Children of Fire

by Paul CW Beatty

  On Elijah’s left shoulder, from above the collarbone towards the nipple, there was a white scar that had been inflicted by something very sharp which had cut deeply. Under the scar, Josiah could feel the thickening where the collarbone had been broken but then healed.

  The second scar was on the right side near Elijah’s waistline over his right hip. It was grotesque. Round, depressed and about an inch across, the skin and tissue around it were puckered. Something had torn the flesh into this strange shape.

  Josiah moved on. He examined the marks left by the binding of the wrists to the beam. The bonds had dug deeply into the flesh and some of the bones of the wrists were visible. Elijah must have been incapacitated before being strapped to the beam but these injuries suggested he had awakened and fought against the bindings.

  Worried about the time his examination was taking he moved on to where the nails had been. Two fingers on the right hand had been broken. It was while examining this, he noticed a curious tattoo on the inside of Elijah’s arm. It was old and faded but on the white skin it was clearer than it would have been in life.

  It showed a Celtic harp with a winged male figure carved on the front post and a snake on the soundboard. Above the harp there was a single word: Equality. There were some faded words he could not entirely decipher below the harp. It is… and shall be… Josiah sketched it into his notebook as best he could. Having finished his notes, he paused before he again covered Elijah. He looked steadily at body and tried to connect the things he had observed here and at the cross.

  The placard with the word BLASPHEMER written on it in blood might suggest a religious motive for the murder; the false prophet of Furness Vale had been crucified by someone who found Elijah’s beliefs abhorrent. But a religious motive would also be a good thing to pretend if you wanted use religious imagery to cover up a more prosaic motive such as greed.

  Then there were the touches of unrestrained rage in the murder: the stabbing in the chest, the use of the nails, the broken fingers, the possible stamp on the throat. This murder might be motivated by revenge.

  At about six o’clock the calling bell near the cross began tolling. Everyone, including Josiah, filed into the chapel. Elijah’s body, dressed in his beautiful embroidered preaching cloak, was at peace. The were no signs of blood left on his face or forehead. His white hair had been combed out and arranged to frame his face. His hands held a Bible. His staff lay next to him.

  It was a simple service. Bible passages were read and prayers offered in thanks for his life and leadership. In turn, each of the Children of Fire came forward and offered a single personal memory about him. These reminiscences made a fitting eulogy.

  Rachael’s was the most moving memoir. She recounted how she had been found by Elijah as a little girl living on the streets in Liverpool. Elijah had rescued her and brought her to Long Clough where she had grown up before the Children of Fire were formed.

  She spoke of his strength and inspiration, how he had always spoken up for children all the time she had known him. As she spoke of how Elijah had transformed the hell of her life in Liverpool into the peace they had found in Long Clough. The resolve and self-control that had sustained her since the murder, started to weaken and she gave way in grief, slowly collapsing onto Elijah’s body. Sobbing, she buried her head in his lifeless chest and tried to hold him in her arms.

  As Peter and others comforted Rachael a final hymn was sung. The words were hopeful and brave but Rachael’s grief had touched everyone. Whilst the hymn was one of praise and hope, it had taken on a fearfully sombre overtone.

  When the hymn was over, before moving outside to form a guard of honour, all present, except those who were to carry the body, picked up a torch and lit it from one of the candles in the chapel. As Elijah’s body was carried out, Rachael and Peter lit its way and the rest of the Children of Fire followed behind. Josiah brought up the rear.

  The sun was setting over the western edge of the Furness Vale and Long Clough was already in deep shadow. The torches shone brightly and the embroidery on Elijah’s preaching cloak reflected the flames.

  As the bell tolled, they walked slowly along the path to Pulpit Rock. Up the path to the cross the community carried their leader, then out onto the rock itself and into the last sunlight of the day.

  Elijah was laid gently on the pyre they had built near the edge. Peter and Rachael stepped forward and plunged their torches into the wood. The fire seemed to dim and then it took hold as the brushwood and lumber started to burn. One by one the community threw on their torches on to the pyre, Josiah last.

  The flames grew in strength and Elijah’s cloak started to burn. Suddenly, the fire exploded in intensity and it became impossible to see the body behind sheets of living flame.

  Josiah looked out from the rock to the west. The sun was just setting. He imagined what the scene must look like from the other side of the vale. Elijah Bradshawe, Prophet of Furness Vale, Leader and Founder of the Children of Fire was passing from this world. In the morning, there would be no bones to bury, except perhaps the skull, no tissue left, except perhaps the heart. Like the prophets of old, a legend would spring up that he had been taken up bodily into heaven on a column of smoke or by a miraculous whirlwind. No one, not even Josiah, would wish to interfere with that part of Elijah’s legacy.

  13

  Hunted

  ‘Brother James, where is everyone?’ said Josiah as he came into breakfast.

  ‘Some have been and taken some food and then gone to their own private places. Some just haven’t yet stirred yet; they don’t have the heart.’ James finished his meal and got up. ‘I’ll go and get on with a few chores,’ he said.

  ‘Do you want company?’ said Josiah.

