There Came a Darkening from the West

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The ValleyOn the level valley that spread out from the base of the majestic mountains that holds the great city on high, the farmers tended to their land. Stripped torsoed young men wielded scythes in the meadows of lush grass, a sight that brought a whirl of twitter and lustful chatter from within the bushes of soft fruits where young daughters peeled ripened berries from thorned stalks. The gentle sun shone down, a soothing south easterly breeze robbing the harshness from its rays. On the outskirts of the fields, the elders sat beneath the shade thrown by the shadows of awaiting carts, playing games upon boards as heavy hooved horses shooed the flies with swish of mane and tail. Upon a flatbed two easeled artists set about the scene. Their brushes traced the serenity of the day in colours warm and pleasing on the eye.

Far off and high up in the mountain a sentry spied a darkening coming from the west, a maelstrom of blackening mass swirling ever nearer. In the fields the torsoed boys stopped mid swing and looked up into the skies, their mouths agape as they took in the sight of a thousand flapping wings approaching at great speed. As the approaching squawks and screeches grew louder and met upon fair ears, the bush maidens ceased their chatter and also looked skywards. An awful fear gripped their hearts as they dropped their laden baskets, hitched their billowing skirts above their knees and begun their fruitless dash for safety. For indeed it was fruitless, because before they could clear the rows, the cloud descended and the merciless killing had begun.

From a high turret a sentry set a spyglass to his eye and witnessed the horror taking place below. He rang a bell of alarm and soon other bells were ringing all around the city.

In the streets, back-alleys and squares the squires and common men, going about their everyday business, momentarily stopped in their tracks and looked skyward in a state of bewilderment of a sound they had not heard for many many a year. Indeed some had never heard before as their lives had been blessed by more than a full generation of peace. Clutching their goods close to their chests the men scurried toward the Great Hall, as the woman-folk gathered their broods and shooed them off toward the safety of home.

Inside the Great Hall a murmur of anticipation rose to the rafters and mingled with the smoke from a hundred flickering torches that lined the stone walls and cast a hundred wavering shadows upon the hanging banners that depicted in stitch stories of the city’s past histories. At the far end of the hall two gold laden thrones shimmered upon a dais draped with exotic skins. It was toward these thrones that all eyes were drawn as heralding trumpets announced the arrival of the Lord and his Lady.

It had begun

*

James ForsythJames Forsyth dug a piece of trapped venison from between two back molars with a wooden tooth pick as he gazed out from his vast panoramic view. Below the trees had begun to blossom and the air seemed filled with the promise of new beginnings. For James the new beginnings were now moving fast and years of careful planning were about to bear fruit, and that fruit would be bountiful and taste all so very very sweet. He allowed himself a satisfied smile, as he caught a glimpse of his magnificence reflected in the thick plate glass before him.

He had to be careful though, even at this stage things could still go wrong, and even those sycophants with their smarmy loyalty would stab him in the back given half a chance. For wouldn’t they just love to slip into his size nine hand crafted shoes, don his bespoke suit and silken shirt. No doubt they would even be gratified to relieve him of his fine cotton boxers and leave him naked out in the cold. He knew they could be as ruthless as he had been to so many before him. There was only one code he lived his life by and that was; f**k them before they could f**k you, and f**k them he would. When this s**t hit the fan there would be none of it blowing in his direction, that was for sure, for it had all been in the planning and now he was about to press the button on the final stages.

He swung around abruptly and rose from his chair, strode toward his trophy cabinet. Inside the trappings of his success were displayed, the awards and accreditations stood proudly amongst the collection of artefacts from days of the distant past, ancient cruelties that had always fascinated him. A shrunken head from the sss basin, a severed breast, some many centuries old, fashioned into a tobacco pouch, a Chilean shinbone flute, lampshade made from the skin of a tattooed human and p***s skin pipe case. He inwardly smiled as he recalled the old joke; “if you rub it, it becomes an umbrella case!”

The history of Homo sapiens showed that man had always revelled in cruelty. From ancient times through to today, man has fashioned some ingenious ways to torture, kill, rip apart and display body parts in the most imaginative fashion. Killing with such cruelty allowed those in power to demonstrate the authority they held and was a good way of persuading the populace to toe the line. They managed to create some pretty fancy religions to justify the horrors and give credence to the bloodletting done in the name of which ever deity they chose to worship. The guy who came up with the idea of creating gods was a genius and as such should be revered above all the gods he had created. Setting one tribe against another, by getting them to worship opposing fictional deities showed outstanding forethought.

