfway, his foot slipped and he fell full length into a puddle of the dead bull’s blood. Everything seemed to pass in slow motion as he tried to regain his feet. The sight of Toomak chanting, the green beam of light hitting Yeshua’s chest, and watching crowd beginning to panic in the confusion.

  By the time he cleared his obstacle and made it over to the altar, Yeshua lay lifeless on the earth with a narrow column smoke rising from his chest. Joseph fell to his knees and cradled his nephew in his arms. Balthazar spun around to look for Toomak only to see an incredible sight. Timut, the sailor who lost his hand during the voyage had seen what Toomak was doing and being closer than Balthazar had managed to react much quicker. Following his recovery, the ship's carpenter had fashioned a hollow wooden sheath tipped with a metal hook in place of hand, dressed internally with soft fabric so it slipped snugly onto his stump allowing him to function simple tasks. The hooked prosthetic now appeared to be jammed into the hole on the inside of the lead stone, completely blocking the lethal beam of light. Smoke poured out of both sides of the stone from the charring wood and the metal hook glowed to a fiery red in the dawn’s early light. The rising sun now offered enough light to see down the Tor towards the village and Balthazar scanned the mass of people for signs of Toomak or Feriluc who he guessed was her accomplice. Eventually he spotted them almost halfway down, scurrying through the confused masses as they headed for the lake. In a blind rage Balthazar set off at a foolhardy pace, galloping down the steep sides to the levels to gain ground on this mortal foe, whilst not knowing whether Yeshua was alive or dead. Whatever his fate, Balthazar was determined Toomak would not escape. The rest of the crew took Balthazar’s lead and followed on as fast as they could but they soon fell back from the adrenaline fuelled pace of this giant of a man. By the time Balthazar breathlessly reached the foot of the hill, Toomak was already in a waiting boat, manned by four unknown mariners who paddled swiftly away into the mist. Undeterred, Balthazar ran full tilt along the jetty and without check, dived headlong into the chilly water and swam for the boat. Believing to be out of harm’s way, the rowing crew slowed their pace and were shocked when Balthazar suddenly caught up and made a grab for one of the paddles. As blows from remaining oars rained down about him, Balthazar blocked and parried as best he could until luck favoured the brave and one of the passengers lost his balance when Balthazar grabbed hold of the bulwark and violently rocked the boat. Feriluc fell sideways and made a grab for Toomak to stop himself falling into the water but the only thing he managed to grasp was the amulet hanging around Toomak’s neck. His momentum snapped the chain and Toomak’s prized possession slipped away from her outstretched fingers, splashing into the water alongside her mentor and friend.

  “My Amulet, we must stop and get it.”

  Toomak screamed and had to be held back from jumping in herself as the men freed the boat from Balthazar’s grip and paddled furiously away to avoid capture when they spotted more of the crew manning another craft at the water’s edge. Even though Feriluc was also left behind, the only thing that mattered to Toomak was her precious amulet and she lay sobbing in the bottom of boat as it disappeared into the mist.

  Left to fend for himself, Feriluc lashed out a bony fist into Balthazar’s face as the two men thrashed about in the water. Balthazar hardly felt a thing as rage still coursed through
his veins and he grabbed Feriluc tightly by the throat, forcing his head under the water. Feriluc panicked and clawed at Balthazar’s hands, trying not to breathe as his body screamed out for more air. As Balthazar rolled over the top he used his weight to hold him under. Feriluc kicked his legs into Balthazar’s lower abdomen, catching him squarely in the testicles. Balthazar gasped, taking in a lung full of water and immediately released his grip as he kicked for the surface, allowing Feriluc to swim away. Coughing and spewing out inhaled water, Balthazar continued to search as long as his strength would allow, thrashing like a madman through the masses of reed beds in an increasing futile attempt, until he finally had to admit defeat and leave it to the rest of his boat crew as he collapsed onto the nearest jetty. Two of his crew ran to his aid, helping him to his feet and half carried the exhausted man back to the village for wine and warmth by the campfire. Devastated by the loss of Yeshua, Balthazar sat silent and numb as he gulped down copious amounts of the local brew to dull his pain as he waited for Joseph and the Druids to bring Yeshua’s body down from the Tor. Barely able to lift his head in grief as Joseph silently placed a caring hand on his shoulder, Balthazar startled from the lighter touch of a much smaller hand on his other.

