[2003] LOSS & PORPHYRY the novels  

9077 - LOSS Chapter 6 - BEYOND EQUINOX                                                                

Over the next few months life returned to normal. To everyone's relief, the spirit had returned, and the shared consciousness once more buoyed up the community; as its natural optimism was regained. The other disturbance in the tranquillity of their winter life, the building of the timber walls, was completed soon after midwinter; so that everybody was then able to thankfully return to their normal winter tasks. The now resumed work on the oak forest still made some demands on their time. But, generally speaking, the village was again much as it had always been.

Thus, on a bright frosty morning towards the end of winter, I was doing my rounds of the community, accompanied by Trina. To have her with me was now relatively unusual, for we usually managed to keep our distance from each other. There was, after all, no need to be next to each other; for our new powers now allowed us to converse, in complete privacy, across the width of the village. But today we did choose to walk together; for it would have been as strange if we had avoided each other totally So a discrete balance was maintained. We were becoming as devious, in their own way, as Jon.

We found the forest was still a scene of much activity. Delayed by the work on the wall, the various teams of gatherers were only just completing the task of stripping out the smaller trees in the bottom half of the woods; while the ox-teams were dragging stacks of already felled trees back to the timber yard. The smaller branches, with all the undergrowth, were added to the bonfires that were burning throughout the forest; so that the whole area was wreathed in drifts of smoke charged mist, and our nostrils were filled with its scent. With the leaping flames on all sides, the scene had an unreal quality - though I felt the impression, almost that of a gigantic cremation, was perhaps only fitting, in mournful celebration of the passing of these old friends. On the other hand, I consoled myself, their ash would add considerable richness to the soil, and thence greater bounty to the next year's crops.

Left behind were just the great masters of that forest, which had long towered over all the others. These were the ones that Wilm and Benj were felling personally, taking great care to preserve the valuable wood undamaged. Even as I and Trina approached, there was a deafening roar as yet another of these mighty oaks was toppled; amid a cloud of dust and debris. We both found it a saddening sight; such majesty struck down by such mere striplings of mortals. But then it was, we reasoned, a necessary part of progress.

By the time we actually reached the tree Wilm was hard at work chopping off the side branches. So our brief conversation took place while he continued his strenuous work. Nothing would now distract him from meeting his agreed targets, even though his workers had been so sorely distracted for a number of months.

Despite his exertions, Wilm still seemed very happy: "We are back on the original schedule. Always assuming we don't have problems with the weather, the gatherers will be able to plant their spring wheat on time. We have achieved that despite the interruptions. The building of the walls set us back by at least a month. In addition, Benj and I have been spending an unexpected amount of time on charcoal burning. The smithy has been using far more than usual. They must be producing vast quantities of the new bronze pieces. They seem to work day and night. But we are coping well despite that, and we already have some beautiful wood in our timber-yard."

It was true that the smithy was working long hours. I had been impressed that even Jon was helping out; I often saw the youth working, until late in the evening, with the two younger smiths. In fact, Jon had continued to maintain a relatively low profile. The council had not been asked for any more decisions on arming the village. Even his religious activities had been discrete. As far as I could ascertain, my competitor merely ran a weekly ceremony; and, in general, it was only the youths and hunters who attended it. I myself had not attended, for I felt that might be provocative; but I had heard that the material being presented was much the same as I had heard on that fateful midwinter evening.

As we moved to return to the village, I found that, perhaps affected after all by the physical presence of Trina, I was now relaxed even more than usual. I decided, therefore, to ask Trina to once more expand the barriers she had erected within her mind. Over the previous months she had been gradually moving back these barriers; slowly exposing more and more of her mind to me, until there were only her most secret places left. Today, I now felt, was a propitious time to take that process a step further. As usual I left the choice of the areas to uncover to her. It had become part of the enjoyment that what I was to experience was chosen by her; and she had been remarkably successful at choosing just what I could cope with, and indeed what I was in the right mood to cope with.

I immediately recognised the scene that she showed to me, for it was one that she had described verbally in their earliest discussions; before our minds had opened to each other. I, Trina, was entering the sleeping quarters of my, her, mistress. I was walking across to pull back the curtains around the bed; then the furs that lay on it. Revealed was the slim body of a woman in her early thirties. I mused that Trina had been right when she had described how well her mistress had weathered the ravages of having five children. She was, indeed, attractive. But I was finding that my feelings were becoming difficult to cope with. My initial reaction had been to expect to view her through my own, male, eyes. But of course I wasn't doing that. I was seeing her through Trina's, very female, eyes. It was a strange feeling. To my surprise, I found that Trina was also attracted by that body, though not in the way that I myself normally would have been. In part she envied the mature fullness of it. In part her feelings reflected the genuine respect, and admiration, she felt. But, I found, underneath these understandable emotions there lurked unexpected traces of lust; totally different to my own, but lust none the less. Perhaps lesbianism, or at least some discrete elements of it, were more common than I had allowed for. On the other hand, perhaps the emotions were more complex for, in our explorations of each other, Trina had found traces of similar perversions in my own deepest nature; perversions I did not even recognise existed.

Concentrating on what was happening, I discovered that I, Trina, was now carrying a pot of oil, smelling sweetly of herbs. As my mistress rolled over on her stomach, for what was obviously routine attention, I carefully poured a little of that oil on his hands; and started gently massaging it into her body. As I rubbed, and pummelled, her limbs, her back, her buttocks I found it surprisingly tiring work. But, again to my surprise, I also found it remarkably enjoyable. I found I liked, even through Trina's feminine senses, the feel of her soft flesh under his fingers. As she rolled over onto her back I saw, once more, her breasts. Again I could see why Trina admired them; and, when the time came to massage them, they felt delicious under my tenderly probing fingertips; the plump flesh flowing between my fingers. I was half conscious of Trina, confusingly the Trina of today as opposed to that of the memory, watching his reactions. But it was not just me who was enjoying the sensation, my mistress was clearly, judging from her quiet moans, starting to enjoy it even more; and I felt her hand behind my head, moving my lips onto her nipples. I tasted the slight oiliness and sweetness, that came from the massage oil, and my nose was filled with the fragrance of the herbs, mixed with the musky animal smell that was her own, rising from her warm body. Between my lips her nipples firmed; and I alternately licked and sucked in time to the moans that emerged from her. And, very soon, I felt her hand take my own, or rather Trina's own, and guide it down between her thighs. There my fingers found the sensual lips of his mistress's vagina and I pleasured her there as well.

