Elysium. Part Two (25 page)

George prodded at the boy who had poured ale into Boen’s mouth on the night of his and Eryn’s supposed wedding. He struck him on the knee, then in the stomach, and finally in the face – opening it up and sending a trail of blood trickling down his cheek.
‘Get out of here you fucking pig-fiddlers.’ He shouted as he swung the shovel, the Lundians backed off, forming a semi-circle around them.

A large pebble was thrown at Baron; it struck him on the nose and it started bleeding again. ‘I’m going to kill all of you!’ He screamed, snatching a bat from Seb and swiping frantically, knocking planks out of Lundian hands. The heavy-hollow sound of wood striking wood resounded on the cliff walls.

Then he was motionless, arms raised mid-attack, as though he’d seen something on the horizon. George and Seb stopped in their tracks.

‘What is it?’ George asked warily.

Baron’s arms lowered, and he slid to the water as though it were summoning him.

The breeze seemed to cease, as did the surf and the sweeping gull above. The Lundians looked at one another anxiously, and the Mortehoe youths frowned at Baron’s lethargic descent to his knees.

‘Come on then,’ George growled, raising his spade and stepping forward.

Baron coughed, made a confused mewing sound, and Seb saw crimson spread across his side and fan from him in tendrils in the water.

‘Shit!’ Someone said, and George waded to Baron and held him, easing him from the water to the sandy beach while the Lundians stood and silently watched. A gash between his ribs bled profusely.

‘I didn’t mean to…’ said the boy who had stabbed Baron. He was no older than sixteen, and he dropped his blade with a splash.

‘Don’t apologise, Dillon.’ Shouted the man who had lost a tooth. ‘If they weren’t thieves we wouldn’t have come. They deserve everything they get.’

‘Thieves?’ Seb roared, rounding on them, his eyes full of tears. ‘What are you talking about?’

At this one of the Lundians shrugged. ‘I don’t know what was taken – but Sawbone said you lot came and stole from us.’

‘We ain’t ever been to Lundy!’

‘Not you. People came months back... when Sawbone and his boys was away, ain’t that right?’

There was a host of bobbing heads and noises of ascent. ‘They ain’t here now – but there were two of them.

Seb didn’t know who he was talking about, though he guessed them to mean Kelly and Guliven.

‘Guliven ain’t no thief! And Kelly's dea…’ He began to say.

‘You’re all thieves, empty-balled thieves! Every last stinking one of you!’

Shouting a curse, Seb leapt up and kicked the boy to the ground. He pushed his face into the sand. Around them, Lundians kicked and hit him with their poles, but his fury drove him on, almost unaware of the blows he was receiving.

The boy beneath his fists coughed and spat out sand, he tried to roll over and shake Seb off but he was pinned down, his arm pulled up behind his back. He screamed. Seb’s knee dug into his spine and the boy cried as though the pain was beyond anything he had felt before - but then a blow fell on Seb’s crown, and he collapsed to his side without making a sound.

The boy in the sand stood and kicked Seb in the stomach before picking up his plank and delivering a series of blows to his arms and legs. Seb remained motionless, his mouth slightly open and his glazed eyes staring into the middle-distance.

There was no lingering silence this time, the Lundians turned to those who held on to Baron, and started prodding them with their pieces of wood. Everyone was jeering at them, except the boy who had stabbed Baron, who was standing a way back, crying.

‘
Show ‘em!’ Someone shouted, and the jabbing became more savage.

Baron looked up at George, who was shielding his face from swipes. He was about to give one final lunge into the melee when a head-sized rock burst a hole in one of the dinghies, thrusting the oars spinning into the water. One of the Lundians collapsed backwards – and another swore in pain, clasping his face as a stone scored a red trail down the side of his face.

George pulled Baron away from the shore, a trail of blood following them. Another stone plopped loudly in the water, missing a Lundian by inches. He leapt backwards as a huge stone clumped into the sand, digging a crater next to the man Baron had fought initially. He jumped to the side and a pebble struck him on the shoulder. He clasped his clavicle and shouted in agony, nearly dropping to the sand.

From high up on the cliffs a series of stones were thrown – clouting the Lundians and driving them back to their boats.

*

Eryn looked down at the beach, her pale face golden in the dawn. A moment later Boen was by her side carrying a large rock. He wavered under its weight, checked the beach below, and then hurled it with all his strength. Eryn grabbed his waist to stop him going over the edge with it, then picked up a stone and hove it forcefully.

Several were struck in the face and chest. They scurried out of range, and retaliated by hurling back promises they would find a way up the cliff. The boy who had stabbed Baron in the ribs received a pebble to the crown and he fell to the sand as though struck dead. He clutched his face and began wailing loudly.

‘Where are you lot going?’ The boy who had floored Seb shouted as several Lundians took tentative steps toward the dinghies. A large piece of flint slit the back of his leg, taking the skin off, and he wailed like an infant as he hobbled towards the sea. The Mortehoe boys held on to Baron, and looked up to the cliffs. On the ridge they watched Eryn and Boen fling stone after stone at the Lundian boats. George wanted to laugh at the sight, though he felt the wet of Baron’s wound and looked back down.

‘What the bloody hell was that all about?’ He said airily, mostly for something to say.

‘Ask Eryn,’ Baron said. Already he was turning pale.

‘You’re going to be alright,’ George said reassuringly.

Baron snorted, ‘Course I am. I owe Boen a kick in the face yet.’ He frowned in pain momentarily and then said, ‘Seb alright?’