  “My young prince, I thought you were dead.”

  Balthazar cried as he jumped to his feet and hugged the boy to his chest. Yeshua yelped from the tight embrace and Balthazar immediately let go, dropping the young man to the ground. Looking at Yeshua’s chest he could see a coin sized hole burnt through his Druid tunic with a matching sized angry red weal burnt deep into the skin beneath.

  “If it wasn’t for the quick thinking of Timut, Yeshua would now be dead.”

  Joseph announced, shivering at the thought of losing his nephew and having to report back to his parents when he returned home. Aroused from his sombre thoughts at the hilarious sight of Balthazar, now enjoying the effects of the copious amounts of alcohol, dancing wildly around the campfire with Yeshua and forcibly encouraging anyone else within reach to come and join him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The following day, nursing a massively sore head and still furious at loosing hold of Feriluc, Balthazar skulked around the camp like a chastised schoolboy. The villagers found out very quickly to give him a wide berth unless you wanted to find out what happens if you poke the bear. This carried on well into the evening when a commotion was heard coming from the outskirts of the camp. Everyone ran to see three of the villagers dragging a mud covered Feriluc to the front of the chief’s hut. Four men had to hold Balthazar back from killing him where he lay before the head of the village had a chance to decide his fate. While everyone waited for the chief to emerge from his hut, someone threw a rope over a stout branch on a tree near the campfire tied one end to Feriluc’s feet then pulled the other end of the rope hard, dragging the squealing muddy man through the ashes of the campfire and up into the air until he swung slowly upside down with the fingertips of his now hanging arms, tracing patterns in the dusty earth. Eventually Wobin emerged and questioned Feriluc on the whereabouts of Toomak and her family. Whether he understood the chief's language or not, Feriluc refused to talk even when the chief kicked him squarely in the face, breaking his nose with a loud crack and spraying blood across his filthy face. The chief smiled, giving time for Feriluc to feel the pain and he walked away to get a drink of wine while Feriluc choked on the taste of mucus mixed with his own blood.

  “He will tell us what we want to know, I promise you.”

  Bragged the chief as he postulated around the campfire, enjoying his moment in front of his guests. Joseph sat quietly beside Balthazar, reassuring his friend to be patient and allow the chief perform his role for his people. Balthazar panted like a beast poised to strike as he glared at Feriluc’s face while Yeshua stared at his godfather, fascinated by the vein pulsating on Balthazar’s right temple. The chief finished his parade and returned to the prisoner’s side. Standing directly facing Feriluc albeit hanging upside down, the chief raised his own tunic, took hold of his penis, and pissed in Feriluc’s face. Violently shaking his head, the prisoner coughed and spluttered as the hot smelly liquid stung his eyes and ran into his upturned injured nose turning the dried blood and dirt into a thick syrup clogging the back of his throat. He finally managed to snort the gloop into his mouth then spit out the foul plug of burgundy coloured phlegm right onto the top of the chief’s foot. Everyone fell silent as Wobin looked down and then bellowed like a wild boar as he flicked out his foot, dislodging the deposit directly into the fire. He then turned back to the semi-comatose man and began to rain kicks and blows all over the man’s unprotected body. Yelps and cries gurgled from Feriluc’s mouth as his ribs buckled and snapped and he spat out broken teeth onto the dusty earth. Breathless and exhausted, Wobin finally stopped. Snatching a goblet of wine from his aid and downing it in one go; he sat down to regain his breath. Feeling satisfied that he had restored his honour. Everyone watched silently as the rope creaked while Feriluc swung slowly back and forth painting an abstract pattern of blood in the dust. Eventually Wobin courteously nodded that he had finished and Balthazar jumped to his feet, running around the campfire, finally allowed to reach his prey. What nobody saw was the condition of the rope where it passed over the tree branch holding up the prisoner. It had chafed and worn under the pendulum of the man’s weight and before Balthazar could do anything, the remaining strands split and Feriluc dropped headfirst to the ground. With the agility of a cat he used the fall’s momentum to roll over from the shoulder and spring to his feet. With the slipknot now loose he stepped free, turned tail and ran past a startled crowd, through the huts and into the forest, with Balthazar, furious at losing Feriluc for a second time, roaring like a mountain lion giving chase.

