Nightjar

IV

Once I awoke, I pushed myself backwards, until some hard surface stopped my progress. Some things were clattering, and breaking, on the floor, on either side of me. Through my blurred vision, I saw a figure approaching. By the voice, telling me to be calm, I knew it was Mags. Was she really helping me, or just keeping me somewhere until the rest of the masked congregation, caught up with us? She threw some warmer clothes, at me telling me to be quick, or we would be discovered. That was when I realized that there wasn't a single light on, in this room, or, any noticeable light from others. As I hurriedly dressed myself, there was a heavy thumping, at the door, followed by determined shouting. They had found us! Or so it seemed. Mags, pretty much dragged me along the floor, and pulled a cabinet away from the wall. Then she shoved me into the opening behind, apologizing, as she pushed me though and down the few steps beyond. She then pushed the cabinet back, closing off the entrance behind. I could hear a crash, followed by loud shouting, as sat in the darkness. I did not want to be caught by these crackpots, but, I also hated the fact that Mags had allowed herself to be taken by them. There was more banging, and the sound of things breaking, as well as more shouting, as I imagined they were looking for me. Pressing my ear against, what would be the back of the cabinet, I could hear their muffled voices. "The nightjars have called, and we must answer." A woman's voice, proclaimed loudly. "Mor'dou's call must be answered!" Several voices, chimed together in unison. I turned, around, in frustration, towards the darkness. That's when I noticed the faint glowing.

At intervals, all the way down the tunnel, were sections, painted with glow in the dark paint. As dim as it was, it provided just enough light to allow me to make my way, without incident. At the end of the tunnel was another, short set of steps. There was a panel, at the top, painted with the same faintly glowing, pale green paint. Pressing my ear against the panel, I listened intently, for any sound coming from the other side. Once I was sure there was nobody waiting, beyond the panel, I set my weight against it. The panel creaked, loudly, but, didn't feel like it moved. That's when I noticed the faint glow of a handle, at knee level. I had to lift and pull to the side, to get the panel to slide, bit by bit. Whatever this panel was sat on, didn't help it slide any easier. As it moved, slowly, grit made the panel reverberate like some hell sent beast. Cursing it, under my breath, I eventually managed to move it enough to slip through. Once on the other side, I discovered that I was in the vegetable shed, and almost fell over some heavy bags of fertilizer. Pausing, to catch my breath, I tried to find any tool I could use, in case I needed to defend myself. The light from the moon was not quite enough to see, as it shone through the small, dirty, windows, and I let out a sigh of disappointment. I listened intently for any sound, from outside, All that greeted me, apart from the sound of my own pulse in my ears, was silence. Opening the door, just a little, I checked that my eyes were not deceiving me, before making my way, back out, into the night. Then, all I saw was darkness, as a bag, or similar, was pulled over my head.

The voices I could hear were local, from their accents, but I just could not understand what language they were speaking. Mostly. Every few words, I heard something that I recognized. I heard that name, “Mor’dou”, several times, as well as mention of the Nightjar’s. Nothing else that I heard seemed to make much sense, at all. We walked for some distance, before I was lifted, somewhat unceremoniously, into some kind of flat-bed vehicle. Whatever route we took, it was mostly off-road. I lost count of how many times my head bounced off that metal floor, before we stopped, and I was dragged out and dropped on the ground. Somebody, maybe two people, grabbed me by my ankles and dragged me along the ground. It felt like I hit every sharp rock and root, as I was being dragged along. Again, I was bound and left away from whatever rituals they were performing. This time, going from how close they sounded, they wanted to keep an eye on me. The hood, bag, whatever it was, over my head, was heavy enough to prevent any clear vision, but airy enough, that I could see the flickering light of torches, and feel the heat from the flames, that were nearest. Someone began talking very loudly. No doubt gathering the fervor of the gathered participants of this ritual.

“As the Nightjar has called, this night, so we answer”. The crowd chanted back, the last three words, in unison. The timbre of their voices, low and ominous. Someone, from the group, started speaking, words that I did not understand. Whatever they were saying, they spoke with the conviction of some Southern “fire and brimstone” preachers, that I’d seen on some of the journeys I had been on. The level of that conviction was terrifying enough, without the knowledge of what was about to happen. Then the lead voice called out again.

