Golems Prt 5

I know that this is a rather long short story (twenty six pages in total) but I had no limit and every time I sat down to write or change something it just got longer and longer. Somehow it took on a life of its own and would not stop :-)

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Trisha woke up with a start her hair mussed into her pony tail. Fumbling for her watch she saw that it was already eleven o’clock in the morning. With a groan she fell back into her sleeping bag and promptly sat up as she heard rumbling somewhere outside. Trisha sat back up and stuck her head out the tent and saw a much bigger digging machine on the far side of the hill eating away at the earth. After gathering a few items she made her way to the showering area set aside on the back of their small camp. After half an hour of simply enjoying getting clean she finally dressed and made her way to the food tent. There she saw Johnny sitting with a few bandages here and there, “Morning you. I am surprised to see you up and about.” said Johnny as she entered the tent. With a look of amusement she answered, “I should be saying that to you. And next time you want to go swimming please don’t pick some dingy hole.” Johnny laughed, got up and went over to the coffee urn. He made two cups and he set one in front of Trisha who asked “What’s all this here?” Johnny looked at the diggers and said, “That is from the university believe it or not. The professor was up super early this morning and got onto the radio and satellite phone and everything. Seems someone wants what’s down there.” Trisha drank her coffee in silence when she heard angry voices come towards the tent.
“Ye cannot trust that man!”
“If you do not like my business, you can leave!”
To her surprise Trisha heard both Conall and Professor Ashworth shouting at each other. With a look of surprise at Johnny she went outside and saw the two men glaring at each other, “That man is a bastard and he works fer an even bigger bastard!”
“Yes well a bastard he may be, he helped fund our project. So we would not be here if it was not for him. So again you can shut up and like it or go back to some pub somewhere!” With that the professor stalked away back to the diggers, Conall threw his hands up and walked off in the opposite direction. “Trisha, are you coming?” said the professor turning back to her and Johnny. With a look of shock at professor she simply said “No.” and walked after Conall. As she caught up to him she touched his arm, “What’s going on? I have never seen the professor like that?” Conall slowed down and sighed, “The man he’s working for is a crook. I know the two so-called university representatives that were sent here today.” He indicated with his head and nodded towards a black Mercedes sitting on the road. Two men were standing next to it talking animatedly, “An’ I kind of hit the smaller one.” Trisha gave him a look of surprise, “What? He’s my cousin.” Conall started walking again and Trisha hurried to catch up with his sudden start, “So who do they work for?”
“Some shady business man. He has been known to have dealings everywhere but no proof has ever been found, an’ the police don’t want to be sued by his high-priced toadies.”

“I remember now. The professor was telling me about him, but that was as Johnny fell into the hole. I forgot about it with all the excitement, he said some wealthy business man funded this and other digs around Europe. Apparently he was looking for something...” Trisha trailed off with a look of alarm at Conall.

“You don’t think we found what it is he wants? I mean this is not a normal Celtic site.”

“Don’t know lass, but we’d best be careful. An’ I’m sorry you had te hear me have a go at the professor.”
“Yes well, I was more surprised by his reaction.”
“He is in a corner an’ doesn’t know where te turn.”
With a sigh to herself Trisha looked at all the diggers and workmen and said, “Well at least the project will go faster now and we can work on that tablet.” Conall nodded, took her hand and kissed the fingers, “Best get back lass, don’t want you te get into more trouble.” She let go of his hand reluctantly and walked slowly back to the food tent with much on her mind.

The next four days passed in a flash of digging, cataloguing and searching. The diggers broke through the roof of the cavern as delicately as possible. A few of the stone men were hit or buried by the falling rocks and boulders but, to everyone’s surprise, none of those statues broke or chipped. The professor could not explain that and nether could the two representatives of the university, who showed themselves to be surprisingly competent in the field of Celtic artefacts. The two men stayed to themselves, often driving back to the city in the late afternoon and driving through the next morning. The third day after the discovery came around and the two men drove in from the town in their now dusty black car, the country roads were not too kind on the German machine. The fifth day slowly drew to a close when the two men walked into the commune tent. “So me and my esteemed colleague here decided that you have all been working so hard.” indicated the man identified as Conall’s cousin to the larger man, “That we think you all need a night off.” The students looked at the two in surprise and then to Professor Ashworth. “There’s no need to worry this was cleared by our employer and the university. In fact they agreed with the idea.” said the smaller man with a look at the professor who lowered his gaze. “Yes, they have a point.” the professor sounded tired as he raised his eyes again, “Maybe we should take the night off, all of you.” A small cheer filled the tent as the students all got to their feet. “We arranged for transport already so go get ready, all of you!” called the shorter man above the noise, “All of you...” this last remark the shorter man said still looking directly at the professor.” The students filed out and spent the next two hours all getting ready. Three Landrovers came out of the growing dusk to fetch the students; the professor said he would remain saying that he would just get in the way and would not cause any trouble while they were away. “Is that everyone?” called the taller of the two men to the lead Landrover. Johnny stuck his head out and called back “Yeah, yeah, we’re all here. Let’s go! We need beer!” The Landrovers drove off with the students all chanting beer into the night. As they watched the three vehicles drive off the shorter of the two said, “Alright we aren’t paid to stand here, let’s get to work.”

Half an hour later Trisha stumbled from her tent grumbling, “Stupid, stupid. Wait for everyone to use the shower and fall asleep!” she said to herself trying to struggle into her boots. She muttered to herself as she made her way to the food tent and suddenly realised that it was very quiet in the camp.

“Did I miss them?”     

Trisha looked into the dark food tent and saw no movement. Swearing under her breath she looked outside and said “Damn, trust me to miss the only night off.” She stood for a moment in the dark when she heard singing. Going around the tent she saw a dark figure near the hole. Jogging she neared the figure. As she got closer the singing stopped long enough for her to now hear the person drink from something in a bottle. It was the professor.
As she stopped near him she looked around and asked “Professor? What are you doing? Is everyone gone?”
“Hmm? Wassat?” he replied suddenly turning around at her voice, “Oh, is you Trisha... Yes they’re all gone... Gone!”

“Uh... Professor are you drunk?”
“Jus a little. Kept this for celebrating.. So... So I’ma celebrating our find.” He slurred into the darkness away from Trisha. Trisha grabbed his arm and hand and took the bottle from him. “Thas’ mine. My bottle of ... Of Michael Collins Irish whiskey.” he said in protest, his face screwing up in concentration as he remembered the label.

“Dammit, Professor? What the hell is going on here?”
“I made them a deal, if we found anything the benefactor takes it all. All!” the professor sang into the night air, “An’ now we have to pay the devil. This businessman wants these stone men.” The professor draped an arm around Trisha and whispered conspiratorially, “He wants them.”
With a push Trisha moved the professor away as the strong scent of whiskey hit her. “So now what happens?” she asked, the professor swayed and tried to focus on her. “Professor, I said what happens now!”
“We take what we want. That includes both these stone men and that tablet we know you found.” came an answer behind her. As she turned around she saw the short man whose name she had found out was Liam standing with the taller man. The two circled around and stood closer to the professor. “None of you were supposed to be here. But oh well.” Liam carried on coming closer to Trisha and the professor. She backed away closer to the hole while the taller man pushed the professor. “Now listen here! I am a professor of archaeology!” he cried out to the taller man pointing a finger under the man’s nose, “And you will treat me as such!”
With a look at his companion Liam said “Well you heard the professor. He is an expert on archaeology. Let’s give him one last hole to explore” The taller man put both his hands onto the professor’s chest and simply pushed. The drunken professor stumbled backwards and for a moment managed to stop his backward momentum, at the edge of the hole. “Oh...” was all he managed before he fell into the darkness without a sound. “No! Professor!” shouted Trisha as the man disappeared, “You bastards!” She launched herself at the shorter man punching out wildly. Surprisingly to both Trisha and her intended target her fist landed with a crack against his nose and cheek. Both tumbled to the ground, Trisha from her momentum, the shorter man from the surprisingly strong punch. As Trisha got to her feet a fist crashed into the back of her head. She had forgotten about the taller of the two in her rage. “Ah, fuck! The bitch broke my nose!” moaned the other man sitting up, “Throw her in! She can die with that idiot Ashworth!”

Trisha felt herself being picked up but was too groggy to fight back. “In ye go lass.” said the taller man with an accent that sounded a bit like Conall’s, “Won’t be long in dying.” Suddenly she flew through the air and darkness took her as it took the professor.