  Even though beaten to a pulp, the fear of Balthazar thundering closely behind spurred Feriluc on to incredible speed and soon he began to gain distance between him and his deadly foe. Balthazar’s huge size began to take its toll and even with his impressive stride his wiry prey disappeared into the forest. Blown and exhausted, Balthazar conceded defeat as he sat wearily on a rock beside a small lake. If he had looked down into the clear waters he would have seen Feriluc holding his breath and staring back with his beady pink eyes. The pain in his broken ribs had finally taken a toll on his laboured breathing and he had to stop and rest. Balthazar caught up much quicker than anticipated giving him no time to run away, so Feriluc slipped under the water to hide. Taking less than a minute to regain his strength, Balthazar placed his left hand down onto the rock to push himself up onto his giant legs. Instead of matching the movement with his other hand, Balthazar quickly pushed himself over onto his side and plunged his free arm into the water, grabbing Feriluc by the scruff of the neck and lifting his skinny body clean into the air. On his approach, he had seen the ripples caused by Feriluc as he slipped under the surface, so theatrically pretended to be exhausted, sitting down as near as possible to where he could see Feriluc out of the corner of his eye hiding in the reeds.

  Kicking and screaming like a trapped wild cat, Feriluc lashed his foot into Balthazar’s stomach only for it to be snatched in mid-flight by the gladiatorial reactions of Balthazar’s free right hand. The next few minutes consisted of a bizarre struggle with Feriluc in spite of his injuries, writhing and spitting as Balthazar tried to control his foe. Eventually fed up with the fight, Balthazar smashed Feriluc’s forehead into the trunk of a tree, knocking him out cold. When he awoke, he found himself sitting up and leaning against the same tree with both his hands and feet bound tightly with strips of fabric torn from his own smock leaving him shivering from the cold and wearing nothing but his loin cloth. Balthazar waited, patiently sharpening his huge dagger on the side of a rock in anticipation of what was to come. Looking up, Feriluc began to talk.

  “There is nothing you can do that will make me tell you of Toomak’s whereabouts.”

  He began, sounding like someone with a severe head cold due to the state of his shattered
nose. Balthazar stood up and smiled, relishing the thought of inflicting pain on one of those responsible for attempting to kill his ‘little prince’. With lightening speed, Balthazar’s knife flicked from his hand and embedded its self handle deep into Feriluc’s shoulder, pinning the screaming man firmly to the trunk of the tree. Casually walking over, Balthazar remained silent as he stooped to retrieve his knife, twisting the handle excessively, adding to the agony of the screaming man as he worried the blade free from the wood. Blood flowed copiously down Feriluc’s heaving battered and bruised chest as Balthazar sat crossed legged at his bound feet, smiling inwardly at his next idea. Lifting the two bound feet up from the ground, Balthazar tightly gripped the body of one foot as he pinched Feriluc’s little toe in his own massive fingers. Without warning, Balthazar pivoted the toe out sideways, snapping the bone as lightly as a twig. Feriluc screamed again, forcing greater amounts of blood from his wound as he strained in pain. One by one, Balthazar methodically worked his way through all the toes on both of Feriluc’s feet, ignoring the screams and insults as he snapped every bone. When he had finished, every toe jutted out at bizarre angles, opposite to the natural form of a foot. Unbelievably, Feriluc would still not reveal Toomak’s whereabouts.

  Back in the village, Yeshua listened intently whilst wincing to the sounds of screaming coming from within the forest.

  “I do not wish anyone to come to harm on my behalf.”

  He announced to Joseph as they sat around the camp fire. Joseph finished his mouthful of stew before offering his reply.