George lay Baron down lightly and gambolled to where Seb lay, checking his pulse. ‘He’s knocked cold… They battered him proper.’ He straightened, still on his knees, and turned to the sea. ‘I don’t reckon they’ll…’ He stopped, and slowly got to his feet.
In the commotion he hadn’t seen the boat behind those that were already at the shore, but now he saw the dinghy containing three barrel chested men and knew who they were without introduction. He spared a glance to where Eryn and Boen stood, they had stopped hurling stones and had retreated – hopefully to bring help.

He turned back to the boat. The two larger men were in the water and helping the third. He entered the surf clumsily, though brushed away any further help.

George stared, and then remembered Baron. He stepped towards him and stood by him protectively as Red Sawbone limped to the shore, on to the beach, and loomed over him.

‘The last time I was here,’ Red growled, ‘I killed the first man who stood in my way.’

George looked up into his dark, complicated eyes and slowly stepped aside.

Red looked down at Baron, his face almost grey, and smirked derisively. ‘You’ll be gone in minutes anyway. I shan’t waste my time. What’s your name?’

Baron looked faint, and only managed to swallow by way of reply.

‘It’s Baron Tupper,’ George offered weakly and Gorran pushed him into the sand beside Seb.

‘Semilion’s boy,’ Kenan said with a smirk.

Red nodded wistfully, the sun shining through his hair. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, Baron. You’ve caused me some concern over the years. You see, a little bird has told me that you harbour all the signs of reckless spite and pent up aggression that your grandfather showed. I thought I might have to come here one day and stop you from avenging his death.’

Baron coughed and looked at George for support, though he was frozen and pale, staring up at Red as though he was staring at a terrible, mythical beast.

He returned his gaze to Red, who was silhouetted in the morning sun and surrounded by an aura of pearlescent light like some fiery angel. The pain in his side flared and he winced, and wondered when his father would return to put an end to this. The pain subsided and he remembered his father had left the village for Dunkery Beacon. All the men had left.

Suddenly Red’s deception dawned on him. ‘You're... You made up the broadcast... You made up the countdown.’

Although his face was in shadow Baron could see the sinister smile cross Red’s skull-like face. ‘The countdown.’ He turned to his sons as though sharing a look of appreciation. ‘An inspiration that came when in Belfast, and a labour that caused much concern to the three of us. Your pa’s council has long decoded it by now, I hope?’

‘They’re...’ Baron began, though the pain suddenly returned and his world became hazy. His vision was becoming tinged with twitching shadows. Around him stood men from both communities; they seemed grey and ethereal in the shining yet overcast dawn, and they circled him like ancient standing stones wreathed in mist. Above him the clouds were blustery and threatening, and yet the brightness of the sun gilded the sea and turned it the colour of sparkling rust.

‘They’re off looking for an enemy in the south?’ He interrupted Baron
, who had not said anything more for long moments. ‘They’re waiting for a storm that...’ He looked back out to sea. The horizon of the north-west was peppered with boats.

Skiffs, catamarans, drifters, row-boats, dinghies, tugs and trawlers - the entire contents of Ballycotton harbour.

Red beamed triumphantly. ‘They’re waiting for a storm that will arrive from the north-west in under an hour?’ He ran his fingers through his beard and turned to his sons. ‘We did say north-west in the broadcast, didn’t we?’

Gorran and Kenan smirked, happy to be included in their father’s high spirits.

Red turned back to Baron. ‘Oh dear, Baron. That's most unfortunate. Am I to assume by your little band of friends here that the majority of your community have gone in search of an imaginary threat to the south-east? What a pity.’

Baron
swayed before retching on his shoulder, the vomit thick with blood.

Red looked down at him in disgust before
stepping around him. ‘Show them how humane we are.’ He said as he hobbled uncomfortably across the beach.

Kenan knelt down swiftl
y and thrust a blade beneath Baron’s armpit.

Baron choke
d, his fingers raking the sand. The pain of the second knife was more intense than the first. It felt cold, as though icy fingers had been thrust into the wound, though apart from a near inaudible intake of breath he was unable to react. He felt a surge in his mind, like his father’s radio between stations, it overwhelmed him and instinctively he grasped hold of Kenan tightly for some kind of support.

A rush of fatigue
overcame him. He became hyper-sensitive to everything within the radius of his senses. The colours of the beach, the sun, the waves, the clothes of those around him, they grew vibrant and melded in and out of dizzying patterns, and throbbed so much he had to close his eyes. The sounds of the waves, the crying, the gulls, the wind, it echoed within him and made him feel as though he could hear the entirety of nature. Why hadn’t he ever felt it before? It was truly amazing.

He felt butterflies in his stomach, and a sensation washed over him akin to a child comprehending freedom.

His face blushed for a moment, as though he was holding his breath, and then he sighed, slumping backwards.

George looked on, frozen, his face white. His hand trembled, and he almost reached forward for his friend, realising he had betrayed him by standing aside so easily.

Kenan held the knife forcefully for several moments, and then stood, wiping the blade on his trousers as he turned to the remaining youths. 'I suggest you're gone by the time the boats arrive,’ he gestured out to sea. ‘There’re eighty men and women on their way from Ballycotton and we had to lay some grim lies to your detriment to get them here.' He sniffed, stepping over Baron’s drained body, and followed in his father’s advance toward Mortehoe.

NEXT
:

STRINGS OF LIFE.

Dear reader,

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About the author
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Kelvin is a freelance writer, author, artist, editor of The Locked Book Magazine, and co-host of the iBits podcast as well as working as a Laboratory Support Assistant in Cambridge.  He is also completing a BSc Hons Degree in Psychology.

Winner of the BT Millennium Man competition, he writes for many online publications, specialising in consumer electronics and short fiction. His ebook, Elysium, is a three part novel that will conclude at the end of 2014, and is published by Tigermoth Books.

His lat
est project is an epic fantasy that will be published after the completion of Elysium.

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