Time Rocks

  *

  I don’t know how long I sat there feeling sorry for myself. It was the sound of Serren’s monks chanting and clicking their stupid sticks together that snapped me out of it. I saw that Blaith’s gumshoe man was fast asleep. I guess he was supposed to be following me without letting me see him. Blaith would kill him if he knew what a lousy job he was doing.

  Serren’s monks were heading up the hill to the bear-place. Two of them were carrying old Serren’s stupid big pointy hat, so I guessed they had some big deal ceremony in mind. A dozen or so of Serren’s lunatic followers were at the back of the group, some stark naked and painted with mud. I looked around for a place to hide. The last thing I wanted was to be seen by Serren or his monks and his loony disciples. If they saw me it could be curtains. They could turn funny and stamp me out like a grass fire.

  As I was looking for a hiding place I noticed for the first time the changes that had been made since Vart and I had come back to the river bend people. It was evening, but the eerie glow of the midsummer sky cast enough light for me to see that Serren’s workers had been digging a circular ditch round the bear place. I remembered reading on Tori’s Stonehenge website about how the area was cleared of all trees and scrub and a great circular ditch dug between two banks. Tori had stated it was 320 feet in diameter. Well this was it. I was looking right at it, the real thing, brand new and not even finished yet.

  The chanting monks were getting closer. If I didn’t move fast I might easily be spotted against the white of the bare chalky earth bank that had been thrown up. Crouching low I ran up the slope towards the circle and veered right to its north east side where two new gate post totems had been erected. They were carved with moon and sun images and marked an entrance gap across the ditch. I hid behind one and spied back to Serren’s monks tramping slowly towards me, their deep monotonous chanting riding on the evening air. I guess the totem I hid behind was smack where the heel stone is in modern times.

  Some of Serren’s monks were carrying flaming torches. In the windless air the smoke from them seemed stuck to the dimly opalescent sky. I realised the gate post totem would not provide sufficient cover, so I dropped down into the new ditch and ran under cover of the outer bank to the north, away from the approaching monks. The unfinished ditch was littered with rubbish and rubble. Its builders had left all sorts of stuff lying around: ox shoulder-bone spades, antler picks, willow baskets, and wooden digging spikes. I turned my ankle on their junk and fell flat on my face.

  I found myself nose to nose with a corpse. It was Erutruin, old Eagle-nose. The stink of his putrefying innards sprayed up at me as I landed on top of him deflating his rib cage.

  Revolted, I rolled away, frantically brushing his death off my jacket and jeans. I’m no expert, but I would say he had been dead more than a week. A poor attempt had been made to cover him over with earth and builders’ rubbish, but recent summer rains and foraging wild animals had exposed the remains. A few feet further on was another body. The face had been eaten off by ravens or rats. It was beyond recognition. I could hear voices behind me. Some of the monks were searching the ditch. They must have seen me running across the entrance and given chase. I scrambled away from them as fast as I could, finding two more bodies on the way. I cleared away the thin layer of earth covering their faces, and recognised both. Just a few weeks earlier they had been in the party of trackers Eagle-Nose had led after Vart and me.

  The clatter of feet on rubble and discarded antler picks drew my attention. The monks who were searching for me had reached Erutruin’s corpse. I noticed they did not seem at all surprised to find him. On the contrary they were agitated and whispering fiercely. Instead of unearthing the corpse and bringing it out for proper enquiry and burial, as you might expect innocent men to do, they tried to cover it up, kicking earth over it as fast as they could.

  I was trapped - I daren’t move. If I stayed they would find me, but if I ran they would see me and give chase. I did the only thing I could think of. I wriggled deep down into the rubbish in the ditch, grabbed the nearest corpse and pulled it on top of me. I completed my disappearance by scraping as much loose earth and an old broken willow basket over me.

  Hardly daring to breath I listened as the monks came closer. One was furious with the other. I don’t know what he was saying, but it was easy to guess that he was not pleased with the disposal job that had been done on Erutruin's corpse. I heard them shovelling earth and rubbish over all the corpses, and then the one lying on top of me. I closed my eyes and slid my hand up over my nose and mouth to keep out the dust. I felt the weight increase as they piled on more, but I could still hear their sour mouthed whispers. After a while the shovelling stopped and the angry whispering voices moved away. I lay in my grave for as long as I could stand it. Fluid of some sort started drooling onto my cheek from the corpse’s mouth, I had to get out. I burst up through the ground, clawing madly for fresh air. Luckily I was alone, the monks had gone.

  I was puking all over myself even before I was out of the grave. I didn’t care, my puke was far more pleasant than whatever had dribbled from that corpse’s gaping mouth on to my face. I rubbed earth over my face, washing away the putrefied foulness. After a sickening struggle, almost losing a trainer in the rotting belly of my corpse buddy, I kicked myself free of the grave. I looked at the little mounds of earth in the ditch and counted four of them. These men had survived Vart’s poisoned goose. They must have returned home with their bellies aching only to be murdered, but by whom and why?

  Crawling on my belly I peered over the top of circle’s inner bank. Beside the tall totem at the centre of the circle a fire had been lit. A column of smoke rose straight up to the sky. On the far side of the circle Serren officiated, wearing the tall magical hat. About twenty monks were grouped around him. Beyond them his mad wailing followers danced and gyrated slowly to their own silent rhythms.

  I saw that four hefty wooden poles had been raised where the station stones would later be erected. Again I thought of Tori’s website and its piece about the Aubrey holes, a circle of fifty-six round holes as big as dust bins. I couldn’t see all fifty-six, only about half of the circle, but, I did see them in use.

  Serren stood in front of a man sized totem, which had a white disc painted on it for a face. Next to it was a similar one with a yellow disc face. They were each loosely slotted into adjacent Aubrey holes. After a lot of chanting, and with great ceremony, Serren struck the white faced totem with his staff. His monks cheered and sang, some danced joyously. Others lifted the white faced totem out of its hole and moved it anticlockwise to the next but one hole. Other monks removed the yellow faced totem, and laid it down reverently on two timber blocks. My guess is this was for later use, perhaps in daylight when the sun god rules.

  It was like watching a great clock at work. Then it hit me. It was a clock, but not a clock of hours and minutes. This was a clock of days and nights, weeks and lunar months. But above all this was at the very root of Serren’s power. On Tori’s website, she had said something about predicting eclipses. The power such knowledge would give to Serren would be immense. He would have people eating from his hand. They would see the majesty of the sun dimmed when he said so, and the cycles of the moon predicted.

  The entire temple had been his invention. He had seized upon the strange happenings that had excited his superstitious flock; the stories of men flying from the goddess Lued. He had played on their fears and allowed them to grow in their imaginations. It had been easy to convince them to erect the totem and dig the ditch. Convinced of his power, they had cleared the scrub and trees and toiled to dig the ditch and raise its double banks. Now Serren was ready to reveal his power. He and his monks had marked out the site of what would be his greatest achievement. He would appear invincible. His religion would enslave the people. They would bless and reward him as the creator of day and night. The white faced totem was the moon. The yellow faced one, the sun. Only he, Serren pen-esgoth gulathol afon bash pobl, Serre
n of the river bend people, knew how to move them around their fifty-six holes, creating nights and days in his temple. Serren, the maker of time. The most powerful man in the world. Serren who wants my tripes on a skewer.

  ……….