James had often speculated what it felt like to kill. Not from a distance, as he had done so many times before as a result of some of the decisions he has made in feathering his own nest. But what it actually felt like. To actually snuff out another life with his own bare hands, experience their desperation and observe the fear in their eyes as they realise the very last moments of their existence is slowly seeping away.

Now that is power!

That is the true power.

The power of life and death.

The power of God!

‘One day,’ he thought.

For now it had begun. There would be no turning back from this point and if all went to plan he would have the true power he craved and wealth beyond his wildest dreams and then, well, maybe a little indulgence would not go amiss.

*

PilgrimageAcross the vast plains and passing of many moons there had been much blood spilt in the quest for power and riches. Great gods had been created to keep the poor at bay and increase the mysteries of those who held wealth like a dagger to a throat. Great pilgrimages were made by the peoples, whose homes were no more than rudimentary shacks dotted amongst the barren landscape. They would trudge in long lines over many leagues to witness the splendour of the temples raised to the gods and awe at the riches held within. Wise men with great long beards, swirling robes and hats of many colours chanted in low monotone to enhance the feeling of piety as the rag clad populous shuffled quietly through these great edifices, truly believing that such scale and splendour could only be the creations of the great gods themselves.

Jacob held on tightly to the little cold hands of his children. His wife shuffled behind, her back bowed with the weight of their trappings, a ragged shelter with poles of bamboo and clanking pots hung from her back. ‘See,’ Jacob said pointing a rheumatoid finger toward a great painted glass set within the grey stone wall; ‘The great god Ducas, builder of temples.’

His son looked up in wonderment, following the line of his father’s finger.

‘And over there is Droco and Thelea the gods of love.’

The boy smirked at the depiction of Droco with his large pendulous p***s and Thelea with her full ripe breasts and exposed vermilion v****a, for he was of that age when stirrings from below were beginning to cloud his mind. The girls he once played childhood games with now took on a totally different significance and the games he imagined playing would now, no doubt, entail the removal of clothes. A sharp clip around the ear disturbed his erotic thoughts.

‘Pay attention boy’ his father admonished as he pointed toward the next window where Silas the great god of war stared out with eyes of raging fire, bearing shield, sword and bloodied lance, the severed heads of his enemies littering the ground around his feet.

They shuffled on following the solemn procession down the body of the temple; all the gods portrayed in window after window of glorious colours that glinted brightly, the outside sunlight illuminating the splendour of their powers. The gods of wind and rain, the frost maiden of snow and ice, and the naked beauty of innocence portrayed by Aesha with her small pert breasts and hair of golden meadow, small furry animals rummaged at her feet and behind her a vision of paradise.

Finally they came before a resplendent altar of sacrifice behind which was the largest window of all depicting the Great God. The God of all Gods. A rounded face set within a frame of long white hair and beard, eyes that revealed compassion and wisdom. In his hand he held a staff of shining light and in his lap sat the originator of mortal life, half man half beast.

This god was so powerful he could not be named, as to utter a name would show him to be equal to any other named creature which would demonstrate disrespect and be deemed as blasphemy of the highest order. So he was referred to as just the “Great God” or “God of Gods,” and although wise and kind he could rain down plagues and pestilence on those whom disbelieved. In his name, hearts have been ripped from his enemies and lands pillaged, women r***d and subjected to hideous tortures and deaths so awful they could not be told of in decent company. For these were the stories for the strong at heart and those warriors who bathed in rivers of blood and buried their p*****s into the womenfolk of their foes and took as trophies their severed breasts to shape and stitch as smoke pouches or purses for their tokens.

*

The Chosen OnesHe made his way back to his desk, checked his watch and brushed a few flakes of detritus from his lapel. His psoriasis was raging, supposed to be a sign of stress although he felt very calm with the way things were progressing. Everything was going exactly to plan. He counted to ten and composed himself as the knock came upon the door, placed his elbows on the gleaming glass top of his desk and steepled his hands before him, in an almost reverent manner. On the count of ten he took a deep breath and bellowed; ‘come,’ and in they traipsed.