I found that all of this was much as Trina had described. What was different was my feelings; or at least those of Trina, which I was sharing. Like those at the first sight of that body, Trina's feelings at the experience of making love to her mistress were equivocal. On the one hand she was revolted by having to undertake the task. After all, it was only because she was a slave that she was forced to endure such indignities. On the other hand, she had a genuine affection for her mistress; and obtained satisfaction from giving that mistress pleasure, the more so where her master could not. Most equivocal and deepest hidden of all, though, were her sexual feelings. Again there was that mixture of revulsion and attraction. In a mild way she was attracted to that body. But much stronger was the secret wish to feel her mistress making love to her in that sensuous way, so that she too might enjoy the same ecstasies. Unfortunately, she also well knew the nature of that perversion, and she was consequently revolted by these feelings; and despised herself for them.

The real reason for Trina choosing this scene had little to do with the scene itself; she was well aware that I had already known of it. It was much more to do with the necessary ordeal of exposing a very vulnerable part of herself to me. She had been through a whole range of obscene experiences; and yet she had apparently emerged pure and innocent. But what she secretly feared was that she had, in reality, been corrupted in the process. She knew deep down that she had, at times, wanted to participate. She had wanted to enjoy these very perverse pleasures.

I realised that it had taken a great deal of willpower, of sheer courage, not to succumb to the temptations. But I also now recognised her desperate feelings of guilt. Although she had not been corrupted physically, yet she still feared she had accepted a taint on her spirit; merely by being a passive spectator. Adopting my confessional role as shaman, in addition to my more intimate role of confidant to her inner secrets, I quickly sought to reassure her that she was indeed still pure in mind as well as in body - or at least that she was as pure as any fallible human being ever could be.

At least, I tried my very best to persuade her that much; for I now recognised that her story had almost been a plea for expiation. As such, I repeatedly told her, it was unnecessary, for it was she who had been wronged, she who had been the victim of that unjust society. But even as a victim she still felt a guilty complicity in her own victimisation. She desperately wanted to cleanse herself, purge her soul, of that sordid guilt. It was, therefore, with pleasure that I accepted at least some of that guilt from her.

With some of the guilt assuaged, and I much better educated, we continued our perambulation. As we entered the main gate, we passed the open area between the visitors hut and that of the youths. Usually it was empty, except for the poultry which scavenged throughout the village. To my surprise it was now filled by a band of youths and hunters; all being coached by Jon, who towered over them from the vantage point of a wagon drawn up in their midst. Perhaps twenty of them were there, each carrying a wickerwork shield on their left arm. Such shields were used on the bear hunts the hunters sometimes needed to undertake, but it was what they were holding in their right hands that startled me. These were, to be sure, wooden knives; not the real thing. They were, however, unmistakable copies of the large bronze knife that Isac and Jon had developed.

The men and youths were, under Jon's direction, cautiously circling each other; to periodically lunge at their opponent with a stabbing motion, or a sweeping slashing movement. The air was filled with the sound of wooden knives being parried by the wickerwork shields; and by the accompanying grunts and yells. In the cold air the sweating bodies gave off clouds of steam. Amidst that melee I somehow found their single-minded concentration impressive. The result was almost like a ballet, with the movements of the participants demonstrating a peculiar grace.

But, as Trina alongside me shuddered and my mind was flooded with her images of war, I immediately recognised in her response the darker nature of the spectacle which confronted us. What we were actually witnessing was not the preparation for a bear hunt. Neither was it, as Jon would have bystanders believe, a form of harmless exercise.  It was, in truth, a rehearsal for war. Its participants were warriors, under a very thin disguise indeed. Replace their wooden knives with the real bronze ones and they could be killers in a moment. Again I felt Trina shudder. In her eyes it was not a reassuring sight.

But one thing was reassuring to me, if not to Trina; the lack of blood-lust. In all Trina's scenes of militaristic fervour the overwhelming sensation I had felt been that of blood-lust; and it was that which had been so offensive, almost more offensive than the carnage imposed on the victims. Yet in this gathering there was no trace of any similar feeling. All I could sense was an almost puritanical concentration on the development of their skills. The participants were not looking beyond themselves. They could only see their own bodies, and how these were meeting the challenges of the exercises imposed on them. I instinctively distrusted Jon's motives in organising this dance of death, even though as usual Trina and I could not read the mind behind his mask. But I could not believe that the dancers had any motives other than the pleasure of the exercise. They, at least, were living up to Jon's proud claims, as their thoughts amply demonstrated.

Even so, it was obvious to me that the scene was too distressing for Trina, and I rushed her past; to visit the smithy. Over recent months this had expanded somewhat. It now held two more furnaces, much larger and capable of casting the very large castings we were experimenting with. This was perhaps an unnecessary investment, where the council had only approved a maximum of six such castings in total, but the furnaces looked well enough used.

They found just two smiths at work. They had seen the other two already, taking part in Jon's training routines. The two present were in the process of pouring a batch of knives. I now saw why the larger furnaces were so well used, for the smiths were now pouring four of the smaller knives at a time; significantly increasing productivity. It did mean, however, that the crucible was very heavy indeed for the two of them to handle; though their experience made it seem very easy.

