Post by simon darkshade on Sept 29, 2022 5:36:10 GMT
Summer Is Icumen In
August 4th 1948
The cell was cold and damp and dark. Rather to be expected, given that it lay deep beneath the ground under Lews Castle, but nevertheless not particularly comfortable. He stretched out, as far as his cold iron chains would let him. They were taking no chances, it seemed.
How long had he been down here? It had been at least a week since the trial, or what passed for it, and after that, time seemed to somehow lose its meaning down in the dark oubliette. The tender mercies of the paladins, Templars and inquisitors had been none too tender, yet they had not been exceedingly cruel or inhuman. Everything by their Book, it seemed.
Not for the first time, he silently cursed their interloping interference. There had been no real way of avoiding the outside world, not forever. The island had been prospering, as it had through the war and before hand, but the turn of the weather had imperiled the apples that supported their life and their ways, so it had to be done. It had seemed like a brilliant plan, to bring a fool and a virgin of their own free will with the power of the King, and then to climax in the sacrifice to preserve the favour of the Gods.
Brilliance, save for the leap and the second seaplane...Damn the man!
The door opened with a resounding clang, flooding the darkness with light. There in the doorway stood four figures. The prisoner blinked painfully at the sudden glare, unable to properly make them out for a few seconds.
"Well now, my Lord, from the darkness comes the light."
"Sergeant Howie. How nice of you to visit. I'm sorry I'm in no state to receive an old friend for a visit, but I seem to be rather tied up at the moment." Even in his current state, he attempted to conjure something of his old courtly jocularity. After all, what else was left?
"Spare me the humour, Summerisle, if you will; Lord no longer, indeed, now that the King's order has come through. I am come with these men to bring you a message, and then to bring you forth to be justified."
"Oh." So it was time.
"Indeed. The first is this: It was all in vain. Playing at pagan games was worth nothing. The Wise in the South have a new working, you see, an aestel of great power. The Sunstone, they call it. With that, the worst winds of winter shall hold back from all of our islands, even yours. A greater and better thing than your wicked ways."
Summerisle's heart sank a little. "What of the island? Harried with the cross, fire and sword as your kind has of old?"
"Spare me the ancient heathen rhetoric, man. Your island's little dalliance with the ungodly lasted barely two generations and there are none so far from the light that cannot be returned to it. The adults were all taken into custody and examined; those in the outer rings are either bound for the Antarctic or Venus for penal servitude and penitence, whilst those of more culpability have already been dealt with under the law. The children will be lethed and sent out to Australia and New Zealand; the good air and sun will serve them well."
"And our island?"
"Yours no longer, naturally enough. It is to be resettled by good Godfearing Scots from Edinburgh and Aberdeen whose homes were destroyed or damaged by the Nazis in the war. The old population simply petered out, you see, clinging to old ways. A new people and a new name."
"Which is?"
"Ubhal Dhe."
Oh, the irony.
"Shall we get this over with?"
"There is no hurry, Summerisle; the business will take some time in any case. The formalities will take place up in the courtyard, where we are ready. Hardy! Shaffer! Loose his chains and bring him up. Come, it is time to keep your appointment with the - Whicker?! Man, what are you doing?"
The bespectacled captain, seconded from the Army Film and Photographic Unit to the Office of the Witchfinder General for Operation Toasty, straightened his thick rimmed glasses almost apologetically.
"Sorry, Sergeant, but with the lighting down here, we'll be better off taking the picture out in the courtyard."
"Quite right, Captain. Standard procedure is the measure of the day." Howie turned back to Summerisle. "Come, then. The stake awaits and then, no doubt, a warm welcome down below."
August 4th 1948
The cell was cold and damp and dark. Rather to be expected, given that it lay deep beneath the ground under Lews Castle, but nevertheless not particularly comfortable. He stretched out, as far as his cold iron chains would let him. They were taking no chances, it seemed.
How long had he been down here? It had been at least a week since the trial, or what passed for it, and after that, time seemed to somehow lose its meaning down in the dark oubliette. The tender mercies of the paladins, Templars and inquisitors had been none too tender, yet they had not been exceedingly cruel or inhuman. Everything by their Book, it seemed.
Not for the first time, he silently cursed their interloping interference. There had been no real way of avoiding the outside world, not forever. The island had been prospering, as it had through the war and before hand, but the turn of the weather had imperiled the apples that supported their life and their ways, so it had to be done. It had seemed like a brilliant plan, to bring a fool and a virgin of their own free will with the power of the King, and then to climax in the sacrifice to preserve the favour of the Gods.
Brilliance, save for the leap and the second seaplane...Damn the man!
The door opened with a resounding clang, flooding the darkness with light. There in the doorway stood four figures. The prisoner blinked painfully at the sudden glare, unable to properly make them out for a few seconds.
"Well now, my Lord, from the darkness comes the light."
"Sergeant Howie. How nice of you to visit. I'm sorry I'm in no state to receive an old friend for a visit, but I seem to be rather tied up at the moment." Even in his current state, he attempted to conjure something of his old courtly jocularity. After all, what else was left?
"Spare me the humour, Summerisle, if you will; Lord no longer, indeed, now that the King's order has come through. I am come with these men to bring you a message, and then to bring you forth to be justified."
"Oh." So it was time.
"Indeed. The first is this: It was all in vain. Playing at pagan games was worth nothing. The Wise in the South have a new working, you see, an aestel of great power. The Sunstone, they call it. With that, the worst winds of winter shall hold back from all of our islands, even yours. A greater and better thing than your wicked ways."
Summerisle's heart sank a little. "What of the island? Harried with the cross, fire and sword as your kind has of old?"
"Spare me the ancient heathen rhetoric, man. Your island's little dalliance with the ungodly lasted barely two generations and there are none so far from the light that cannot be returned to it. The adults were all taken into custody and examined; those in the outer rings are either bound for the Antarctic or Venus for penal servitude and penitence, whilst those of more culpability have already been dealt with under the law. The children will be lethed and sent out to Australia and New Zealand; the good air and sun will serve them well."
"And our island?"
"Yours no longer, naturally enough. It is to be resettled by good Godfearing Scots from Edinburgh and Aberdeen whose homes were destroyed or damaged by the Nazis in the war. The old population simply petered out, you see, clinging to old ways. A new people and a new name."
"Which is?"
"Ubhal Dhe."
Oh, the irony.
"Shall we get this over with?"
"There is no hurry, Summerisle; the business will take some time in any case. The formalities will take place up in the courtyard, where we are ready. Hardy! Shaffer! Loose his chains and bring him up. Come, it is time to keep your appointment with the - Whicker?! Man, what are you doing?"
The bespectacled captain, seconded from the Army Film and Photographic Unit to the Office of the Witchfinder General for Operation Toasty, straightened his thick rimmed glasses almost apologetically.
"Sorry, Sergeant, but with the lighting down here, we'll be better off taking the picture out in the courtyard."
"Quite right, Captain. Standard procedure is the measure of the day." Howie turned back to Summerisle. "Come, then. The stake awaits and then, no doubt, a warm welcome down below."