The Four Arseholes of the Apologics.

The ones he had selected to take the fall on his behalf.

The chosen ones.

Simon was first through the door, and as always perfectly groomed and upright. James wondered how he would survive inside. He would be a prize in the showers that’s for sure, pretty boy Simon with his coiffured blonde locks, manicured nails and polished skin, those s*x starved monsters would shag the arse off him. Still at least he would be getting more s*x than he got from that prissy wife of his, James presumed. Try as he might he just could not picture Simon and Shantelle at it, imagined them with the lights out, adopting the position favoured by the missionary’s and no doubt whilst he was humping away her mind would be off carousing some designer shop, plucking the most expensive items from the racks. He wondered how she and those two daughters of perfection would endure whilst their erstwhile breadwinner was banged up and all their wealth sequestered by the fraud squad. He couldn’t imagine her working, and who would employ her? She was as thick as two very short planks, with not one imaginative thought running through that vacuous brain of hers. Maybe she would have to go on the game, now there’s a thought. She certainly has the body for it, and let’s face it being a bit vacuous could be seen as a positive advantage in that line of work.

Behind Simon came Robert. Robert the adventurer. Robert the man of action, who could not look at a mountain without the urge to climb it, nor look at a sea without the urge to sail it. He was well travelled, his face burnished by wind and sun, his hair caught in a permanent wave of wind-sweep, and he possessed a body as rugged as granite. Robert’s whole aim in life was to make as much money as he could by forty five, retire and take to the seas. Sorry matey boy, a few years in prison scrubs and four grey walls is all you have coming your way my friend, James predicted.

Lastly trailed Ian and Andrew. The ever valuable yes men, the type of men that every company needs to flatter the egos of the good and great at the top. James, in all the years he had known them, did not think he had ever heard a negative word pass their lips. It was always; ’Yes James.’ ‘Brilliant James.’ ‘Superb James.’ ‘Of course James,’ to whatever he said. ‘Take a very long hike and jump of the highest f*****g cliff you can find.’ And they would no doubt chime; ‘Certainly James.’

Ian was as tall and lanky as Andrew was short and fat. They looked like a comedy duo, Ian rattling around inside his suit whilst Andrew’s suit was doing all it could to contain him, buttons straining and likely to fly off and take out an eye at any moment.

‘Well,’ James said at last, un-steepling his hands and relaxing back in his chair. ‘It would seem that we are all a good deal richer today,’ he announced with flourish. ‘I am pleased to say that the transaction went our way and the funds have been directed straight into your individual off-shores.’

He noted their greedy smiles, the smug self-satisfaction that he had spotted in them all in the first place. One could only con those greedy enough to be conned, a fact he had learnt at an early age and he was still able to spot the vulnerable from a mile away. Start small, a few hundred or maybe a thou’ or two, and then slowly feed the greed and watch it bloom. Soon they have a nice house and flash car, the wife wears designer and the kids ride horses and go to posh schools, then they are hooked. Like heroin they need more and more and would sell their dear ol’ grannies if push came to shove.

Simon was the first to speak. ‘Thank you James.’

‘Yes thank you,’ Added Robert.

‘Brilliant James,’ Chimed Ian and Andrew.

‘My pleasure…So you can all go and buy that Ferrari or yacht or whatever it is that floats your boat, if you will excuse the pun.’ He allowed them a little chuckle time before continuing. ‘But be well aware of Mr Taxman! Your funds are out of sight of Mr Taxman so don’t be flashing it around, we don’t need nosey noses sniffing around the wrong holes now, do we?’

Although he knew damn well that nosey noses would shortly be sniffing around. Mainly due to the anonymous tip off he would soon be providing to an interested ear who would be only too eager to sniff out a big bust that would allow him to skip a rung or two on the old promotion ladder. Greed feeds greed but there is nothing like the voracity of an overzealous inspector once he gets the scent.

‘Well come on boys, let’s celebrate,’ he said rising from his chair and striding across to the hidden cupboard disguised as a block of books within library shelves. He pulled a bottle of Dom Perignon from a cooler unit within and popped the cork.

‘To us. The stinking rich,’ he toasted with a clink of glass.

‘The stinking rich!’ They trilled.