GENESIS (GODS CHAIN)

GENESIS

Nikolaus Baker

Gods Chain

GENESIS

Book One

in the

Gods
C
hain
T
etralogy

G
ENESIS

Book One in the Gods
C
hain
Series

Copyright
© Nikola
us Baker 2009

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any

manner in any media, or transmitted by any means whatsoever,

electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, or mechanical ( including

photocopy, file or video recording, internet web sites, blogs, wikis,

or any other information storage and retrieval system) without the

prior written permission of the author.

All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Published by M
.
Hlibyczuk

[201
0
]

Email:
[email protected]
 

Website:
www.godschain.com

First Edition, 2010

Second Edition, 2012

This book is dedicated
t
o

my father Michael who I love and respect

and also
to

my wife Aileen for her love, support and understanding.

They will come first and smite

All will shake in terror

Cold is the land

Nowhere to hide

Index

It was on th
e
morning of the sixth of May in the
reign
of King Charles II
and James VII
,
1685.
One could almost see the translucent
,
silvery green dew changing to a misty grey vapour
.
D
ancing droplets of water
w
arm
ed
with watery energy and
dissipated throughout
the green meadows.
The sun
’
s rays
rose kindly,
chasing the early morning moisture over the peaceful countryside
and
forming
a distilled mist
around the brown
trunks of a grove of
Scots Pines.
The loose ground mist clear
ed
in
sections that
wisp
ed
around the base
s
of enormous boulders
that
squatted
on the top of the hill.
Fresh water condens
ed
ra
pidly,
bead
ing
on the
rough surfaces
and
,
like the many rivulets of sweat
,
r
a
n down from the
rocks’
stony face
s
.

P
ilgrim was troubled
. He
star
ed
anxiously out from the tall shield of the great stones that
towered over
him.
Peering from his hiding place long and hard
,
he looked into the golden grey mist.
He knew they were coming
...
.

There they were!
Numerous shadowy grey figures fl
itted
in and out of his blurred vision as
a group of
obscure figures
slowly ascended the hill from the village.
Pilgrim had company
.

The
s
un
’
s intensity increas
ed
as the orb
began
to
ris
e
up from the east and lift
itself
over and above the massive stone
boulders
,
silhouetting them as powerful dark shadows.
Stealthily
,
the
figures
crawled
up to
the hill top.
Sparrows
whistled tunefully as
they
flew from tree branch to bush and then
fled
suddenly in panic
, soaring
away from the hazy mists.

Inside the mist of dark grey shades and shadows
of boulders,
he
knelt in prayer for the salvation of the men down in the village
, hovering over an ancient stone slab imbedded in the earth
.
Pilgrim
held high in his clenched fist
the object—an object he would give his very life to protect.
In his final worship
,
P
ilgrim
looked up high in wonder towards the Supreme Architect
.

**********

On
the
day before this fateful morning
,
a new regiment of royalist dragoons had arrived in the village and were billeted at the castle
.
They had come in
support of the local garrison
—
the “Scots Greys of Foot”
—and were
loyal to the crown
.
A
s five men were marched brutally in chains to the nearby
i
nn
, the dragoons walked alongside to quell any thoughts of rebellion
, flashing their full-skirted crimson coats, their leather gambados and the buff, gauntleted breeches
.
It
was Judgement day!

The m
en
in
chains wore
dirty clothes
,
ragged and threadbare
.
T
heir arms and legs
were
skinned and bloodied from
the weeks-long
forced march over the country
side
.
These men were ordinary men, with ordinary lives,
ordinary families
.
And e
ach had been pushed too far
,
as had many of their kinsmen.
With tousled and matted long hair
,
they
look
ed
more like
beggars than
the farmers they were
.
Their beards were
shaggy and unkempt
, faces matted in hair,
all except for one
young
boy
who
st
oo
d there in line with the others
, staring out in terror
.

After b
eing held prisoner in the castle
for several days
, all were roughly assembled together
by the soldiers
this morning at bayonet point and musket barrel.
Their wrists were bound and ankles shackled by iron as they stood proudly, resolute to mumble and muffle defiant
sounds
of insurgence
before the
royal jury.

Keeping
his back to the
scrungy men who stood
in a line behind him, the judge look
ed firmly
forward
,
towards the assembled jury.
A few local villagers witnessed the
trial but
were greatly outnumbered by the royalists at arms.
The
judge
smil
ed, his lips
extenuated by his thin moustache.
His thick
,
long wig was
tightly curled
and well kept.
He
proudly
stood
in full uniform
,
his
red sash and long grey coat perfectly stitched and tailored.
Although now dressed as pretty as a peacock, Lieutenant-General William Drummond was a
warrior
who
had seen a great deal of active service and campaigning.

He had surmised
in deliberation that he would give them a last chance to repent if they gave him what he wanted and
,
in addition
,
sign
ed
a declaration against the Reformation. Such was his clemency.

‘In this reign of his majesty King
James
the
seventh
, each of you have been apprehended and stand trial today.
You have been brought to me and before God
.
’
T
he judge had not yet turned to look at the five accused persons, content to observe
the
fifteen soldiers in regimental grey uniforms
that
s
a
t at the front
of the galley, above the jury
.
His smile changed to a wide grin
as he
look
ed
at his men
,
and
the
troops laughed loudly
, in high spirits
.
This was always the case.

Drummond arrogantly portray
ed
himself to stand as
an
equal
to
God on this day of judgment
.
‘
Y
ou all stand before me accused as Covenanters!’
he
shout
ed
at the men, turning towards them unexpectedly.
A rage fired from within his belly and deep loathing sp
a
t anger from
his
glaring eyes
.