Liam muttered to the taller man and took out a dirty handkerchief, as he held to his bloody nose he said, “Come on. The men’ll be here to get what we need. I want that tablet.” The taller man looked up and said “It’s gonna rain again.” As Liam looked at his partner in anger, he looked up and saw the black clouds on the horizon, he swore, “Great.” With that the two men walked back towards the tents as thunder growled overhead. Rain started falling gently and washed into both the original hole Joshua unearthed and the second one above the stone statues. The two men entered the food tent and the shorter one sat down. “Go get the bloody tablet from the bitch’s tent. Broke my bloody nose.” he said to his taller partner and dabbed at the wound. “She got ye good, Liam.” said the taller man almost smiling as he walked out into the rain. Muttering to himself, the shorter man tried to set his nose right with a pull swearing against the renewed pain. An arm circled his neck and he was yanked upright, a forearm crushing his windpipe.
“What did ye do with the girl, Liam?” hissed a voice in his ear.
With a wheeze he tried to reply, the arm slackened its hold slightly allowing Liam to answer, “She... She’s in the hole.”
“What do you mean in the hole?”
“We were to get rid of any witnesses and knew that idiot professor would not stay away.” With a grin into the darkness Liam carried on, “And she decided to join him down there. One way tr.. Argh!”
The forearm tightened once more cutting off his air. After a few seconds Liam stopped struggling and he was dropped onto the floor. Conall looked down at him and sighed. “You always were a bloody fool, Liam.” Conall walked out into the rain and went to his tent, there he got a harness and rope and went to the second hole. Lashing the rope around one of the still standing digging machines he climbed into the harness and stood at the edge of the dark. “Hate night climbing, an in the rain too!” he lamented to himself, “Please be alright lass.” And with that he lowered himself into the hole.

Trisha wondered just how deep the hole was. The darkness was complete around her, well so she thought. But after a minute or two she saw that this was not true. A soft blue glow came from above her. Craning her head upwards she saw what appeared to be the shadow of an old man dressed in furs and leathers holding her just above the ground by the ankle. With a nod to her he let her go to tumble the last meter to the ground and moved over to the professor. The man's broken body lay across the broad shoulders of one of the stone statues, his blood running down the body and head like some kind of macabre hood. The glowing figure looked at the dead body and up at the hole where the rain started coming in, a weary look on his face; with a shake of his spectral head the figure disappeared for a moment and reappeared on top of the stone dais. Trisha made her way to the dais and climbed up. The old bodies were still there, they had not been removed yet by the students.  The glowing figure sat down in the position of the skeleton against the wall and slowly vanished.
"Oh...I see. You were a shaman or something." Trisha whispered to herself kneeling next to the skeleton as darkness once again closed around her. She sat down in the dark with a sigh and wondered how long the old man had been keeping watch over the site. Another glow off to the side caught her attention in the dark, but this was a brighter light that stabbed the dark. It was a torch. She clambered down as quickly as she dared in the dark nearly falling once. Trisha made her way to the light, but as she got closer she thought what would happen if it was one of the men. Slowing down she tried to be as quiet as possible to get to the light which had find the dead professor.
"Aye professor, ye fool." said Conall's voice sadly as his torch found the dead man.
"Conall!"
The torch turned to face her and quickly dropped out of her eyes. "Thank the Lord. Ye're alright." he replied relief flooding his voice. He embraced her and carried on "How did ye survive?"
"You wouldn't believe me."
She led him to the dais and the two climbed back up, "He saved me." Trisha said and pointed to the shaman's skeleton. As she said that a blue glow drifted from the remains and the figure of the old man stood up once again. He looked at Conall and after a few minutes spoke to him, with a look of surprise Conall answered in a similar fashion.
“You understand him?”
“He’s speaking something like Gaelic... Well more like a very, very old version of it.” as he looked at figure and went on, “I can kind of understand him.” Conall spoke to the figure again who smiled in a grim way and shook its head. One spectral hand pointed to the professor’s body and then to the rain pouring in through the hole. Conall frowned and nodded and looked at Trisha. “Well he says we are in trouble. Apparently the professor’s blood, being salty and the rain is undoing his spell he set here ages ago.” Conall indicated at the stone statues, “And these will awaken.”

With a stunned look on her face Trisha asked “Is he serious?” and a few seconds later added to herself, “He is a blue, glowing man Trish. Of course he is serious.”

She looked back at the old figure “So what happens now?” Conall rubbed his face and sighed, he looked back at the figure who spoke to him. “Well apparently they’ll awaken in a few moments an’ kill everyone not belonging to either the clan responsible for these statues or their creators.” A low groan echoed through the chamber and sigils etched into the walls started to also glow. A creaking came from the nearest statues as the head on one moved slowly.
“Crap. We need te get outta here.” said Conall with a look at the giants.
“The original tunnel!” exclaimed Trisha, suddenly remembering the hole in the wall, “We can get there if we run.”
“I don’t think running is an option...” answered Conall as three statues slowly straightened and turned to face the two humans on dais. 

Golems Prt 4

Here is the fourth part, when I started this one I never realised just how big it would become. Sometimes stories have a life of their own :-) 

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Both Trisha and Professor Ashworth stood mouths agape.
“No, no, no... Not again!” shouted the professor to the wind. Trisha got as near to the hole as she dared and tried to look in but all she saw was darkness and water. Back to the camp, get Conall.

With that thought in her head she sprinted back towards the camp. There she found Conall directing some of the students to store the equipment and plug some leaks.
“Alright lads, move that crate towards the centre here... And get...” he stopped himself when he saw Trisha standing in the entrance, trying to catch her breath, “Nice brisk wind, lass, perfect weather...”
“Johnny’s fallen into the hole!”
The rest of the students started talking and calling out to Trisha, “Alright! Enough! Let her speak!” As Trisha explained the story, Conall sent two of the students to get more rope, tent pegs and tarpaulin. Trisha was bouncing on the balls of her feet impatiently waiting for the other students to return.
“Where are they? This is getting ridiculous!”

“Relax lass, we’ll get him. It’s only been two minutes.”

“You didn’t see him fall in!” she shouted back at him. The other students looked at her, worry stamped over their features, one of the other female students started to cry. With a sigh Trisha took a deep breath, “Alright lass, it’s not your fault.” She nodded at this and gave a sad smile and called over to Mary. “Sorry...” Mary gave a small smile and blew her nose on a rumpled tissue. As Trisha gazed out into the storm the students came back with the items Conall asked for. “A’right! We can move now!”

With that he gathered up the items and a hammer from the table and ran out into the darkening storm, the rest of the students followed. As they came to the hole they saw the professor still standing there, he had not moved since Trisha had run off. Conall set the students to work; they covered one side of the hole with the other tarpaulin and used it to shield it as best they could. He then set the extra rope a few metres from the edge of the hole, explaining over the wind and thunder that he did not want the ground to crumble and the rope to fall in. Conall looked at the wind and the clouds and judged that the storm had played out most of its energy and was subsiding.
“Ye all stay here in case I need more help or somethin’.” And with that he lowered himself into the wet earth. Trisha picked up the rope and lowered herself in before anyone could say anything else. As she looked below her she saw that Conall had reached the bottom, the light of his torch playing over the room. As she made the bottom she saw that the water was almost up to her hips, and that it was draining away at a rapid pace. Trisha looked around and saw Conall standing near a wall.

“I thought I told ye to stay there.”

“This is my dig, and my responsibility. Not yours.”
“Well said lass.” he answered with a smile, “So what do ye make of this?” He let his torch light play over a gaping hole in the wall. As Trisha stared at it in stunned silence, she suddenly remembered, “This was blocked off... I knew it was not a full block!” she exclaimed in excitement.
“Well it may have saved the lad’s life. Come on.”
He led the way into the new hole. There a tunnel went down into the dark, the water gleefully made its way down the carved stairs. After a few metres the tunnel made a small bend, there the two found Johnny lying senseless against a wall. Conall crouched down and felt for his pulse; he let out a small sigh. “Aye, he’s alive. An’ by the looks of it only has a few bruises and scrapes.” He looked at Trisha and continued, “Run back and fetch two others, we can maybe get him out of here.”
As she disappeared Conall shone his torch around the tunnel, “What’s down there lad.” he said quietly to himself. A groan from Johnny startled him from his thoughts, “Alright lad, yer alright. Can ye hear me?” Another groan answered Conall. Slowly he felt Johnny’s legs and arms, looking for any breaks or signs of internal injuries.

“Lad, can ye hear me? Johnny?”

“Five more minutes...”

Conall laughed and said, “Ye’ll be alright lad. You’re pretty lucky.” As he said that Johnny’s eyes opened and squinted in the torch light.
“Wha... Where am I?”
“Ye fell into the hole. Do you have any pain? Can ye feel your arms an’ legs?”

