Untitled

Copyright Garry Charles 2010

All characters in this publication are fictitious and in no way are they intended to resemble any persons living or dead.

Cover photography by Ben Bale.
www.benbale.co.uk

       The final two approached the cathedral on horseback, closely followed by dark, rolling thunder heads that could be heard roaring in the distance. They had travelled many miles together, carrying a cargo that was of the highest importance to the Ministry. Without them the ceremony could not be performed and this would be deemed unacceptable, if not catastrophic.

       In carrying out their duties they had become wanted men and they both knew that by daybreak they would be hanging from the gibbet by order of His Royal Highness. They accepted this responsibility without question. What cost their lives when compared to that of humanity? It was an honour to serve and it would be an honour to die.

       As they neared the towering structure of stone and stained glass they glanced at each other and shared a grim smile. They had grown close over the last year and were now much more than spiritual brothers, linked by murder, abduction and a deep, undying love.

       This was not the life they had expected to live, but it was the one they had embraced when they first made their vows to the Ministry. They had faith in God to forgive them their sins. Sins carried out for the greater good, transgressions made in the name of The Father, The Son and The Holy Ghost.

       Brother Abraham finally tore his eyes away from Brother Skye and looked over his shoulder. He could see the approaching horsemen in the distance and dug his heels into his steed's side. The horse bolted forward at the vicious command and they were swallowed by the shadow of the cathedral.

       Skye was dismounting before his horse had even come to a stop, landing at a run with the tiny package held tightly in his arms. Abraham joined him and rapped his knuckles against the hard wood of the huge double doors. From deep inside the building they had once called home they heard the hurried footsteps of one of their brethren.

       "Hurry," called Skye. "Time is running out."

       In reply there came the screech of the latch being pulled back and the door swung open as the sound of their pursuers drew ever closer.

       "Father Jacob." Both Brothers knelt in respect.

       "There is no time for formal greetings," snapped the Father. "Do you have the package?"

       "Yes, Father," Skye replied and held out the bundle of woven blankets. "Many have died to bring it here."

       Father Jacob took the bundle, unwrapped the cloth around it and looked inside. "The Almighty will embrace you in Heaven." He quickly made the sign of the cross above their lowered heads and then slammed the door in their faces.

Brothers Skye and Abraham turned and faced those who had chased them across the breadth of the country, a dozen or more taut faces filled with vehement hatred. The uniformed horsemen reined their horses in, drawing to stop on the line between early evening sunshine and forced shadow. The lead horseman dismounted and approached with caution, his hand resting on the pummel of his heavy sword.

       "You have something that belongs to the King," he almost growled as he spoke. "I am sworn to return it along with your heads."

       Skye took a step forward, his hands clasped as if in prayer and knelt before the knighted soldier.

       "We have also been sworn to a path we must follow," Skye whispered. "Unfortunately our path and your own are not destined to head in the same direction." As he spoke he looked upwards at his accuser.

       Abraham made to move alongside his friend, hands clasped in the same manner and his head held low.

       "Do not move one more step," the soldier warned, raising his eyes to Abraham and drawing his sword. "You may lose your head without due court and judgement."

       "And who will judge us?" Skye moved with an unnatural speed, throwing back his dark brown robe and drawing the concealed long dagger. "You?" Before the question could be answered Skye had forced himself upwards, thrusting the dagger into the bottom of the soldiers jaw.

The finely honed blade sank through flesh and sliced through tongue with equal ease. It tore through the roof of the mouth and the tip ploughed up into the brain. The uniformed man's eyes rolled up into his head to show the bloodshot, yellow tinged whites. He was dead before Skye yanked the blade free and turned to face his destiny.

       "It appears we will be spared the gallows," Abraham said as he took his place at Skye's side.

       "Abraham, it's been an honour," Skye turned and their faces met in a kiss filled with undying love. "See you in Heaven."

       "We do this for you," they shouted as one, charging at their pursuers with daggers raised.

*

       Father Jacob ran along the corridor with the bundle held tightly to his chest. The sound of his sandalled feet echoed against the cold stone floor. Time was, indeed, running out. Through the high windows he could see the clear sky of day being eaten away by the approaching storm, a storm that would consume if they did not carry out the ceremony.

       As Jacob ran the torches that lined the walls cast a flickering shadow, the black silhouette distorted by the jumping flames and giving it a haunted appearance. Jacob didn't notice this or any of his surroundings. He had one goal only, to reach the chamber before the sun was swallowed alive.

Jacob could hear the chanting before he reached the top of the narrow, winding staircase and the bundle in his arms began to move, the object sensing that something was wrong. Jacob gripped it tighter to his chest and tears ran down his cheeks with grief at what he would do before the hour was out. He took the stairs quickly, years of use having worn away at the granite beneath his feet, but never once did he loose his footing.