The metal having been poured, Rog sat down to watch it cool and gulped down great draughts of ale. He was happy once more. His metal was now well guarded; by the village walls, and then by the youths who actually slept on top of it. "Production is going very well. We have already cast more than two hundred knives. The gatherers, now that the walls are complete, are once again grinding these; and are rapidly catching up on the backlog. Even now there are a hundred completed ready to trade. We will have plenty to barter as soon as the spring caravans appear. We will easily replace our lost wealth, and go beyond to build even greater reserves." Rog was still smarting from that iniquitous theft.

                                                                        ****

Our meal that night was cooked, as usual, by two of the coven. At times it was an adventurous diet, since we had to live with our student's mistakes as well as their successes. But, over the years, from this school had graduated some of the best cooks in the valley. To be truthful the risk was minimal; for the hearth mothers supervised them well, and there were few real disasters. Tonight it was Janil's turn to oversee the work. It would be only a few more weeks before she delivered her, my, child; and she was bulging alarmingly. But Trina, whose senses were still more acute than my own assured me that my daughter-to-be was very healthy. Janil herself seemed to become happier as every day passed, and the event neared.

Tonight we were entertained to a simple meal of thin bread, freshly baked on the inside of the oven, with a haunch of wild boar cooked on the spit; all accompanied by some dried beans cooked in broth. It was a success, to the relief of the cooks. Thus we sat, replete, around the brightly glowing embers of the fire; warmed almost as much by the strong ale we had consumed as by the fire itself. Some of the coven continued to sew and spin, for these were very relaxing occupations and were easy enough to carry on despite the poor light. But most sat in small groups, exchanging stories and gossip.

Best of all they liked to listen to my own stories. Of course I knew the sagas, and told these as part of their education. But I had also accumulated a wealth of other stories. Some had been passed down by my predecessors; some had been gathered by myself during my time as shaman, including those from the traders who visited the community. In truth, I was now valued, by all, as much as a story teller as for my other skills; and the coven was often supplemented by other villagers who wanted to hear the stories.

The stories were still in part educational, in as much as all knowledge has some value. But in the main they were almost pure entertainment. That evening I had chosen to tell the story of the worst winter I had ever experienced, in the days of my youth. It had been so cold then that the river had frozen over, and the villagers had been able to skate considerable distances along it. The story was a great exercise in nostalgia for me, allowing me to relive the thrills of my youth. But, even so, it was much appreciated by the coven.

Having exhausted my tales of that winter of long ago, I found an excuse to retire to bed early, as I now did most nights; I feared the coven must think I was lapsing into my dotage very early. In practice, though, they did not object; for it allowed them to continue gossiping without intrusion.

On the other side of the hut, Trina too was in her bed; her absence less noticed than my own. Thus did my evening's real education begin. We had now developed a clandestine routine; not least because we didn't want to betray our secret to the rest of the coven. The first part of the routine was to follow the deep relaxation technique which Trina had learnt as a slave, so that every muscle in our bodies was totally at ease. Only then did Trina open the first doors to her mind; to let me into that carefully fenced space, where I could now roam free without any danger to my sanity. Little by little, she would then move that fence back to reveal another small part of herself.

Reassured by my earlier acceptance of her own equivocal responses to her mistress's demands, tonight's exploration was to move on to even more private parts of her personality. This time she was, for the first time, to let me into that part of her which received the input from her bodily senses. I would be privileged to feel how she felt with all her senses; where previously I had, albeit without recognising the fact, been largely limited to her visual and aural senses.

It might seem that this was a small addition to my knowledge. But in practice it proved, as Trina had known it would, a significant step. For Trina's body was not just that of someone more than twenty years my junior, but was very definitely that of a woman. As I was to find, the specifically male sensations of a man's body have a very direct bearing on the other senses and feelings.

In this way I found himself once more in an alien body; but this time, partaking of all of its sensations. I found it a very strange experience indeed - especially as I had thought I already knew Trina so intimately. I, Trina, felt totally different. My body was smooth and lithe, outlined by curves; where my remembered male body was, in comparison, rough and clumsy. It was partly a reality, for as I felt my own, or rather Trina's own, limbs they were delicate and sensuously shapely. But it was also a state of mind; that was how I now felt his body should be, that was now my own self-image. The difference may sound obvious, but I simply was not prepared for the effect it had on all my viewpoints. As the sensuous, feminine, Trina I was malleable. I was soft in nature as well as in body. On the other hand, as my clumsy male self I was, I now concluded, almost bound to be aggressive; it was as if this physical clumsiness extended to my general nature.

Indeed I found that the whole balance of my body had subtly changed; altering how I felt even in an activity as simple as walking. My breasts, albeit not very well developed, made me seem almost top heavy; and in walking they bounced, adding a fluidity to my movements. I felt graceful, and this was now far more important than any idea of strength I had entertained as a male. The wider splay of my thighs, and the absence of male genitalia, gave me a freedom of walk that was a refreshing revelation. Indeed I revelled in the freedom and grace that this new body offered; freedom of mind as well as of body, that was the gift of femininity.

But it was the sensations from my, Trina's, erotogenic zones that had the most impact. I had never realised just how sensitive they were on a woman; though I had frequently made some suitable gestures in this direction, when I thought about it, during love-making. Nor had I realised how many of them there were; from the nape of my neck, and my ear lobes, down to my very toes. I was fascinated by just how sensitive were my nipples. Even my movement against the bedclothes excited me. And between my legs lay an area of so many complex sensations as to be indescribable. The single male surge to orgasm was primitive in the extreme by comparison.