Johnny muttered and groaned to himself then tried to stand.
“Easy lad, take it slowly.”
After a few minutes Johnny said, “Well I can feel everything. Though I feel like a huge bruise.”
“Stay put, the other’ll be here te get you out.”

As he said that voices Trisha slogged back with three other students in tow.

Conall stood and let them work; he offered advice where necessary but saw that the students had credible medical training.
“Your doin’ I take?” he asked, and indicated to a basic medical kit Samantha carried with her.
“Also made everyone take a basic first aid course or two. Only for light wounds, nothing like what happened to Joshua.” replied Trisha as Johnny was picked up carefully. She looked back at Conall and saw that he was peering into the darkness down the tunnel.
“What are you thinking?”
“Weeelll I want te know what’s down there.”

Trisha looked back at the others carrying Johnny out and saw he was in good hands. With a look at Conall she said, “I am so ahead of you!” and skipped past him jogging down the incline; the Irishman chuckled to himself and set out after her. The tunnel extended deep into the earth, Trisha could see that it was old, as old as the room behind them, yet it was still in very good condition, and it was surprising stable as well, she mentioned it to Conall. He stopped a minute to have a look at the walls. “These’re old alright, ye can also sense their strength.” As he said that he took Trisha’s hand and held it to the wall. As he held her hand she felt a strange warmth coming from the rock, though it was a slick warmth, and not pleasant, almost like the rock was breathing.
“Oh that’s kind of nasty. That does not feel right.”

“Oh aye, but it has strength and that has kept it from collapsing.”

Trisha realised that Conall still held her hand and she realised how warm and right it felt, especially after the foulness of the wall. Conall lifted her hand, kissed it and said smiling “When we get out of here, I am taking ye out.”
Trisha blushed slightly and was glad for the dark that hid her face, “I will hold you to it.”
With that he led her deeper into the darkness.    

For thousands of years they had stood in darkness and silence. Until one day torch light and sound filtered down a dark corridor leading to the golem chamber. Someone was coming, if someone had been there it would have seemed as if the dust on a great stone dais shifted and moved along the floor, but it could have just been the new air filtering into the chamber. Two lights broke the darkness and the world changed.

The tunnel ended abruptly for the two explorers as it opened up into a vast cavern. Trisha and Conall stopped for a moment to get their bearings and rest. As Trisha leaned against the wall of the tunnel Conall played his torch into the darkness.
“Well I’ll be... Trisha.”

“Yes... Coming... Just a second.” she replied with a push against the wall, the tunnel had been longer than she expected and fatigue had started setting in. She made her way tiredly to where she saw Conall’s light and stopped, all thoughts of fatigue gone. Out of the darkness loomed a giant stone man, one arm was raised up as if to strike something.
“Oh... Wow...” she breathed as she made sense of the nine foot tall statue in the meagre light of two torches. She walked up to the giant and ran her hands over its surface, marvelling at its solidness. Conall stepped past her and played his torch over the chamber.
“You might want te see this lass.”
Trisha walked up to him and saw the entire chamber was filled with stone statues, a few seemed to be ready for battle, some with fists raised, others bent over as if recoiling from an attack; but the majority of them stood with their arms at their sides... As if waiting for something.

“What’s that?” asked Trisha as her torch light picked out a stone dais off to one side. She looked at Conall who shook his head. The two picked a path through the statues and made their way to the dais, they saw that some of the statues had been deliberately destroyed or broken by time, which they could not say. As they climbed onto the dais Trisha let out a gasp, “There are bodies here!” Conall climbed up next to her and saw four ancient skeletons lying in the dust, a fifth one was propped against the wall. “These were arranged for burial but were kept here... Is this some strange tomb?” Trisha asked as she gazed at the remains, “Hello... What’s this?” she said picking up an ancient stone slab in the lap of the seated skeleton. Conall came and stood next to her, shining his torch down at the tablet he said, “That looks like really old Gaelic. But I am not sure.”

“Well we had better get back up top and inform the professor of this.”

With that the two made the long way back up the tunnel and finally back to the surface. As Conall helped Trisha out of the hole she looked up at the clear night sky. She closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh air and a smile spread across her face. Turning to Conall she kissed him lightly, “Just so you remember we have a date after this.” Still smiling she ran off in the direction of the tents, the tablet clutched tight to her chest. The professor was astounded at what she told him, especially the giant stone men. “In all my years in archaeology I have never heard of such a find.” He exclaimed, tears in his eyes, “We can do a full dig here!”
“We can even get the university involved!” said Samantha enthusiastically, but stopped herself when she saw the professor’s face drop.
“Yes, we will have to inform them of this...” with a sudden snap of his fingers he carried on, “And the newspapers! Yes. We can make it public.”

With a sudden laugh he turned to Samantha, “Brilliant idea Sam!” He turned back to Trisha and motioned her to bring the tablet over. He poured over it for an hour and confirmed Conall’s idea that the writing was an old Gaelic form, but it was one he could not decipher. By then it was almost two in the morning and Trisha sent everyone off to bed knowing they would have a busy day tomorrow. “Trish you sleep tomorrow, you need it after today.” said Professor Ashworth as he yawned his way out of the tent, “Sleep! Yes! To sleep, to dream!” and he disappeared into the night. Trisha sagged against the one table completely exhausted. “Here lass, drink this. Ye’re almost done in.” said Conall behind her. She turned and saw that he had two cups of coffee with him, as she took the one from him she smiled a little shyly remembering what she did back by the hole. She took a sip of the coffee and almost choked on it, “What is this?” she said with a laugh. Conall answered “That’s my own recipe made from home brewed beans and my uncle’s whiskey thrown in fer flavour, as he always says ‘Conall ye cannae have tha’ wi’ou some oh me flavouring’” Conall laughed his accent thickening to near unintelligibility as he mimed his uncle’s voice. Trisha laughed with, finished the horribly strong coffee and made a face as the kick almost woke her up. “Off ye go lass, ye need sleep.” Mumbling her good nights Trisha made her way to her tent and promptly fell asleep damp clothes and all; she almost did not take off her thick hiking boots but managed and promptly passed out from the fatigue and overly strong mule kicking coffee.

Golems Prt 3

Part three is up :-)


Golem Story 

Trisha set up a revolving roster for the students to all get a chance at the chamber. But she knew no work could be done until the chamber had been properly lit and that the same rescue team that had checked the room the day before had made sure that it was structurally sound. So they waited, did projections and project scaling... And waited. The professor had become increasingly irritated at the team and their workers. Two days later though the rescue team told them that the chamber was safe enough, but safety was still a top priority as the chamber was still old and they had to be careful. The professor made light of their fears, saying that the chamber had been around for more than a thousand years, and that it was secure. The team leader shook his head and walked back to his vehicle. An hour after the site had been declared safe, the professor and the first team went down into the chamber. A generator provided power to lights set all over the chamber and the archaeologists had torches with them as well. Trisha decided to stay up top for the first day to see that everything went smoothly. Her roster was set up for the next day; she would join the first group down in the early morning. She noticed that the team leader had stayed behind while his team had returned to the city. When she asked him he said "Weeell I want te make sure that this site doesn't degrade, and that you people are safe." 

Slightly surprised at his answer she asked 'Won't you be missed at work?"
"Nah, I said that I suspected this place was nae safe just yet." he said shrugging, "An if something goes wrong, well I can be here te help. Plus I have a few sick days" He made a quick impression on the students, and regaled them with stories and a few Irish songs that night; in the end even the professor agreed that his presence would not be a problem.

The next day Trisha was up early and got her gear ready for her turn to dig. As she came out her tent she saw that Conall, the team leader, was already in the kitchen tent making coffee. He waved at her and finished filling the large urn on the table used for keeping the water warm. Trisha walked towards him as she tied her hair into a pony tail, she saw that he had already taken out everything needed to make the coffee.
“Wow, you have everything ready here. All I need now is room service.”
The young man laughed as he lifted the second urn onto the table with ease “I thought it would be better than layin’ out pints of Guinness.” As he said that he looked at everything on the table and carried on, “I saw yer roster last night on the wall over there an’ thought te myself that I am up early anyway might as well make myself useful.”

He looked back at, smiled and said, “An’ room service only happens on the second date.”

“Well the service here needs to improve first.” she replied with a grin.
“Well we need a first date fer that.” he replied and spun away walking into the kitchen area. Trisha sat down with a slightly puzzled and bemused expression on her face. As he disappeared into the tent itself she undid her pony tail and redid it a little more slowly so that it did not look all ratty.
“So why does everyone on your team call you Con?” she called after him.