  ‘Thanks for asking but no.’

  Josiah realised that he should have foreseen something like this effect on the members of the community. He had seen others grieve and had his own memory of the feeling. It was inevitable that the stoic solemnity of Elijah’s funeral, which had sustained the day before, would turn into a more personal and sadder mood. Elijah’s chair was empty in its place. A sense of “so he really is gone” hung almost tangibly in the air and given the uncertainty of the future of the community it had an edge of anxiety as well as grief.

  Josiah ate his breakfast alone and in a silence, punctuated only by the ticking of the clock on the dresser. By the time, he had finished he felt trapped and oppressed by the mood. He had not known Elijah long enough to feel the intensity of personal grief of Rachael, Peter and the other Brothers and Sisters. As a result, he felt he was intruding on their grieving. He should take a walk so as to leave the others in peace and privacy but where?

  It occurred to him that he had not had time on Saturday to search the area around the hidden store as carefully as he would have liked. He also wanted to see if there was any evidence that anyone had been back since he’d discovered it. He would approach it from the sawmill which would mean he would cover new ground in getting to it.

  Beyond the sawmill he found an overgrown but serviceable footpath going into the wood in roughly the right direction. The wood was thicker here than near the Forester’s cottage. Soon he was having to push aside saplings and duck under low branches to make progress. The ground was rough, stony and dry, with rocky outcrops which had to be climbed over. It was relief to find the marker wall for the Hailsworth’s estate. After a few more yards beyond the wall, he was struck by the quietness of the wood. A few birds were calling from the treetops, but except for a brilliant Jay he disturbed in a tree which flew close over his head in a flash of blue, russet and white, it was as if there was not a living thing around him.

  The path lead through a succession of dells each deeper than the last but none showed sign of ever being visited by people let alone hiding anything illicit. Then, unexpectedly, he was standing on the lip of the final dell looking down at the pile of wood that hid the
store. Irrationally, he crouched down, hiding as if the silence had eyes that were watching him. He shuffled forward on his haunches, using the bracken as cover and worked his way round to the entrance to woodpile. There were no new tracks in the earth. It was exactly as he had left it. Ridiculous, he thought, what are you frightened of? With an act of will he stood up and stepped towards the entrance. He bent down his hand on the woodpile ready to enter.

  You have been watching the store for three days in case the intruder comes back. When you came on Friday morning at first you had not noticed that anything was out of the ordinary. There were no unusual tracks and everything seemed in its place. It was only after a little while that you began to see that some things in the store had been moved. Searching outside you found the branch that had been used to cover the tracks. Whoever your visitor was, they had been thorough. But you can be thorough as well. They had not revealed the store otherwise that idiot of policeman from the inquest would have been here by now. Perhaps they were unaware on what they had stumbled? They could just be ordinary thieves but either way they were likely to come back and you should make sure that it would be their last visit.

  You picked your spot, about 400 yards from the hollow. You have a clear view of the entrance to the store, though you are not as high as you would like. You have waited and at last, your patience is rewarded.

  There is a figure on the lip of the hollow, a blurred outline against the sky. He stoops, hiding in the bracken. You lose sight of him but you know where he is going. You ensure everything is ready for the moment he tries to get through the entrance; rifle loaded, stabilised and target area clear. Perhaps he is a government agent but if he is, why hasn’t he already arrested or assassinated you. Now, you have the initiative.

  He stands before stooping to get through the opening. His back is towards you. You cock the rifle, hold your breath and fire.

  There was a fierce buzzing and no more than three inches to the right of Josiah’s temple, simultaneously something splintered the piece wood on which his hand rested. Dumfounded, he was still looking at the place, when the musket report broke the silence of the wood, echoing off every tree round the dell.

  In panic Josiah threw himself flat and dragged himself on his elbows into the thickest part of the bracken he could reach. Then he lay still as he could, hardly daring to breath, trying to cope with the jumble of thoughts that were pouring through his mind.

  Did you get him? You think not. Dead men, the others you have shot before, do not fall as he fell. They collapse, they crumple like a doll dropped to a floor. You missed and he threw himself down. Where is he? Where there can be no breeze, the bracken is moving. There is time for a second shot: reload… aim… fire…

  Would his assailant think him dead and leave? Josiah realised that if he had fired the shot even if he was in no doubt that he had found his target he would not leave it to chance. He would come to check and finish his quarry off if necessary. He needed to get away from the woodpile and do it before the gun could be reloaded or the marksman got to the dell from wherever he had taken the shot.

  Josiah started to crawl forward again. There was another buzzing over his head and another report. That attempt had been less accurate than the first. He might be more difficult to see than he had been by the woodpile but that second shot was still very close. He crawled forward again only then realising that there was blood running from his hand. Sticking out of two fingers were long splinters. The first shot had been close enough to draw blood even though it had missed him. His hands started to shake uncontrollably and he wanted to vomit but there was no time for fear. He had to move as far as he could before the next shot. He was being hunted like an animal, but without any of an animal’s instincts. His only hope was to think as clearly as he could.