“Bring forth the child”.

Could it be? My brain went through all sorts of far-fetched scenarios, each one being dismissed, in quick turn. Even though this figure was obviously fit and able, and stood with authority, the voice was aged and worn. It was old man Priestly. Of that, I had no doubts. I braced myself, for the expected hands upon my person, but they did not come. Instead, I heard many of the congregation murmuring, as though they, themselves, did not know exactly what was about to happen. Nearby, was the sound of footsteps, and of a struggle. It sounded like somebody was being made to go where they did not want to. Unexpectedly, somebody’s hand grasped the hood, that was covering my head, along with a handful of my hair, and sharply tugged the hood off. The sensation, of my hair being pulled, made my eyes water, somewhat, and it took a few seconds to refocus on what was happening. I could see a figure being dragged , forcibly, through the gathered people. I seemed to be one of their own. Robed and masked, as they all were.

My head was spinning with confusion. Why had this group, of what I believed to be some kind of religious fanatics, pursued me, throughout the night, only to select one of their own for whatever ritual they were performing? Then I shivered, in fear. What if they were saving me for something else? The figure, was dragged up, to stand on a large, almost flattened, granite block. Whoever it was, still struggling to free themselves. They removed the mask from the new captive. With something of a sigh of relief, I saw that it wasn’t Mags, but I couldn’t help but think I knew who it was. They were lashed to a pole, sticking up out of the block, and stripped down to the waist. Out of the front of the crowd, someone came forth, carrying a large metal bowl. The torchlight glinted off its highly polished surface. The person's eyes widened, as the bearer of the vessel, made their way up, on to the block, and doused them with the liquid, inside.

Then the crowd started to chant, anew. Not a single word, they chanted, I understood. When the chanting stopped, a lone figure, wearing a very grandiose costume, joined the bound figure, on the block. The mask they were wearing covered their eyes, with a flat, circular, metallic disc. I couldn’t work out how they saw their way up there. This costumed character turned to face the crowd, and raised his hands up. Everyone fell silent. The only sounds were those of the wind and the crackle of flames.

“The child has returned, and so they shall be returned to Mor’dou. The corporeal journey of their mortal form, draws to a close, so they go forth, now, to join Mor’dou’s eternal journey, through the black”. He turned to another masked figure, nearby, took a flaming torch, and set the bound figure aflame. The screaming lasted a few seconds, before the flames scorched their lungs. Everyone gathered, stood in silence. Only the sound of the flames and the wind, persisted. The light from the now, seemingly, engorged moon, was bright enough to cast light, where the flames of the torches did not reach. A voice seemed to whisper, in my ear, “Be still. Mor’dou is satisfied”. The light from the moon, got brighter, and brighter. Flaring and dimming. Each time, flaring brighter, and, with each dimming, getting darker. The surrounding, night sky, seemingly blacker and more oppressive. At one point, it grew black as pitch. Even the light from the numerous torches and fires seemed to get dimmer. Until, all the light was extinguished. Everything became solid, darkness. Everything. There was no sound at all. Not even the steady, breeze, that had been growing in strength, could be felt. The sounds of the breeze, blowing over the plant life and shrubs, of the moor, and over the rocks, died. Wherever we were, had seemingly become detached from existence. I could feel the solidness of the ground, beneath me, and yet, it felt as though I were adrift, in the black, void of space. That’s when the whispering started. Gentle and soft, at first. Almost like a lover caressing your ear, with words. Slowly, however, it became cold, and chilling. Brimming with malice. Then, in the middle of all the darkness, where I imagined the crowd stood, there was a spark. Short-lived, like a spark from a firework. Followed by another, but seemingly, floating upwards. As the number of these sparks grew in frequency, They slowly took shape. Soon enough, they took the form of a figure. Or, at least, the outline of a figure. Large, and standing with a proud posture, denoting a confidence that stems from power. The head of the figure turned towards me, and all I could see were those eyes. Cold, and bright, like a bright light reflecting off polished silver. Try as I might, I could not turn my head away from this sight.