“Well me Grandfather gave me the old name of Conall, it’s an old Irish name meanin’ strong or some such...” answered Conall as he returned with two plates from the kitchen, “Here ye are, breakfast fit fer kings.”
In front of her he placed a plate heaped with bacon and eggs, toast, sausages, mushrooms and onions. Trisha looked at the food and said, “Uh... what is all this?”
“This is what we eat before we go out into the field. It’ll give ye the energy ye need.”
Trisha looked at it and then at Conall who ate his food with enthusiasm, she thought it looked better than when one of the students made it, Oh live a little, Trish, it won’t kill you this once, she said to herself and tucked into the breakfast. The two of them swapped a few stories and laughs before the other students came for breakfast. As the rest grabbed food from the kitchen where Conall had made enough to feed a small sized army, Trisha excused herself and went to get the last of her gear. The student aide shook her head and smiled to herself and got ready. Twenty minutes later she descended into the chamber.

“Trish! There’s nothing there!”
“Huh? Oh, sorry... What were you saying Mark?”

“There’s nothing there, we checked yesterday. As far as we can see there’s only rock back there.”
“I feel a breeze here.” Trisha muttered to herself as she played her hand over what had been an archway, but was now filled with stone and rock, “There was, or is, something behind this...”

“We gotta go Trish! Sun’s going to set!” called one of the other students near the ladder and pulley rope leading back up.

“Ok, be there now, let me just get my things!” she called back.

Trisha gathered her tools and played her torch around the room wondering how much they would get out of it, she also wondered what was behind the filled in archway as the other students exited, and before she knew it she was alone in the chamber. By the time she had made her way to the hole she saw that the ladder had been removed. With a shake of her head Trisha berated herself for taking so long, she thought that one of the others had played a nice trick on her. She was about to call out when she heard a voice speaking with an Irish accent. She knew the voice.

“Well anything you find here is to be kept until we can arrange for it to be picked up.”
“Anything here belongs to the University!” replied the now angry voice of Professor Ashworth

“Ah but as the investor of the University, and in particular, the archaeology department I might add.” said the voice, “The investor likes to get his money’s worth.”

Trisha looked up at the hole and saw that the rope was still dangling there. Nothing to it Trish, better get climbing she thought. She grabbed the thick rope and started climbing, good thing I take climbing lessons back home. As she neared the hole, she could hear that the voices were very close by. She slowed her climb and reached the lip of the hole but did not raise herself out. As she hung in the darkness she listened to the argument.

“Just remember Professor. There has been an accident here already; it would be a shame for anything else to happen. So many things can go wrong in these old places.”  

Trisha heard footsteps retreat from the hole; counted to ten and levered herself from the hole. She dusted herself off and saw the professor looking at three men walking off to a waiting car, “Professor?” she asked quietly. Professor Ashworth turned slowly and asked, “I take it you heard that?”

“Yes I was still in the dig and someone took the ladder.”
“That would have been that man and his lackeys. I don’t think they knew you were still in there.” He replied in a wary voice as he looked at the now leaving car, he turned back towards the camp. Trisha half raised her hand to stop him, but let him go. She thought it better to ask him later who the men were. With a thoughtful expression on her face she made her way back to the camp, with a lot on her mind

The next day dawned bright and early with no clouds in sight, it looked good but Trisha could not get the previous day’s events from her mind. She needed to talk to the professor in the afternoon after her shift in the hole. For the most part the day passed by uneventfully, the biggest trouble was when Marten stole the ladder from the hole and Trisha had to climb out again using the rope. She let him know how she felt about that, and Marten nursed his bruised arm the rest of the day; the professor was not seen for the entire day.

The afternoon sun slowly descended when Trisha finally got the time to confront the professor. She made her way towards his tent and stood outside, “Professor? It’s Trisha... We need to talk.”

Quiet, no sound came from the professor’s tent. Trisha turned to go when she heard his voice, “...Come in Trish.”

She parted the tent flaps and saw the professor sitting cross-legged on an old blanket, he motioned for her to join him. She closed the tent flap and shut out the setting sun, “One second.”
The professor lit a small gas lamp and sat back, “I know why you’re here. Those men from yesterday...”

She looked at him, he had not slept and looked worn out, “Well they did say some strange things, professor.”
“There is no easy way to really put it, so I will just say it. Those men work for one of the top business men in Europe. He has been known to have ties to many different ventures, some legal... Some not so legal.”
“So where does he fit in with archaeology>”
“He is one of the main investors in universities the world over, ours as well as the one who let us dig here.”

Trisha ran a hand through her hair and looked at the professor, “So what? How can he just take things from a dig?”

“Apparently he is looking for something. He has funded digs all over Europe, especially ones with a strong Celtic origin.” The professor looked down and rubbed his eyes, “I’m sorry Trish, you were never supposed to get involved in this. I wanted to spare you any dealings with the man and his lackeys.”

As she gazed at the gas lamp she let her mind wander for a moment, “So what is he looking for?”
“No one knows, though whatever it is, it must be ancient by now. So if it is even intact I don’t know.”

“So now what do we do, professor?” Trisha asked looking at the man.

“Keep digging I guess, and...”

The professor’s words were drowned out by a crash of thunder, startling the two. They looked at each other and exclaimed “The dig!”

They ran outside and were met by the full force of a massive thunderstorm already in progress. The other students ran everywhere with all sorts of equipment and items bundled under their arms. Trisha and the Professor ran to the hole and saw that Johnny was already there struggling to pull a tarpaulin over the hole. They moved to help him and managed to get three corners down, though a lot of water had already gone into the hole and was still running into it. Johnny held onto the last corner as it fought his grip. A sudden gust of wind blew the tarpaulin towards the hole. Johnny stumbled; he never felt his footing give way. With a cry lost to the wind he tumbled into the hole, as the water continued to pour in. 

Golems Prt 2

The second part is up:

Golems


“Then do what you must, hopefully we can find another answer when we’re out of this place.”
“That won’t happen.” came a reply from behind him as Ehir trotted up, “The entire chamber
caved in at the entrance, I think it was that tremor from their activation.”
“Damhan’s also gone.” said Lugh softly from the opposite wall.
Taranis leant against the wall and lowered himself into a sitting position with a sigh, “Well we
knew this was most likely a one-way trip... I would have liked to have seen the sun again or felt
the wind over the hills.”
“Aye, or the whisper of the sea.” said Lugh, a faraway look in his eyes.
The scout sat down next to the dead Damhan “I would not mind a simple mug of the old Mill
Tavern’s ale.”
The other two warriors laughed in agreement with the scout. The shaman smiled and reached
into his pack, the hand came out with a skin, “Pass that around Taranis, you lads will get one
wish tonight. As for the other they may have given me the answer.”
To the warriors’ surprise the skin contained not water, or even the ale from the Mill Tavern. It
contained the Mill Tavern’s own special mead; a honey golden drink meant for chieftains and
holy days. As they passed it around the shaman closed his eyes and meditated.
“I want you to now concentrate on that mead, and concentrate on the sun, the wind, and the
sea. See those places you know best in your mind and feel those things.”
As each warrior thought and concentrated, the shaman plucked the emotions from deep within
his meditative state. His hand once again seemed to melt within the tablet and the runes shifted
and changed. As the shaman finished a great sigh rose from his body, his hand withdrew itself
from the tablet.
“Well I am spent, no more from me.” said the shaman as he leaned against the wall, “But the
stone men are stopped, and can only get life if the wind and sun makes its way down here; or
the sea with its salt and spray.”
At the entrance of the tunnel the stone men slowly ground themselves to a halt. The deep red
fires that had lit their eyes were now gone.
“Good job Shaman, I knew there was a reason we kept you with us.” said Ehir and smiled at the
still figures.
“You kept me because I am the only one who thinks Ehir!” scowled the shaman in reply.
Taranis stood up with a laugh and said “Well Shaman, you saved us, no doubt about that. But I
don’t know about the rest of you, I want to see if there is another way out of this hole.” The scout
and tall warrior vocalised their agreement and leapt to their feet.
“We should give our brothers the honour of a proper burial at least.” Lugh said as they gathered
what gear they had left, “Damhan here as well.”
“Bring him then tall man.” answered the shaman, as he slowly got to his feet. The four made
their way back into the chamber, wary of the now still golems. The living warriors found the dead
and shattered bodies of their comrades and arranged them next to each other on the raised
platform, with the enchanted weapons at their feet. That done each of them stood in silent
contemplation for a few minutes.
Find your heart’s light, draw back the veil and leave this world. We now call you Men of Ireland,
Heroes of the Emerald Isles. Brothers. Sleep now and wake not to trouble this world
As he looked at Lugh in surprise, the shaman said, “Maybe you are descended from the fey folk
of old.” The tall warrior laughed and slapped the shaman on the back, “I will tell you one day,
holy man!”
With that the warriors took their gear and started to move towards the other side of the
chamber. The shaman stood on the raised platform but did not move to join them. Lugh spotted
him and went back up.
“Afraid I will not join you Lugh, I am spent. My body is dying. I can feel my connection with the
earth dying.”
The shaman once again eased himself into a sitting position, now amongst the bodies of the
fallen he carried on, “No words for me tall man. I am a shaman, my time was always borrowed.
Go now and live under the sun.”
The tall warrior nodded, picked up his spear and trotted off to the other warriors. The shaman
saw Taranis start back, but Lugh grabbed his arm and shook his head. The leader turned and
met the shaman’s eyes. He nodded in gratitude and acknowledgement and led his remaining
warriors out of the dark cavern.
“Aye, spirits, I see you and know. Give me a few minutes.” murmured the shaman to the air
around him. The old man sat cross legged and the placed now dormant tablet in his lap. The
shaman’s body slumped as the last breath left it.