It was a very different set of feelings to manage, to come to terms with; delicious though I found them. There were still my clumsy, as I now saw them, male senses; dominated by that one crude sexual organ. Against that were her, now my, very complex feminine senses. But I had to learn to balance the two, if I was truly to share everything with Trina. I suddenly realised that she must have coped with my, to her, brutal body ever since the night that we had merged our minds. I determined that I would, with her help, survive the sensuousness of hers.

To my surprise, that experience, of the fusion of the two separates as well as the comparison of male and feminine bodies, turned out to be one of the most enlightening of my whole education. The fused body, the composite being, gave me a unique insight into the human condition.

                                                                        ****

Sometime in the middle of the following night I was awoken, from a deep sleep, by Isac vigorously shaking my arm: "I can't find Melani. She hasn't come back to the hut, and I can't find her anywhere."

With my head still clouded by the mists of sleep, I tried to reassure my friend: "Surely she must be somewhere in the village. You know she is very independent."

"I have already looked everywhere I would have expected her to go. The last place was here with you. I had hoped that she had come to you, as she has before. But she isn't here. Please come and help me look for her." His desperation was such that I couldn't refuse him. Besides which, I didn't want to further disturb the members of the coven whose bleary eyes were now watching us from under the warm comfort of their bed-clothes. So, silently cursing at this unwelcome interruption of my sleep, I put on my tunic and heavy cloak; and, stopping only to light another torch, accompanied the trader to the door.

Outside the door I found myself ankle-deep in powdery snow. It was not snowing at the time, but there had clearly been quite a blizzard earlier in the night. It was unusual for this late in the winter; but the weather was always an unpredictable part of our existence. Cursing, volubly this time, I returned to the hut to hunt out my felt boots. Finally, fully equipped to face the conditions, we set out to look.

It was only then that the last traces of sleep were driven from my numbed mind; and I recognised, with a terrible certainty, what the situation was. The scene was horribly familiar. Isac and I stood there, with the snow glistening white in the circle of light shed by their torches; and we were looking for a girl. I hoped, I hoped with every fibre of my body, that I was wrong; that the crumpled body in my vision would not prove to be that of Melani. But deep inside I already knew what to expect.

I had never thought of Melani. At first I had treated that body as an anonymous figure, scarcely giving a thought to its human identity. Then I had worried that it might be Trina; she had seemed a perpetual victim. But I had never thought it might be someone as warm, and innocent, as Melani. For I had always thought of her as life itself; she was so full of energy and love. How could it have happened?

I tried to reassure himself that I might be jumping to conclusions, but even so I quickly decided that we had better obtain help. It was clear that Isac was so distraught that, for once, he would surely not be able to cope with the actions that would need to be taken. I was also despairingly aware of what those actions might now be; and of what this might mean for my friend. Thus, I woke up Alwyn, together with two of the best hunters, to help in the search.

While the others spread out to search the whole village, their blazing torches weaving in and out of the huts, I himself went straight to the gates. To my relief the main gate was still barred tight, with snow drifting against it. Clearly it had not been opened, and Melani had not gone in that direction. But my relief was short-lived, for the second was partially open, and there were the clear tracks of two people going out of it. Maybe, I thought, one of them was Melani. But whose were the others? With a growing sense of despair, I ran to fetch the others.

Leaving the rest of the villagers, who had now been woken by the commotion, to finish the search of the village itself, I and the small band with me ran up the hill following the very clear tracks in that pure white snow. They were very easy to follow. Whoever made them must have left the village after the snow had stopped, whenever that might have been.

The two sets of tracks seemed to have been made by people walking normally. Alwyn did venture the opinion that, even though they only showed the broad featureless outlines of felt boots, they were both made by men, and they were alternately carrying something heavy. I managed to keep this information from Isac, who was looking ever more distraught, but I felt my own hopes drift even lower.

Lit by the flames from their torches, the world looked beautiful, and pure. Everywhere the virgin, white snow lay over the fields and, as we approached them, we now saw it had also blanketed the trees of the forest. but the unswerving tracks followed the snow covered path which led to the next village. As we slowed down on entering the woods, I felt distinctly nervous. In part I was apprehensive about the possibility of actually coming up against whoever we were following. But in the main it was the growing expectation of a horror to come. The image of the crumpled body I had seen in the vision was now constantly in my mind. As the path curved through the woods my apprehension grew. Ahead, I knew, was a clearing. It was close by there that the stolen copper ingot had been found; and I mentally began to prepare myself for what I was coming to believe was inevitable.

As we stopped at the edge of the clearing the light cast by our torches lit up almost all of it; only the far side was in darkness. But, once more to my relief, there was nothing to be seen. The clearing was empty, with just those inexorable twin tracks leading across it. My hopes soared. Perhaps all my fears were groundless. Then, just as we started to move forward, the circle of light revealed what looked like a parcel of rags; close by the path leading from the far side of the clearing. Yelling at the others to hold Isac back, Alwyn and I raced to that anonymous bundle.

It was well that I had prepared myself. I had often seen the hunt quite brutally dismember the game they had caught, and had thought nothing of it, even as I had been covered by the still warm blood of the prize. But I had never seen a human being who had been treated in the same way. My logic told me that what I now saw before me was Melani. The face staring up at me was certainly hers. The mane of golden hair spread on the snow was hers. But that destroyed body surely couldn't be. My mind refused to accept the horror of the scene. Despite my preparations I couldn't cope with it, and had to rush to the edge of the woods; to retch, and retch, I felt I would bring up my whole stomach. How could anyone do that terrible, terrible thing?

By the time I got back, Isac was staring down at the body. Surprisingly, the trader didn't do or say anything. He just stood, staring down, for what seemed to me like an eternity. Then he knelt down and started to stroke her hair. I noticed that Alwyn had already closed her eyes. It had been those, looking up at me as the sole vestiges of humanity in that bloody carcass, which had distressed me most. But Isac just stroked her hair, not appearing to notice the terrible acts that had been perpetrated on what had been such a perfect body.

