There Came a Darkening from the West

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

Lord Alexane GwilymLord Alexane Gwilym and his voluptuous wife Estrella took their places upon the golden thrones. The squires, elders and common men stood patiently awaiting an explanation of the tolling bells of alarm. Excitable chatter and speculation filled the air before the strike of a gavel signalled for silence.

Gwilym rose and stood before the men; ‘There is a murder of crows reaping havoc on the plains below. Our sentries report the sighting of many dead. Indeed it is likely there will be no survivors at all.’ A murmur spread around the hall. ‘We know neither from whence they came nor who sent them, but I suspect it be the magic of the forest folk in the east that have sent these winged demons.’

The murmur grew into disgruntled mutterings.

‘I will be forthright,’ he continued in a sombre tone, ‘If it is indeed the forest folk it is unlikely they will be working alone. For they alone would not possess the numbers for an attack on this level, and I fear that an attack such as this means that the city is in imminent danger of a major onslaught.’

‘But why?’ cried out a voice, ‘We have enjoyed generations of peace. Why now should anyone wish to make war with us?’

‘There have been whispers,’ Lord Gwilym admitted. ‘Word has reached me that King Charlotain of Castle Dematry has been in collusion with the tribes. He is a man of greed and wishes to expand his empire and to do that he will need more wealth, wealth that we possess in the mountains. I fear the tribes have united under his banner and that will make his army a formidable foe.’

A gasp arose and throttled the silent void left as Gwilym stopped speaking.

Estrella rose to join her husband, stood defiantly at his side, took his hand and began to speak; ‘We must be strong and resolute. If the danger of war is upon us then we must ready ourselves. We must sharpen our swords and lances, dust down the cannons and open up the armoury. We have the upper hand as our walls are strong and our position almost unassailable. We must prepare for siege, gather our stocks and rations. Every man woman and child must aid the preparations, for together we are strong.’ For emphasis she lifted her husband’s hand into the air.

‘Together we are strong!’ they both chanted

‘Together we are strong,’ the multitude replied

And so it had begun.

*

The SquareJacob led the children through the square, his wife a couple of dutiful paces behind. A myriad of colours, sounds and aromas assaulted the senses. The hustle and bustle of street traders, jugglers and tricksters were more than young Brayan had ever seen in one place in his life, certainly far bigger than any village fair he had ever attended. Chickens scurried in the dirt, sheep and pigs rattled in their cages with a snort and baa, cows stomped their hooves and shook an irritation of flies from their heavy heads. The air filled with the cries from hawkers and shrieks of laughter from corner whores as they made lewd comments to the men that passed, making rude gestures and gauging estimated size of tackle with a quick snatch at crotch leaving many a red face male to scurry off.

Zula clung to her father’s jacket and tried to hide her face within its folds as Brayan took it all in, wide eyed, as the whores bared their breasts and generally behaved in a bawdy manner.

‘Want a bit of cunt do yer?’ one screeched as she caught his furtive gaze.

He felt his face flush and a wave of heat travel through his body.

‘Bout time to get yer tiddler wet!’ she howled, others joined and all lifted their skirts, exhibiting a blush of bush, laid bare before him.

His father berated the whores, told them to leave the boy alone which just encouraged them to be even more raucous. The one giving the come-on licked a pair fingers upon teasing tongue before burying them deep within her v****a, cackling like a witch and winking at the boy; ‘come and get it!’ she howled, ‘two tokens for all the cunt you want!’

Brayan moved his bag around to his front and clutched it to his groin in an effort to hide his rising embarrassment.

‘Father, I’m scared!’ a little voice rose up from Jacob’s jacket, he held her hand tighter.

‘It’s okay little one, they won’t hurt you,’ he reassured. ‘It is but just a jigger of drunken women!’

They carried on through the square, passing yet more hawkers and traders all desperate to sell their wares. Wares proclaimed to be far better than you would find in this or any other world and certainly far better from those who traded around the corner. The best cuts of meat! The freshest baked bread! Pies that were baked by the gods themselves! Jackets taken from the finest skins and stitched by Celeenion virgins! All was available for a price. With a purse of tokens you could get almost anything. Even souls were for sale if you had enough purchasing power.

Jacob led them from the square down a street of door-to-door inns. Drunken men drank and laughed, played board games and fornicated openly with the whores, bending them over barrels with one hand in the small of their back and in the other a tankard of ale. Jacob quickened the pace and Brayan clutched his bag even tighter to his groin knowing not where to look but gazing absolutely everywhere. He intended not to miss a thing.

At the end of the street lay the docks. A wide open space of water where many ships were moored, winches swinging wildly with loads of cargo liberated from dark and dank holds. Men of many colours. Men with bodies adorned with tattoos. Men so tall and muscled they blocked the light from the sun as they toiled with ropes and chains, or traversed the wooden walkways with wooden crates containing exotic wares raised upon their shoulders. Amid this flurry of activity rose the smell of rotting fish and the brine of the sea itself.