“Watch where you put that thing!” shouted the professor at the student who worked a small
digging machine, “We don’t know how deep that is yet!” The student waved a dismissive hand
at the professor of archaeology who had led a small party of fifth year students on a small dig
for the experience. The ruins that sat on the high hill had already been taken apart over the
years; the professor knew they would not find anything of real value. The professor grumbled
to himself and looked over the work area charts that showed where the different students had
been assigned.
“Oh why is that great lummox here?” complained the professor to his student aide. “Because he
can use that digger?” said the student
“No, because his father is on the board of Trustees.” sighed the professor as he removed his
glasses and rubbed his eyes, “Sorry Trisha, neither of you two deserve my ire.”
“It’s alright professor, we will get the university representative off your back.”
The professor smiled and put his glasses back on then turned to face the aide. And stopped
what he was going to say. “Joshua! What are you doing? Stop!”
Trisha turned saw that the student had not listened to the instructions given to him that morning
and had dug up too much dirt from the hill. The student in the digger looked and saw the
professor running towards him and waved as the ground gave way under the machine. A
muffled crash came up from the newly formed hole.
“Don’t get too close!” shouted the professor as other students ran up, “It’s a sink hole!”
The aide herded them away from the hole and went back to their tents and radioed the nearest
city for help. A medical helicopter arrived within thirty minutes of the accident along with a
rescue team with equipment to stabilise the ground and send men into the hole. The rescue
leader, a young Irishman, went first into the hole but came back up a short time later. He went
directly to the paramedics and had a whispered conversation. The two paramedics went over
to the winch set up to lower people down into the gaping earth. The rescue leader went over
to the professor. “Are ye Professor James Ashworth?” the professor braced himself for the
worst, “Well the lad’ll live but we need te get him to a hospital. He has suffered pretty bad
injuries.”
“That’s a relief, I guess. How bad?”
“As far as I can see there’re multiple broken bones, an’ most likely fractures as well. The red
boys are getting him out now.” the rescue leader went on, and indicated with his head to the
paramedics that had been lowered into the ground. The rescue leader walked away to the rest
of his men near the hole. An hour later the first paramedic was back up, he shouted down into
the hole and gestured to the winch operators to pull slowly. Minutes later an orange body board
came up, strapped tight to it was the still body of Joshua. Some of the girls on the archaeology
group started crying. As the second paramedic was winched up the first checked for any
change in their patient’s vital signs; the backboard was lifted and carried it to the helicopter.
The professor turned to the waiting students, “Well that is it for today. Everyone get back to
your tents and rest.” The team leader came back to the professor and asked if he wanted a lift
back to the city, the team would, in any case, have to come back the next day to make sure that
the hole was stable. The professor said he would join them. Professor Ashworth turned to his
assistant and said “Ok Trisha, you are in charge until I get back tomorrow. We should be back
early and we can then deal with all this.”
“Professor... Good luck.” she replied softly.
Professor Ashworth nodded and went off to collect a few items for his trip as Trisha herded the
students back to their tents.

Trisha walked out of her tent early the next morning, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes when
she saw a hive of activity around the hole. The professor stood near it and directed men and
digging machines to enlarge the hole. She also saw supports, cables and ropes nearby. She
watched for a minute and decided that she needed coffee before she could deal with anything
that early. Trisha made her way to the pavilion set up for the food and the large amounts of
coffee needed for the dig. There she saw the petite figure of Samantha behind the serving
station.
“Morning Trish! Sleep well?”
“G’morning Sam... Coffeeee... Nooowwww.” Trisha mumbled in reply, she was not a fan of
mornings.
“Zombie Trish today I see. Well here, we made it extra strong today.” Samantha said and smiled
at the assistant who took the dark beverage gratefully. She filled it with milk and sugar and took
a sip with a sigh of contentment. Johnny ran up to the tent and stopped next to Trisha. The
Asian student was huffing and gasping as he tried to explain something about the hole. Trisha
held up a hand and stalled him, she pointed to her coffee with the raised hand.
“Catch your breath first Johnny, and let me finish my coffee.” she said. The Asian student took
a few deep breaths and stopped panting, “The professor wants to see you when you’re done
here. They found something.” Trisha raised an eyebrow at Samantha and finished her coffee.
She asked for another cup before she was led towards the hole where the professor stood.
“Trisha!” greeted the professor, his eyes shone in the early morning, “Can you believe this?
There is a chamber below us! A previously undiscovered chamber!”
The aide stood for a moment in blank amazement, with that she drank from her cup and
asked, “I must still be asleep. Just repeat that sir?”
“A chamber, girl! We have an intact Celtic room below us! Well hopefully intact, especially after
the digger fell into it.”
She looked at the hole which had been enlarged and supports were being lowered into it and
asked “So what happens now?”
“Now we wait for them to finish that hole, and we get to work. Though anything we find belongs
to the state, as it were. But we get the credit for the find!”
“I think we need to tell the others as well.”
“Yes. Call a morning meeting, good, good.” the professor replied, somewhat distracted. Trisha
moved off to get the other students up and ready for a morning meeting. “Thirty minutes Trisha!
The meeting is in thirty minutes!” called the professor after her. She moved with a sigh to the
pavilion to get Johnny and Samantha to help her, plus she wanted to at least look more human
and less zombified. Thirty minutes later all the students had been assembled, though some
were still trying to wake up.
“Ok people. First off, Joshua is going to be alright.” the professor started, “But he will need
surgery and time. He has multiple fractures and three serious breaks. But all things considered,
he is rather lucky.” A the students looked relieved at the news.
“But we have more important news!” the professor carried on gleefully, “Joshua’s digging and
subsequent accident uncovered a chamber below us. A completely unexplored Celtic chamber!”
Murmurs of wonder filtered through the students, one of them raised a hand.
“Yes... Mark?”
“Well sir, what happens now? Don’t the local authorities or something come to do the work?”
“Well so far we still have permission to dig here and since one of our students... Your
colleague... Found the site, we have first rights to it.” replied the professor. As his news sunk
in, the professor saw that the students were now listening eagerly, “So from now we will have
proper work schedule.”

Golems Prt1

So a friend gave me a story line and said I must craft a full short story around  it.
This is the tag line I was given to try and make something from:

... For thousands of years they had stood in darkness and silence. Until one day torch light and
sound filtered down a dark corridor leading to the golem chamber. Someone was coming...

The first time I crafted a story set in the Egyptian empire and it was a fairly short draft; bear in mind this was one of the first real stories I tried to write. So it started out alright and ended badly. Then recently I took the story tag line again and re-did it from scratch, but I re-did the setting and made it into a Celtic inspired story this time. This second attempt was far longer than the first and ended at twenty three pages. Here is the first part :-) oh and if I can I will try find the original one for a comparison. Unless I find it so horrible my eyes start bleeding and I have to lock it away for the good of all man-kind.

Golems

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ages past in the South West of Ireland the Mad king of the Iverni clan had his sorcerers make
him an army; but not an army of men or women but of the elements, of rock and stone. So they
gathered slaves from all over the Isles, the Iverni even raided the main land of Europe and
captured a few tribes of the fierce Gauls. None could stand in the way of the Mad King and
his armies, which swelled each season with more recruits, the armies of defeated kings and
mercenaries from over the great sea, their dark skins a contrast to the white of the Northerners.
But news of this new army got out; the last remaining tribes and kingdoms knew they had to do
something. But they did not have enough men to fight an all out war. In the West of Ireland a
shaman of the Connachta clan learnt of this army of stone from the spirits that cried out in pain
went to his king and said that a small group could get in and destroy the work of the sorcerers.
He succeeded in convincing his king and so nine of the mightiest heroes were chosen; four
from the Connachta themselves, three from the neighbouring Kingdom of Breifne, one out of
the North East, the Magh Luirg and one who said he was descended from the old race of fey
folk, the Tuatha de Dannan themselves. The Shaman of the Connachta was also part of the
group, as he put it “I am the only one with brains not in his sword arm or pants, so I had better
go with to see it succeeds.” Each warrior was also given a mighty weapon of bronze and iron,
and each was enchanted by old magic and blessed by the different clans’ shamans and holy
seers. On the eve of the stone army’s completion, the heroes made it to the deep barrow where
the golems were kept. There the Nine killed the guards and after a fight managed to kill the
sorcerers responsible for the army, but not before losing two of their own. Inside the barrow
more enemies and the stone army waited.