I concluded that whoever had perpetrated this bestial act must have been wildly insane. Her tunic had been ripped apart to expose what had been the loveliest of bodies; and I shuddered uncontrollably at the thought of those inhumanly brutal hands ravishing that soft body, which had so often lain in my own arms. What had happened next would not bear thinking about, but at some stage her body had been finally disfigured by savage knife cuts; running from top to bottom and side to side, and so deep that they almost dismembered her torso. She had been violently disembowelled, the intestines and organs roughly pulled out and thrown hither and thither; to expose the heart, which in turn had been cut out, to be taken away.

The act seemed to have generated an almost demonic orgy of violence. There were feet marks in the snow all around the body, almost as if the two men had danced their way through their grotesque ceremony. For almost a man's length around the body there was blood, and indescribably mutilated pieces of her internal organs. They disfigured the pure white snow with the terrible red pattern I had seen in the vision. At the centre of that obscene flower pattern, was the innocent young bud of Melani; ripped apart with terrifying savagery. It was undoubtedly the most horrible, and saddening sight I had ever seen.

I was still feeling physically sick at that sight, but I had recovered enough composure to start to organise matters in my normally efficient manner. I knew that we would have to wait until later to track the perpetrators. With maniacs as dangerous as these on the loose it would be suicidal to follow them unarmed; maybe to stumble into an ambush in the dark. I left Alwyn and the hunters to gather together what remained of Melani's body, and to reverently carry it back to the village. I myself took the worse task of persuading Isac to leave the body and come with me. Again to my surprise my friend offered no resistance. There seemed to be a mere husk of a man left. What intelligence had inhabited that shell seemed to have flown. I put my arm round him. I knew just how much Melani and Isac had been in love. I had felt privileged to share a small part of that love. But I had always been aware that Isac was all that really mattered to Melani. I mumbled hopefully soothing words to that effect; but the husk of a man I was guiding through the snow didn't respond. Isac didn't hear. He knew nothing that was happening around him. I consoled myself with the thought that it must be better that way. How, otherwise, could the trader have coped with the grotesque events, with the carnage he had seen, with the cruellest of deaths for his lover? It had been bad enough for me. I would never be able to erase the horror of that night from my memory. How much worse must it have been for Isac?

As we reached the village, the hearth-mothers ran out to meet us. Janil and Lal took the unseeing Isac away from me, to look after him and to try and comfort him; if they could ever find where he had hidden himself in his apparently uninhabited body. The others took Melani's body to prepare it for burial. Out of a mourning sky the snow started to fall again; perhaps in sympathy, to provide a universal shroud to cover these foul deeds.

Having relinquished their sad burden, Alwyn and his hunters returned to their huts to collect a full hunting party; and to arm themselves to deal with the savage perpetrators of that vile deed. The hunting party  quickly reappeared, a group of six hunters in total; each armed with his shield and one of the new bronze long-knives. They would now be a match for even the most desperate fugitive. At a trot, the smoke and flames of their torches trailing behind, they moved up the hill; on their way to follow the trail again. But no sooner had the light of their torches disappeared amongst the trees than the snowstorm returned with redoubled ferocity.

As by now the whole village was awake, I called an immediate meeting of the council. It was not necessary to describe what had happened. News of any sort travelled fast within the small community. News as grave as this would have been passed around the whole village within a few moments. As a result there was little discussion of the event itself. There was, of course, concern for Isac; and I explained how he was being looked after by Janil and Lal. The main concern, inevitably, was the potential impact on the community as a whole; the potential dangers - the irrational fear of unknown terrors. Again I explained how Alwyn and the hunters were following the trail; but, as the snowstorm raged outside, they all realised that there could now be little chance that the trail of the culprits would be followed much beyond that fateful glade.

I was, accordingly, prepared for Jon to dominate the rest of the meeting: "It is a tragedy; a tragedy I had hoped never to see." The youth was at his theatrical best: "Yet I knew that a community as unprotected as this is must be an open invitation to any group of bandits, to any nearby killers. That was why I was so anxious to have the wall built. But, tragically, that structure, well constructed as it was, was insufficient to deter maniacs as determined as these; and, believe me, there are plenty of other such maniacs around in that hostile world out there. I had, indeed, hoped that the wall alone would suffice, but it clearly didn't. So we must now decide what else we need to do to protect ourselves; and to protect our defenceless womenfolk. What I regret most was that it was not I, or one of the strong warriors I have been training, that had to give his life in the defence of the village. We are prepared for that. Instead it had to be a defenceless young woman; who had harmed nobody, offered a threat to nobody, and who we all loved dearly. But that is a measure of the evil we face. They do not flinch at killing innocents in this obscene way."

Once again Jon was working his magic with words. I could sense the whole room, with the solitary exception of myself, rushing to support the young orator. Even so, it was Rog who asked the question I really wanted answered: "But why was her body so badly mutilated? Who could have done such a thing? What reason, or lack of reason, could have caused such savagery?"

As I was now coming to terms with the terrible facts it seemed to me too that there were a number of very unusual features. There was the one picked up by Rog. The killing had almost a ceremonial quality. But why conduct it in that place. Why take Melani all that way, without any signs of struggle on route, to conduct a ceremony there? Why did the tracks only lead away from the village? Had the killers entered the village much earlier, before the first snow fell? If so, for what strange reason had they remained, in constant danger of discovery, for so long; before choosing to capture Melani in the midst of the community? Like the theft of the metal, there were some very strange behaviour patterns; almost as if the culprits wanted to be discovered.