*

A Man of Military BearingThe Dom’ had gone and so had they. James shut the bookcase and left the glasses for whomever it was that cleaned up after him. He had actually never ever laid eyes upon a cleaner. It was something that got done, like magic, like the shoe elf, who visits in the middle of the night and in the morning his office was always spick and span, tracks of hoovered furrows in the deep shag and a desktop that gleamed in the early morning light being the only trace of her existence.

Now it was time to act, he thought.

Time to implement stage two.

Stage one had been subtle. The acquisition of various key companies stripped of their assets, making the Chief Exec’s and CO’s a bundle of money and kicking the workers out onto the street, having paid them the bare minimum in remuneration. Thus aiding the ever widening gap between rich and poor. Thus increasing the growing unrest. Thus the rise of right wing think-tanks blaming those of different faiths, creeds or colours for all the woes of the world.

Divide and prosper.

Pitching one god against another.

James had found it surprisingly easy to manipulate the masses. He found it quite incredible that even in this day and age, with all the technology, with all the information at hand, the common man is quite happy to sit in front of a screen and wank himself silly rather than deal with the issues that really matter. They moan and they bleat and they b***h about those who have more than they and then return to their hovels and binge out on porn, box sets and TV dinners. Less than one percent own more than the ninety-nine percent, by sheer weight of numbers they should win if they rose up to the fight. It had happened elsewhere and why? Because the corruption was open and the dictators and power mongers thought that they could get away with it as the people were too weak and afraid to act. Their mistake was to allow the religious zealots to rise up behind them and seek power for their own designs, spreading the word of a particular god, any god will do, converting the disenfranchised and breeding an army of fanatics who were only too delighted to lay down their lives for the cause.

In the east the corruption seemed less obvious and faith too wide spread thus complacency rules. It is always the fault of someone else, the; “what can I do about it culture.” That is exactly what James relied on to feed the fires of hatred. Colour against colour. Faith against faith. Rich against poor. The right word leaked to the Daily Wail slowly stoked the embers of hatred and now it was time to raise the ante and set the world ablaze.

He retrieved the disposable from his wall safe and pressed the one number entered on speed dial. It was a number he had not called in a while but was still picked up within two rings and answered as usual with the single word; ‘Barnet’

James had no idea if this was the man’s real name, but he doubted it was, for Barnet was a man of mystery and a man of many talents who could be relied on to get the job done. He had performed his duties to the highest standards over the ten or so years that James had felt the need of his services. He certainly was a man with a military background and seemed to have many useful contacts within that theatre of operations.

‘Usual twenty minutes!’

‘Affirmative.’ The line went dead.

James replaced the phone in the safe and made for the executive lift. The doors swished open and he stepped in, selected the button for the basement garage, checked himself in the mirror, straightened his tie and brushed away a few flakes of dried skin from his lapel. The lift dropped to a halt and a ping of electronic bell signalled the doors to open, revealing an expanse of dimly lit grey painted concrete in the centre of which sat a bright yellow Lamborghini to which James held the key.

Petrol had become so exorbitantly expensive that only the super-rich could now afford it. James had his own fuel supply which was kept in large strong metal containers within the warehouse to where he was now heading. Cars for those that could afford them were electrically or solar powered and were limited in their range. The Lamborghini was over thirty years old but still roared like a youth in the first flushes of life. Her body was immaculate and her engine gleamed. He employed two old school mechanics to lavish old school care.

The shutter automatically rose as it sensed the car purring up the ramp. A fine sunny afternoon greeted James as he turned right and slowly traversed the pedestrian route that would lead him to the highway on the other side of the walled centre. Walkers gave appreciative glances as he cruised by. Both he and the car wallowed in the attention paid.

On the highway he headed west, shifted into gear and a purr became a roar. There were not many vehicles on this stretch which allowed James to full throttle. He passed, at some speed, through a wasteland of deserted and rundown factories. Any factories that still functioned were mainly staffed by robotics, their chimneys emitting great plumes of black and yellow smoke high up into the blue sky. James had made a pretty penny by the closure of many of these factories and the workers only had themselves to blame, with their demands for higher wages for less production. The health and safety sue culture meant no firm could function unless it kow-towed to the demands of stroppy shop stewards and the officers of wellbeing. Well technology put paid to that! Why pay workers who brought nothing but a baggage load of problems along with their packed lunches when you could build a robot that would work twenty-four-seven for a once a year maintenance program?

Fifteen minutes later found him turning off the highway and looping around an industrial slip road. Once proud factories had succumbed to rust, roofs that had fallen inwards as the girders that supported them surrendered and died. Tall windows with small panes, each and every one shattered by boy slung missiles of stone and brick. Here and there the homeless poor could be seen standing around braziers within the interior of the damp buildings.