“Dammit shaman! This had better be the right chamber.” said Daig the hero of the Magh Luirg, “I
don’t want to enter another store room!”
“Relax, I have it Daig.” replied the shaman, as he examined the door in front of him, glowing
runes fighting against his manipulation.
“You weren’t complaining when we hit the ale room.” the surviving Breifne warrior chuckled.
“Ah shut it Damhan!” You’re the bloody ox who had to sit and eat the whole suckling pig!” Daig
said, referring to Damhan’s huge body which, though big, did not have an ounce of fat on it. He
was a huge warrior of similarly huge appetites.
“Quiet, patrol.” hissed Ehir, the scout of the group.
The warriors ducked into dark alcoves and doorways, vanishing in an instant, even the shaman
cloaked his form in shadow.
The scout peered around the corner and motioned it was clear. An instant later the shaman
gave a small sound of satisfaction and the door before him slid open, the runes now dull and
lifeless. The group hurried into the chamber and stopped dead. It was nothing more than a
bedroom and this one appeared to belong to one of the dead sorcerers. Swearing to himself the
shaman threw his staff down onto the ground.
“Ha! Shaman, you were wrong again!” laughed Lugh, the one who was said to be descended
from the Tuatha De Dannan, “Worry not we shall find these merry men of stone!”
The shaman glared at the tall man and said “You do better, Lugh Long-Man.” And spat at the
warrior’s feet. Lugh was uncommonly tall for an Irishman. Looking around Lugh frowned slightly
and approached a seemingly blank wall. “Maybe you were right.” he said as he ran his hands
across the wall. The tall man put his ear to the wall and knocked on it twice, then nodded to
himself. With that he made his way to a chest, reached behind it; felt a small indentation in the
wood and pushed it. With barely a rumble of stone the blank wall lifted and revealed a dark
staircase winding down into the earth. Lugh clapped the shaman on the shoulder and said “You
were right holy man, have faith in the Dagda.” With a smile he lit a torch and led the way down
into the dark.

The way was quiet, so quiet in fact that all the warriors heard was their own footsteps and the
rustle and clink of their armour as they brushed the tunnel walls. After a long walk the tunnel
opened up suddenly into a vast underground cavern. What had been a natural cavern was now
a hollow remade by the hands of men. All along the walls glyphs and runes of power glowed
softly illuminating the room in an eldritch glow. But what really caught the group’s eyes were the
rows upon rows of what appeared to be giant stone statues. Each one was the same, standing
nine feet tall with the look of some half formed giant, a blocky representation of a man. The
arms were thick and half carved with a semblance of musculature; at the end of each thick arm
was a huge hand curled into a motionless fist. The legs were great tree trunks of rock. The
faces were basic with a slash for a mouth and deep set cavernous eyes that seemed to draw in
the meagre light.
“Well I’ll be buttered and put into the fire for a Midsummer’s feast,” said one of the Connachta
warriors, “If this is the army then we’re in trouble.”
“I know you’ll just ruin the feast, Cairbre.” his brother, Ockey, replied; the two of them were twins
and many believed that they shared an almost mystic bond. The shaman thought they did it to
annoy people, or in his words “They bloody piss me off!”
“Quiet you two,” snapped the shaman as he looked past the stone men, “Aah, that is what we
need.”
The party made its nervous way through the stone men to a raised platform, though the
shadows jumped at their passing, the room stayed quiet. On the platform a stone plinth sat with
a tablet lying on top of it. The shaman carefully reached for the tablet, and paused, his hand just
above the glyphs on its surface. The old man pulled his hand back and licked his lips. He shook
out his nervous hands and laughed, he snatched the tablet up, “Foolish sorcerers, any shaman
of the Emerald Isle would have had a trap there. Hah! Arrogant fools!”
“Well Shaman, can you use that oversized dinner plate?” asked Taranis, the leader of the Nine.
“Now, now my boy, give me a few minutes.”
Taranis motioned for his men to keep their eyes open. They all knew that this was where things
got difficult. All the fighting, losing their two brothers and the long journey had lead to this.
The shaman cleared his throat and started chanting in a low, rough voice. He reached into the
earth and pulled the language of stone to him. The glyphs and sigils in the walls glowed brighter
for a moment then dimmed.

Then he started reading the tablet.

The glyphs flared into brightness and a rumble passed through the cavern and dislodged a few
stones from the ceiling; dust rained on the party.
“Was that it?” said Damhan as the rumbling passed.
“Peace, Damhan.” replied Lugh quietly as he eyed the stone men that stood passively all
around the cavern, “We shall...” The tall warrior never finished his sentence as a groaning filled
their ears. The stone men were waking up. Slowly the giants moved like men waking up after a
fever, their movements stiff and slow.
“All right lads! At them!” roared Taranis and drew his own sword. The warrior leapt from the
raised platform and attacked one of the moving stone men, the enchanted blade hewed chunks
out of the golem’s leg. With a cry the six warriors threw themselves from the platform following
their leader, they hacked and slashed; stabbed and hewed at the stone men, and when the
statues fell the warriors attacked the heads until the light that was growing in the black eyes was
gone for good.
“Bloody hurry it up old man!” shouted Daig as he thrust his sword into the neck of a stone man,
trying to lever its head off. The shaman still read the tablet not even bothering to reply the fiery
warrior. He looked up and saw the stone men were now starting to fight back, slowly, but it
would not be long before they were fully awake. As he saw this the old man uttered the last
syllables; he stopped to draw breath. Now he knew he had to work fast. The stone men were
fully awake and were reacting to the attacks, thirty of them had already been destroyed by the
warriors but many more remained. The shaman wiped sweat from his hand and reached in to
the tablet itself, the hand seemed to melt into it. That done the shaman realigned the runes and
glyphs. A body flew past him into the wall, its bones breaking on impact. It was Ockey. With
a cry of grief his brother, Cairbre, launched himself at another golem hacking with his axe. As
the giant toppled three other golems surrounded the man and beat him to a bloody pulp. Lugh
appeared next to the shaman, “Come along holy man, we need to get out of here.” The shaman
nodded still concentrating at rearranging the tablet as the tall warrior led him towards where
they had entered. Taranis appeared at his other side hacking at a questing stone hand.
“To me lads! We’re getting out of here!”
Ehir ducked and dodged the massive hands and fists, and each time he thrust his spear into the
back of a knee or at the point of a wrist, the join immobilised by the surgical strikes. Across from
him Daig stabbed and hacked but a backhand he did not see from behind broke his body and
left him dead on the stone. Damhan made it to the retreating group but he limped and held his
left side, which was bloody from some blow. “Damn, we won’t make it.” hissed Taranis, “Lugh,
take up the shaman, we have to run.” As he said this he took Damhan’s good arm around his
shoulders and half carried the warrior; Lugh picked up the shaman, who did not look pleased
but knew time was critical. They redoubled their already frantic pace and made for the narrow
tunnel. As the four stumbled into the tunnel they found Ehir leaning against his spear “Took you
all long enough.” he said as Taranis and Lugh laid down their companions.
“Help would have been appreciated.” said Damhan with a heavy breath.
“How do you think you even made it this far?”
But the Breifne warrior was not listening to the scout’s reply; his head was leaning against
the wall, his eyes closed against the pain in his battered body. Taranis looked back into the
chamber and saw that the golems’ had surrounded the entrance.
“Ehir, since you seem to be rather unscathed. See if the way is clear to the entrance, we need a
moment.”
The scout nodded at the order and set off back up the tunnel at a jog. That done Taranis
motioned to Lugh to tend to Damhan and turned to the shaman.
“Well Shaman, anything you can do?”
The old man grunted in reply; turned his attention from the tablet and said “Well I have
somehow unlocked it and can now make small changes.” He put his hand up to stall the
leader’s questions, and carried on, “Don’t ask me what I did, Taranis. I somehow got it during
that last run here, purely by accident I might add.”
He nodded down at the tablet “But I can stop them, I just cannot destroy them.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Well that is the first part.
Keep at it.

The Highwayman

As I said last time I want to post the story that I wrote for the Highwayman. I quite enjoyed this one, though I did not relish having to write the one scene with the Landlord's daughter.