Again it was Jon who replied to Rog's questions, and I had the odd feeling that the young man had almost rehearsed the answer: "As you know, my religion is that of the sun god. It is a religion wholly based on good. Indeed, the sun god demands that all his subjects live a holy, a good, life. But there is another religion, an anti-religion, which is the exact opposite. I had hoped we would never come across it. It is the religion of the night. Its members conduct their dark worship in secret, hidden in the night; when they sometimes rove the countryside like bandits. It is a hidden religion which encourages acts of evil. Its most secret ceremonies involve bestial acts; such as the cutting out of the live heart of their sacrificial victims. What I have heard about the death of Melani, the way the body was desecrated and the fact that the demonic act was hidden in the dark of night, points to just such a ritual. It is my belief that we have near at hand a group of these dark worshippers. In this case it looks as if it was just two of them who committed this act of infamy."

"How can we find these fiends? How can we recognise them?" Rog was quick to follow up his question.

"The problem is that you can't. The essence of their religion is its secrecy. Its members could be anyone; and they often are perfectly ordinary members of their community. There is nothing to distinguish them from you and me. Their neighbours, their friends, perhaps even their wives, probably don't know their terrible secret. You can only be sure of them by trapping them in the middle of their ceremonies; and usually nobody, but the participants, knows where or when these will take place?"

"How can we protect ourselves then?" Rog was very persistent.

This was, I now realised, the prompt that Jon had been waiting for: "Fortunately, we are well placed. It has now become obvious that that we need at least one, preferably two, sentries; to detect anyone trying to slip over our village wall, to open the gates to their accomplices. But for most of the time I would think that perhaps a single watchtower, over the main gate, should allow a sentry to easily handle such a duty. As for the more serious threat, that from roving groups of bandits or killers, we already have a twenty strong self-defence force. I believe that is a match for almost anyone. It would help, though, if the other men-folk also volunteered their help. The more defenders we have the safer we will be. We also have the technology to be able to make the long bronze knives. We should immediately make enough to arm each of our defenders; to ensure that they are invincible. But I don't think they will ever need to be used in anger. The threat alone will be sufficient. Nobody would dare attack us."

Even in these dire circumstances, I reluctantly had to admire Jon's political skills. The youth had learnt well. In what seemed to be an eminently sensible speech he had managed to assume that the community should move to prepare for war. What is more I realised, as he looked around the council, Jon already had the unanimous support of everybody else there. They were happy to accept the young man's assumption. They had not even noticed the series of ever so small steps that had taken them inexorably from peace to war. I saw, with dismay and a feeling of impotence, the universal nods of agreement. As a discrete smile of triumph spread over Jon's face, I already knew it would be pointless to object. How could I now suggest that we should not defend ourselves, when in a nearby hut lay the mangled body of an innocent  young woman who we had signally failed to defend?

The meeting continued with Jon presenting his well rehearsed plans for defence. They were logical, they were workable; above all they were believable. He had obviously been working on them for some time; and, once the basic premise that such warlike preparations were necessary had been accepted, they were well thought out. In fact, I grudgingly had to admit, they were close to brilliant. The warriors would be unstoppable. Jon was as brilliant a military strategist as he was a politician.

Before the meeting closed, Alwyn returned to confirm that the hunters had indeed lost the trail; long before it reached the next village. Some of his men, though, had been more successful in their search of their own village; before they left to join the fruitless chase. Following the trail back, they had found signs of a desperate struggle just outside the smithy; and, although there were no signs of a struggle there, the seals on the disused metal storage pits - some distance from the smithy - had also been disturbed. It seemed to the hunters therefore, and now also to all the whole council, that Melani must have surprised thieves when they had returned to take another share of the community's wealth. They had clearly not found it, since it was now hidden in the youths hut. So at least that part of the village's new precautions had worked. But Melani had still died; and that was a far higher price to have paid.

On the other hand, the rest of Alwyn's news also ameliorated our feelings somewhat. The horror had not been as quite as bad as it might have been - though it still overwhelmed us as Alwyn told us his conclusions. He too had examined Melani's body - but more closely than us and with the eyes of a hunter - and had found something that we, distraught at what we had found, had overlooked. Her neck was broken. He concluded that she had died immediately, in that struggle by the smithy. That explained why we had heard nothing, and why there had been no further signs of struggle while her body had been carried so far from the village, to the clearing in the woods. It also explained why Trina had not been woken by the horrible acts we thought had taken place. Indeed, at least, Melani had not experienced the obscene horrors which had later been inflicted on her lifeless body. But that still did not explain why they had been inflicted at all. What maniacs would want to deface a lifeless body, still beautiful in death, in such a horrible manner?

I was also puzzled by the other inconsistencies. Were these men murderous followers of the dark religion, if so why had they entered the village to take their victim when it would have been so much easier to take one of our women when they were collecting fuel in the woods? Or were they simple thieves, in which case why the senseless brutality? Might they be both? Why had they looked in the old hiding place? Surely the whole valley now knew of the theft, and what sane thief would expect us to keep our wealth in the same unprotected place?

It was only after the business of the meeting had concluded, and quiet returned, that I was able to feel any sorrow for Melani. I had truly loved her. It had not been my good fortune to love her as a husband; but such was her natural generosity and love that I had been almost as well rewarded, as her friend and companion. Of all the women I had made love to, and the list was almost as long as there were women in the village, she had been the one I had felt closest to. She was wild, and at times tempestuous, but in her own way she was totally innocent. She was generous, always thinking of others; and she was pure of spirit. I was sure she never had an evil thought in her life. And that lovely body, which had given me so much pleasure, how could it have been so savagely destroyed? Who could destroy such perfection?

With tears starting at last to run down my face I remembered that marvellous midsummer afternoon, which seemed like only yesterday. In the heat of that sun, surrounded by the smell of the herbs and the buzz of the bees, I relived that glorious celebration of her love; and I wept for the beauty we had all lost, and for the innocence which had gone with it.