  The third shot was two feet in front of him. He saw it tatter some of the bracken leaves. Josiah started to count as he struggled on. The ground was rising; he was getting towards the edge of the dell. Very soon the bracken cover would be too thin to hide him. He would have to break cover and run for it but which way?

  You know that you are being lax. Three shots and there has been no sign of a hit, let alone a kill. What on earth? You see his head clearly, he has worked out how long it takes you to reload. He will make a break for it. The next shot must pay.

  As Josiah tried to think, another shot buzzed over him. The shots were getting closer but he had counted thirty; reload time was about thirty seconds. He looked up over the bracken, saw a fallen tree and ran for it.

  On the move. Ram home… prime… steady… aim… fire!

  It was just over a count of thirty when he threw himself behind its trunk as the fourth shot hit the tree. This time Josiah emptied the contents of his stomach and gasped for air, shaking from head to toe. Any idea of counting was forgotten.

  But as he recovered he realised that provided he survived the next shot, the advantage would pass to him. He knew the general direction of his adversary’s position: the shot had come from the western side of the dell, the opposite side to the path towards the Forester’s Cottage. He waited. A ball buzzed into the top edge of the log, and he was lucky not to get some splinters in the face, but now the race was on.

  So it is to be a race, a race for his life. Rifle over the shoulder pistols in the belt, run. You are 400 yards behind him. Don’t reload just run. They’ll be another chance. Keep him on his toes with the pistols. Make him work hard for escape.

  Josiah ran flat out over the lip of the dell and off along the path weaving in and out of the trees to make the marksman’s aim harder. It was nearly forty seconds before the next shot came, this time well off target but the time between hearing the ball and the report was reduced. The marksman was after him.

  Two more shots were fired before Josiah reached the boundary wall but both were well wide. The sound of the report was different; was the marksman was using a different gun, something smaller perhaps? If so the marksman might not be having to reload and would be catching him.

  The trees are thinning out. You are no more than 100 yards behind. You move to your left and line up the end of the path near the building beyond the wood. You reload and kneel on one leg. As you cock the rifle, the man comes into the view. You fire, he falls. It is over… no, damn it, no! He is up again holding his arm but still running. This man has the devil’s own luck but you have one more chance.

  There had been no more shots and the end of the race was near. Josiah spotted the earth privies and glimpsed the Forester’s cottage between the trees. He was just coming out of the wood when a shot clipped his shoulder and he fell. He rolled forward but got back to his feet. There was more blood dripping over his hand. He ran towards the Forester’s cottage and put it between himself and the place where the path came out. He paused, took several deep breaths and started to run again, keeping as well as he could, in the safe shadow of the cottage.

  You come out at the boundary of the wood. You cannot see him but he could not have gone far enough to evade you. The cottage. He must be behind the cottage. You move to your left there he is running for safety, relying on the building it to protect his back. This will be an easy shot.

  You reload, pull the hammer back and aim. For the first time you see his face properly, the policeman Ainscough. He is now well in the open and though you could kill him, retrieving the body and burying it secretly is now dangerous. More policemen will come if his body just lies where you kill him. You uncock the hammer and shoulder the rifle.

  Josiah ran as far as he could, expecting every step to be his last, but there were no more shots. Before he joined the track down to Long Clough he indulged in the luxury of looking back. There was no one behind him.

  14

  Hailsworth Hall

  Tuesday evening a coachman from Hailsworth Hall brought a smart brougham to take Josiah to the soirée. Its livery was black, the only touches of colour being painted red co
ach-lining on the wheels, red piping on the external leatherwork and the gold of the polished brass lamps. Even the horse was a fine, black, Welsh Cob.

  Inside, the brougham was very comfortable. Padded with leather it was quiet and the seats firm. As they drove along, Josiah relaxed and started to reflect on what the coach said about its owner. It was a quality coach, owned by a man of discernment. Other men of discernment would recognise in it a kindred spirit. That would be enough for its owner. The more he knew of Mr Steven Hailsworth’s way of doing things the more he was inclined to respect and trust him.

  They joined a main road at the end of the track from Long Clough, and turned north, rounding the end of a gap in the escarpment. After climbing for a few minutes, they turned through two wrought iron gates onto an estate road. This wound on for a mile or so through moor and wood. Eventually the road settled to follow a stream. Then, after a small group of trees, the track pulled upwards and they came out on a dam at the head of an ornamental lake with a fine view of Hailsworth Hall.

  The six giant pillars of the Palladian front were astonishing. Josiah had never expected anything so grand. Everyone he had asked had said that at heart the Hailsworths were farmers whose estate and lands had been founded well before George III but had flourished during the Regency. He had expected a fine building but not such as massive an Italianate house.

  After a suitably grand view, reflected in the water of the lake, the road ran round and stopped below the main portico. A footman opened the coach door and Josiah got down. He walked through a short archway into a courtyard, set around a fountain. Mr Hailsworth sat at the top of a double stone staircase at the end of the courtyard. A dazzled Josiah walked up the steps and shook his host’s hand.