I have always liked the story that the song by Loreena Mackennit gives me, it is truly quite beautiful and sad. Do not worry this will not turn into an episode of Days of our Eventful Bold and the Restless Lives in Santa Barbara :-)

The Highwayman

The moon had arisen, it rode the dark clouds like a ghostly ship; the road below mirrored its radiance to a bright gypsy’s ribbon. The luminous galleon saw a rider making his way easily upon the bright ground. On the rider’s head sat a French cocked hat; boots of worn and well cared for leather were all the way up to his thigh and the breeches he wore were made from soft doe-skin. White lace sat under his chin to enhance the red velvet coat he wore. Even his horse matched his finery with an oiled and finely made leather harness; the great beast’s trappings were even inlaid with bells here and there, so that the rider made his way in a twinkling of merry sound. Underneath his fine coat two pistols sat ready and the hilt of a rapier rode easily at one hip. Smiling the Highwayman crested a rise in the road and saw his destination come closer into view, at the top of the next hill an old inn slept. The horse’s hoofs clattered on the cobbles as the Highwayman made his way to the old inn door, though he saw that it was closed for the night. So he went tapping with his whip on the door, but no one answered. With that he made his way around the side of the inn where the stables sat in the back yard. Whistling a quiet tune he stopped under a shuttered window just out of reach. The well oiled hinges whispered in the night as a dark eyed girl opened the shutters; the Highwayman was illuminated by the light of the candles set in her room.  Smiling up at the Landlord’s daughter the Highwayman came closer to the casement upon which she sat; there he saw she was plaiting a dark red love-knot into her hair.  She said, “Why have you come, oh dangerous man of the night?”
“Ah my bonny lass I have come for one kiss.” Pointing back down the road he had come from, “For I’m after a prize tonight, I shall be back before the Morning’s light with gold more yellow than the sun.”

Reaching up he took the hand of the Landlord’s daughter which trailed below the casement. Laughing softly she snatched her hand back and said “And what of the soldiers sent to pursue you on these... prize hunts?”

“If they harry me and press their luck, watch for me by the light of the moon.”

Smiling the Highwayman carried on, “I will come to thee beautiful lass, though hell shall bar my path back.” Arching an eyebrow the Landlord’s daughter gave a chuckle and replied “Oh but this venture is sure to be filled with danger, especially when you have it in your head to act the fool.” Raising himself up on his saddle the Highwayman tried to steal a kiss from the Landlord’s daughter. Laughing again she drew back slightly and loosened her long, black hair. The black waves came tumbling over the Highwayman; sitting there in the moonlit night he kissed those sweet waves. With that the Highwayman turned his horse away from the old inn and galloped into the West. Smiling to herself the Landlord’s daughter noticed then that the love-knot was gone from her hair. Sighing in the dark she closed the shutters not noticing the dark shape that crept from the stables.  Making its way down the now dimming road, the figure stopped for a moment and looked back towards the old inn door. Cursing silently it disappeared into the gloom.

The next day saw no lone horseman riding along the road. Though she kept watch the Landlord’s daughter feared that something had happened to her love. “Lass stop gawking out of the door. I have enough troubles with that lazy stable hand not here today.” Turning she saw her father standing in the doorway of the old inn wiping his hands on a cloth. Shaking her head she made her way inside to help with the customers, knowing that it was going to be a long day. But whenever time permitted she still came and looked out onto the road hoping for a single figure on horseback. As the sun set, colouring the sky with a tawny brilliance, a troop of soldiers was seen marching down the road; not the expected French soldiers but Red coats. English soldiers marching solidly with musket and pride next to them. Worried the Landlord’s daughter prayed that they would pass on by.  Marching slowly the Red coats came up to the old inn door.  As the troop came to a crashing halt outside the Landlord came out to meet them. As he spoke to the sergeant leading the English soldiers the Landlord’s daughter felt a shiver course up her spine; the cold eyes of the sergeant did nothing to alleviate her fears. “Oh you foolish, foolish man, who did you rob this time.” she whispered fearfully. Watching her father jovially talking to the English troops she went inside to finish cleaning for the day. “Hoi girl!” called her father outside, “Get these soldiers some ale!” Worry creasing her brow she started filling tankards with the bitter brew. When she almost had enough filled she realised how quiet it was outside. Reaching the door she looked outside, the tray of drinks heavy in her hands. There lay her father; dead from a knife that had been drawn across his throat. It was so quiet outside because the soldiers were creeping towards the open door. Spinning she released the tray and ran for the back door. Time seemed to congeal around her, behind she heard the soldiers enter the inn. But her feet seemed to be moving too slowly. An ugly laugh sounded behind her and a rifle butt cracked into the back of her head, falling she struggled to fight off the darkness. The rough floor boards were suddenly under her left cheek. “Oh foolish, foolish....” Black wings enveloped her and she felt herself falling away from the world.

When she came to, the Landlord’s daughter found herself tied to the foot of her own bed, the sergeant standing above her. This close she could see that his eyes were not merely cold but a strange gleam resided in them. Hands clasped behind his back the sergeant asked “This Highwayman. Where is he?” Glaring at him the Landlord’s daughter said nothing. Casually he brought his left hand up and backhanded her. Spitting blood at the sergeant from her now split lip she continued to glare at him. “I will ask one more time. This highwayman, where is he?” Lowering her eyes the Landlord’s daughter replied “I don’t know, and even if I knew...” Her words ended with another slap from the sergeant. Walking to the door he replied “I said I would not ask again.” With that he exited her room. In the hall way she heard him say “Do what you want with her, but keep her alive.” Ice clenched her heart at the words, and as three soldiers entered she felt the cold enter her veins. “Heh look here lads. We got ourselves some exercise before tonight’s fun.” This time blackness did not take her mercifully away from the world.

What felt like hours later, a torn dress was flung back at her.

“Put that on, don’ want you to catch a cold.” The youngest of the three sniggered. Slowly she replaced the torn dress aware of the three sets of eyes on her. Looking out of one eye, the other almost swollen shut she spat at their feet. “Oh we can’ have tha’.” Said the young soldier as he hit the Landlord’s daughter in the stomach and a second time in the temple; black spots swam in front of her eyes as she struggle to remain conscious. She felt herself being dragged back towards the bed, fear overcoming the cruel hit. But no this time they merely tied her to the bedpost at attention facing the open window. After making sure she was securely bound the soldiers then tied a pistol tightly to her own hands, the barrel facing her. Aimed at her own breast she heard the three leave the room laughing. Sagging against her bonds she gazed out over the casement and down the road which was lit by the bright moon, sadly she stared down at the road that she knew he would ride. “Watch for me by the light of the moon. I will come to thee beautiful lass, though hell shall bar my path back.” The Highwayman’s words echoed in her head as she took in the ribbon of silver light glimmering in the dark, tears filling her dark eyes. Downstairs she heard the soldiers getting into position; two of them even came up to her window, primed their muskets and waited. Death waited at every window for the Highwayman, and at the casement hell stood watch with the Landlord’s daughter.

Slowly the night grew old, the shadows darkening beneath the inn’s roof. In her room the Landlord’s daughter twisted and struggled with the knots keeping her hands tight and her body bound to the bed, the two soldiers barely paying her any attention. Pausing to breathe she gazed for the hundredth time out the window wishing, praying that her love would not meet her tonight. As she stood watching she felt her hands which were slick with blood and sweat from her struggles with both the men and the ropes, but the bonds were too tight, she could not get free. Groping in the darkness her fingers suddenly felt the trigger of iron belonging to the pistol bound in her hands. While not free she at least had a companion for her efforts. A breeze came over the casement, cold and clear, with it the wind carried the sound of hooves distantly coming down the road. Straining in pained silence she saw that the soldiers had not heard the distant clop of horseshoes in the dust. “How can they not hear it?” she wondered, struggling anew with the ropes. Hissing in surprise one of the soldiers suddenly saw a figure coming over the brow of the hill. Silhouetted against the light a dark figure could be seen riding easily down the bright ribbon, bells marked the rider’s passage. As she heard them the Landlord’s daughter knew that he had come and her heart sank. Knocking gently on the floor boards, the soldier that had first seen the Highwayman warned the others below. Swiftly and silently they primed their weapons and set them to track the rider’s progress until he came close enough to kill. Breathing faster the Landlord’s daughter knew that it was over, that he would die in the darkness. Now fighting the bonds her fingers once again touched the trigger. The cold metal stopped her. Her eyes grew wide for a moment in the gloom. Drawing one last breath, she took in the night air deeply, sadly knowing that it would be her last. Her finger moved in the dark as the moonlight illuminated the rider coming closer. With a last prayer for her father’s spirit a spark sprang up and a shot shattered the darkness. Hot metal shattered her breast. As the shot rang out the rider wheeled his horse and urged it away to the West. The Highwayman let fear guide his horse’s hooves and strained to get as much speed as he possibly could. Racing into the moonlight he did not know the Landlord’s daughter stood but with her head bowed in the dark, her blood drenching the pistol that had warned him away and brought death to the black eyed daughter of the Landlord.