Amidst my sadness, however, I recognised other strands. I realised that I also felt guilt. I had neglected her in recent months. It was true that she had doted on Isac and, when the trader was home, she found little time for others; even for me. It was thus all too easy to excuse my own neglect by saying that she had not wanted me, that she wanted to be alone with Isac. But that was not true. I had, instead, become involved with Trina. As a result of my growing infatuation with that young girl, I had not found time for Melani. I had not sought her out, to befriend her as I once had. The result was that I now somehow felt touched with the guilt of her appalling death. It was ridiculous to think that I might have saved her; that she might even now lie in my warm bed rather than feel the cold of death. My guilt was irrational; nobody could have saved her from that fate, none could have stopped her discovering the thieves. But, quite illogically, I felt that my neglect of her, even though I was sure that it had gone unnoticed by her in the delight of Isac's company, somehow contributed to her sad demise.

I once more wept copious tears for her. I wept for myself. No more would I be able to hold that lovely flower of innocence in my arms. No more would I be uplifted by her generosity, by her love, by her human warmth. The world was a much colder place without her.

                                                                        ****

The funeral, the following day, was a very simple event. The children had spent the morning combing the parts of the woods where the trees had held off the snow, to collect armfuls of snowdrops. As a result, lying on an ox-cart, Melani's linen wrapped body was nearly covered by a blanket of this sweet smelling tribute. The whole village, weeping for their lost friend, followed through the snow as the procession wound its way up to the barrow behind the sacred circle. The whiteness of the overall scene, the snowdrops on the white linen and all around the white snow, was a fitting tribute to the purity, the innocence, of the loved one we all mourned.

Isac seemed to have recovered his senses; but his eyes still held, deep down, an uncomprehending blankness. It was he, though,  who tenderly carried her body into the barrow; to lay it to rest on one of the vacant benches. I had previously found it an uplifting experience to visit the barrow; to be close to the earthly remains of my ancestors, to those who were still with us in the spirit. But now the horror of Melani's death reminded me of the finality, in earthly terms, of death itself. For once I was glad to leave that cold tomb behind. But I could not as easily relinquish my memories of Melani.

Once back in the village, work was soon under way to improve the defences. In the timber-yard the carpenters were busily sawing the logs that were destined to become the watchtower atop the main gate. In the smithy, which just a few hours before had been the scene of Melani's desperate struggle for life, the bronze for the first of the long knives was being heated. It was fortunate, from the point of view of Jon's plans, that the two new large furnaces were already in place. It would not be too long before everyone was suitably armed.

In the meadow in front of the of the walls, surrounded by startled cattle, the "defence force", as Jon's warriors were so euphemistically called, were beginning their manoeuvres. Lined up in long rows they began increasingly to look like the professional army, albeit a small one, that Jon so longed to see. The numbers had grown. All the adult males in the village, with the sole exception of myself, had rushed to volunteer. Everybody wanted to defend the community they loved. Each of them would have willingly laid down his life for it.

I just as fervently hoped that they would not, some day, be forced instead to make some other poor being lay down his life for his beloved community; for it was clear to me that it would be the inglorious act of killing that won wars, not the heroic act of dying.

There were now some thirty five warriors learning that dance of death; proudly, and for the first time in totally public view. The pretences had gone; they were no longer necessary. I shuddered, as I felt, once more, the shadows closing in.

                                                                        ****

By the time of the spring equinox, a few short weeks later, the village's defences were complete. A continually manned watchtower dominated the village. On most days the space in front of the village was occupied by the new army, learning their ever more complex, and skilled, manoeuvres; watched by an enthralled audience of young children, and even some of the women. They now drilled with true military precision. They were indeed becoming trained warriors second to none. And each proudly carried a gleaming long knife, in addition to his shield. Even though I deplored the underlying philosophy, I too had to admit that I felt proud of their well drilled skills. It was exciting just to watch their well practiced movements; all acting as if a single body.

I was also forced to recognise that Jon had worked near miracles. If nothing else, in those few weeks he had managed to produce more than twice as many of the long-knives as I had calculated the smithy was capable of producing. I did not know how the young man did it, it was almost miraculous, but when put to the test he was a genius of productive effort.

It was with some considerable difficulty that I persuaded these proud warriors that they should abandon their shiny new weapons when they took part in the procession of the spring equinox. But, even so, as the whole community once more wound its way up the hillside, in the dark before dawn, I was very conscious that a large group of the torches were carried with something very akin to military precision. The weapons might not be there, but the thought was.

I, with the help of Trina, had by that time learnt something of Jon's devious political machinations. The youth was still formally my apprentice; despite running his own separate religion, with a growing congregation. As a result he would be bound to assist me in the ceremony. But, anxious to avoid a repetition of the previous fiasco, Trina and I had arranged that the piece of fungus the young man would consume would not be from a sacred mushroom, even though it would look the same. We had decided that we could not afford risking another embarrassing silence from the spirit.

Living even more dangerously, I had given Trina a piece of the true sacred mushroom, to secretly take at the same time as myself. Our shaman's apprentice had never been a girl. The idea had been unthinkable. But, I reasoned, there was surely a first time for everything. Today we would see how this novel partnership worked.

As the ceremony started, and the effects of the mushroom began their steady progress through my body, I relaxed. This time we would have success. There was no torrent of blackness from Jon; and I could sense my erstwhile apprentice's bewilderment at its absence. Instead I began to sense some tentative support from Trina.

This time, at least, the song was ready. But once more, to my horror, I found I couldn't sing it. The spirit was certainly there. The visions appeared, with brutal clarity. But I knew that I couldn't relate what I was seeing to my attentive audience.