The morning came grey and bleak as the Highwayman rode slowly along the road. A foul smelling figure stumbled from a bend in the road and made its way in the direction of the old inn. Glancing over the Highwayman saw that it was the stable hand that worked for the Landlord, drunk the man stumbled along singing a song in his revelry. “Don’t go there’s been trouble at the inn.” Said the Highwayman sadly to the drunken man, “Well it’s your faul’ now ain’t it Mr Highwayman.” Replied the stable hand. “I mean you come ... Come there in the... hmmm.. Night and.. And jus’ because I tol’...” With that the man shut his mouth.

“You told who?” asked the Highwayman dangerously.

“No one, no one, jus’ me being drunk. Is all.” Mumbled the man in reply.

Drawing a pistol the Highwayman pointed it at the man and said “I will not ask again.” Stumbling backwards the stable hand quickly replied in a shaking voice “The... The Red coats, is all! But it’s your fault. You stole her from me!” Gazing sadly down at his pistol the Highwayman sighed and lowered the weapon.

“No it’s my fault that I couldn’t protect her. Go on get out of here, you reek of pigs and cheap wine.”

“She really is dead you know, they tol’ me when they paid me.” As the stable hand said those words he started crying, his hands trembling, “They took her, and they killed her.” Hearing the finality of the stable hand’s words, the last vestige of hope the Highwayman did not even know lay in his heart died. “Where are the men that killed her?” asked the Highwayman, not even looking at the crying man now sitting in the cold mud, as he checked that his pistols were primed and ready and that his rapier sat loose in its sheath. Still crying the man pointed from the direction he had been stumbling from. “I should shoot you, but she wouldn’t want me to. You live on her memory this day.” Looking down at his horse he patted the great beast on its side “One last ride my friend, this time to the gates of hell itself.” With that the Highwayman set his horse into a gallop and rode hard down the road.

As the sun rose, bright rays glinted off the Highwayman’s pistols and rapier hilt; even the bells on the harness were lined in the red-gold light. As he pressed his horse hard around a bend in the road he saw the troop of Red coats before him. Spurring his horse even faster the red sun shone like blood on the spurs he was using to coax every ounce of speed from the great horse. As he neared the Highwayman shrieked a curse to the sky; pulling a pistol from his belt he discharged it into the face of a soldier as he rode past, the Red coats scattering like leaves in a storm. Having passed the troop he reined in the horse and rode back the way he had come. Discarding the spent pistol he drew the other. But this time the troop was ready. Muskets roared and the horse fell in agony on the bright road, its blood staining the stone and dust. As he went through the air the Highwayman twisted and rolled, dipping his shoulder into the dirt as he hit the hard ground. Rising with ease he shot another soldier through the throat who, choking on his own blood, staggered off the road to die. With a roar he drew his rapier and charged the reloading troop. As he neared the Red coats a young soldier tried to use his bayonet to parry the bright sword of the Highwayman. But the soldier was no match for the skill and fury of the man. With a twist and lunge he ran his silver blade through the soldier. Turning to face the troop red hot lead tore through the Highwayman’s velvet coat and into the beating heart beneath. Staggering he stepped forward, blood dripping from the wounds. Another shot rang out. This one caused the Highwayman to fall to his knees. Falling over backwards the Highwayman suddenly found himself gazing up at the sky, a sad smile on his face. In his mind he saw the Landlord’s daughter smiling from a window, a red love-knot in her hair. The Red coats reloaded their muskets and calmly shot the Highwayman again as he lay in his blood. “Dead like the dog he was.” came the voice of the sergeant staring coldly at the bloody body.

Winter came to the land and with it a cold wind blew the clouds. The moon rose in the still of the night riding the scudding clouds in an icy light. Parts of the road were illuminated like a gypsy’s ribbon by the ghostly pale radiance. As the moon gazed down it saw a figure coming slowly over the brow of the hill, bells seemed to be making a mournful sound on the horse’s harness. Riding along the road the figure made its way to an old door, the inn behind it a ruin in the darkness. It had not survived the first of the winter storms very well. Checking the two pistols, the highwayman gazed around at the dilapidated house one last time and rode into the West, long black hair flying free. A bloodied love-knot tied to the end of one raven tress.         

  

Ok... So two things tonight, I want to get the last little bit of the Hero's Journey and then onto something else. 

First then - carrying on with the Hero's Journey. What is next is the Archetype: basically this is a recurring theme or "character set" if you will. This is what a character is, but it is by no means a fixed identity. Much like people's own identities it can shift and change to suit a writer's needs. A hero might become an ally to someone, or a mentor (see Gandalf here: he is the mentor to Frodo and the hero to many people, such as at the siege of Gondor.) Or the hero of a story might be an anti-hero where he has shades of the villain in him. These archetypes are repeating patterns within stories, so many have the same or similar basic characteristics - see every mad scientist :-)

These are the archetypes:

THE ARCHETYPE

HEROES

Central figures in stories.  Everyone is the hero of his or her own myth. These are heroes, the knights in shining armour. These are also the anti-heroes like Dante from Devil May Cry, or Wolverine when he was first introduced by Marvel. Your central figure is important so be careful with them.

Both Dante and Bayonetta are anti-heroes (some say heroes) in their respective games :-)

SHADOWS

Villains and enemies, perhaps even the enemy within (A very good example is Jekyll and Hyde, with hyde being an outer image of the inner shaodw.)  The dark side of the Force, the repressed possibilities of the hero, his or her potential for evil.  Can be other kinds of repression, such as repressed grief, anger, frustration or creativity that is dangerous if it doesn’t have an outlet. Sometimes these are also fallen heroes - ones that have turned their backs on the Hero's call.

The Dark master of the Force himself
(Done by the excellent Steve Argyle: http://steveargyle.deviantart.com/)

MENTORS

The hero’s guide or guiding principles.  Yoda, Merlin, a great coach or teacher such as Mr MIyagi. These offer insights, powers, abilites or  just old fashioned diretion to the hero and can sometimes be seen as an ally as well as a mentor.

And since we mentioned the Grey Pilgrim earlier, he takes this spotlight

HERALD

One who brings the Call to Adventure.  Could be a person or an event. This was often depicted as the winged god Mercury or Hermes. See also any quest giver in most MMORPGs or standard RPGs such as World of Warcraft (as seen below is a quest giver in the Outland module of Warcraft)

THRESHOLD GUARDIANS

The forces that stand in the way at important turning points, including jealous enemies, professional gatekeepers, or your own fears and doubts. This has been shown as many different things, such as over bearing parents, or personal strife. A classic example would be Little John from the Robin Hood tales, he barred Robin's passage over the stream and was one of the first obstacles Robin Hood overcame.

SHAPESHIFTERS

In stories, creatures like vampires or werewolves who change shape, often the physical ability to shape change is used to highlight their shifting nature.  In life, the shape shifter represents change.  The way other people (or our perceptions of them) keep changing.  The opposite sex, the way people can be two-faced. Sometimes they can be the Shadow characters as well, with the audience not sure about the character until the end.

A wonderful example is Jarlaxle, a dark elf from the mind of the brilliant R. A. Salvatore

TRICKSTERS

Clowns and mischief-makers, Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck, Richard Pryor and Eddie Murphy.  Our own mischievous subconscious, urging us to change.

ALLIES

Characters who help the hero through the change.  Sidekicks, buddies, girlfriends who advise the hero through the transitions of life. Sometimes the hero or mentor can also fulfill this role.

Today this can also be the people you play games with -World of Warcraft, Call of Duty, Mass Effect 3 and so on.

This is a basic summary of archetypes can be. What can you find that fits these descriptions? They do not have to be exact copy and past images. Often characters embody more than one archetype, so a shapeshifter that is actually a villain, or a shadow character that must fight with the hero to overcome a greater shadow and in doing so beomes a hero himself. Or a mentor that is also a threshold guardian.

What I also wanted to share was a little bit of inspiration. 

One of the things that inspires me in my writing is music. There are many people that use music to get their minds going, though there are just as many that need silence - whatever works. 

So one of the songs that got my brain going was The Highwayman by Loreena Mackennit. She based it on a narrative poem by Alfred Noyes of the same name. Here is the song:

I will post the story I tried next time.