I was looking down from the woods above the neighbouring village of Shima. Below me I could see its huts. Pouring out from them were a motley collection of villagers, armed with spears and scythes. As they came to stop my field of view changed, and I could see what they were so desperately confronting. On the plain in front of the village were drawn up the well disciplined ranks of our own army, our new 'defence force'. The warriors lessons had been well learnt. For a moment nothing moved. Then a horn blast sounded, and the proud army moved forward in perfect unison. Within a few more moments their pitiful opponents broke on those disciplined lines, like water over a rock. It was over almost before it was begun. The villagers retreated in disarray; leaving three screaming bodies, their limbs cruelly hacked off, on the ground next to the victors.

The scene changed immediately to one that was clearly the summer solstice. But the scene was very different from normal. Gone were the informal circles of participants. Instead all faced the dolmen; lined up in deadly formal lines, almost like warriors. At that dolmen stood Jon; a gleaming gold sun displayed on his chest. At his feet crouched the bound body of the old shaman from Shima. As I watched in horror, Jon swung a gleaming long-knife to sever that harmless old man's head from his body.

How could I sing of such terrible things? I had no doubt that they would come true. But suppose that they were wrong, the result of some despicable aberration on my part. If I told of them I would surely ensure that they would come true. I was dimly conscious of Trina desperately trying to reach my mind. She too had seen the visions. But she had the good sense to realise that I must say something. If I said nothing the community would think that the spirit had failed for the second time, and this would surely destroy the community's remaining belief; with consequences as ultimately dire as those in the visions. It was thus almost as a puppet of Trina's mind that I committed the cardinal sin of a shaman. I delivered a song that was a total fabrication.

"I see wheat-fields full of golden wheat, I see the gatherers collecting in record harvests. I see cows heavy with calf, sheep weighed down with the finest wool. The granaries are full, and the village is happy."

It was perfunctory, but no more so than some of the equinoctial songs I had occasionally delivered in the past. It would have to do. I had much bigger problems to contend with.

I was starting to approach those problems when I was swept up in an uncontrollable whirlpool of forces; subjected to experiences I could never have imagined. To that point Trina and I had been going our separate ways, each stimulated by the mushroom to see the visions individually. Indeed, Trina had almost been fighting against me in the last few moments. Now, as she and I relaxed, we suddenly came together. In some incomprehensible way our minds actually merged. We knew they still had two separate bodies, but we became one mind, one identity. I was conscious of becoming part of Trina, and of her becoming part of me. It was fortunate that, over the months, I had already approached very close to this. For, otherwise I was sure that I would have gone mad. As it was, it was still a desperately difficult experience to cope with. I found myself invading every pore of Trina's body, and she streaming into every fibre of mine.

That awareness seemed to hit me, though, almost as a physical experience. It felt as if it became an orgasm immeasurably greater than anything I could have imagined. In a shared orgasm, two earthly lovers can celebrate a temporary physical union. Their bodies are close, their skins touch, the man is buried deep inside the woman. Their most sensitive parts are in contact and they share those heightened sensations with all the joy that love can bring. In ecstasy he transmits to her a minute quantity of fluid that may, or may not, enable them to jointly create a shared future life. It is partial, it is transitory; yet it is the crowning physical sensation, which ensures that man will procreate.

Imagine instead that the two bodies literally merge to become one; that in the process all the erotogenic zones of both bodies are simultaneously stimulated to their highest levels, and that they experience not just the simple, almost visceral, thrusting sensations of the man but the immensely more complicated orgasm of the woman too. Those feelings, alone, would represent the most erotic, the most intimate, love making that could surely be imagined. In addition to that inconceivable climax, however, incorporate the sharing of their total lives; of every aspect of their separate beings, now and in the past and in the future. Condense into that brief moment of orgasm all the experiences, the passions, of two separate lifetimes; as well as the shared experiences of a lifetime of marriage between the two of them. Only then can one begin to comprehend the power of that first feeling which I and Trina experienced.

Beyond that feeling, our conjoined minds flowed on to start an investigation of the whole world. In those brief moments we once more revisited the realms that Trina had described. I had seen them in Trina's mind, but the reality now was totally different. It was to affect me as deeply as it already had Trina. Reluctantly returning to earth, we were changed people. We now shared a common identity.

Around us the members of our chosen community raised themselves to their feet, as the first rays of dawn lit up the sacred circle. The yellow light of dawn seemed to be mirrored in the banks of daffodils that surrounded the scene; and normality appeared to have been restored for the village as a whole. As far as they were concerned, the spirit had once more spoken; and its voice had been optimistic. Thankfully, life could go on as normal.

Only Trina and I knew different; as around us the joyful procession wound its way back down to the village, the air filled with loud gossip about the pleasures to be experienced at the evening's festivities.

We also seemed to play our part in this general air of carnival. But our appearances were deceptive. We no longer truly existed as separate entities. To be sure we had two separate bodies, and we carefully made these behave as might reasonably be expected of them, for the sake of outward appearances, for we couldn't just discard one or other of them. But at the level of our minds we were now as one. There was only we, no I.

Even if that fantastic change had not happened, the die had still been cast. It was clear from the second vision that my own future in the community did not extend as far as midsummer; and the first vision probably explained why. Even if I had some sort of a future, I had forfeited my role as a shaman. I had lied. Those lies had been made for the best of reasons, but they were lies all the same. A shaman had to be honest. If his community could not trust him then who could they trust.

I knew, with sickening certainty, that I had now become as corrupted as the rest of the community; even as Jon. Of course I couldn't have sung of my visions. That would have been totally irresponsible, since it might have precipitated the very acts themselves; making them self-fulfilling prophecies. Equally, I could not have stayed silent, for that would have destroyed belief in the spirit; and the community needed some possible route to salvation. I had been trapped by the inevitability of the lie. I had to destroy my beloved community, or I had to lie to it; and corrupt myself. I knew that I had been right in my choice. But I also knew I had inevitably been corrupted by that choice.

Trina and I also now knew that we had better lay some plans for our difficult future. In the long term it clearly no longer was with this community. But where did it lie?

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