The Illumination

Chapter 1: New Born

"Our genes made us. We animals exist for their preservation and are nothing more than their throwaway survival machines. The world of the selfish gene is one of savage competition, ruthless exploitation, and deceit."   Richard Dawkins, The Selfish Gene Book cover (1989)

The darkness gripped the land, thunderous black cloud a dense ceiling over the forest below. The storm's voice was drowned under the constant battering of the cloud's spit, a god relentlessly banging the drum of solid treetops. The animals stayed in hiding, their forest consumed by water. With the moon hidden, visibility was low: this dark place had become nature's prison. A man darted through the trees towards a clearing, instinctively ducking the low bark and jumping the flooded floor. He knew the terrain well. A muffled cry, diffusing through the murk, drew him closer. He breathed heavily despite his powerful physique; wearing thick, weighty leathers and large boots, he looked prepared for battle. His hair was long and plaited, sticking wet to his face; tense eyes peered through, focused in anxiety and fear. His very soul shouted desperation.

At the edge of the clearing, a woman's bellow reverberated out from the nearest of two huts. The man moved slowly out of the woodland, sneaking around the back of the hut to wait. After some time, the cry died out and a foreign chant prompted another; that of a child. Torch flames stoically flickered against the damp blackness, illuminating the new mother lying exhausted on the floor. Standing up, holding her newborn, were two men. One was rough, his brown farmer's clothes almost rags. He was short and stocky, with giant forearms. The other man was slim and dressed in fine robes, a scar clearly visible across his bearded cheek. A warrior in his ceremonial best, the robed man exuded confidence, intelligence and power. Shoulders back, chest up and chin high he held the baby aloft.

"A new son has arrived. We must now show him to our Lord."

They headed towards the other hut with the child, leaving the man, sodden and cold, to enter. As his form was made clear in the candlelight, the woman started, but before she could yell out he covered her mouth.

"It's me - I told you I would be here," he said, releasing his grip. 

She gasped, "You have a son."

"I saw him. So my name will live on." He stroked her wet cheek, "I've missed you."

"And I you."

They shared a tender kiss, the man covering her protectively with a bear skin. "Does your husband know he is mine?"

"He will never, ever know."

"And the magic man?"

"I don't know. He will not tell but he must know. He will not tell. He seems more interested in the boy's safety than me."

"I must go."

"Kiss me one last time."

Pulling away, he stared intently into her eyes, "My only regret is that I could never make you my wife." He moved to the door and, just before leaving, his back turned, he stopped.

"Goodbye. Tell my son of me - and of my love."

But his way was blocked; the magic man was about to enter with two fur-clad women. For a terrible moment time stood still, feet sinking into the mud. Then, looking directly at the man, the priest nodded his head. Without hesitation, the fugitive dropped his gaze and dashed back around the hut, off into the forest.

**

Once inside the wooded core, he stopped and leaned panting up against a tree, muffling his scream in the bark as the anger built inside found release. Through tensed, gritted teeth the warrior revealed his weakness: emotion. A desperate sadness, finally unleashed.

"Be stronger, boy!" 

The man swung round, looking to find the source of the grave voice that had challenged him. But there was nobody there. Relaxing, he took a deep breath and, spurred on by the forest's call, continued on his path at breakneck speed.

This time, he arrived at a clearing that held a large settlement; a dozen or so huts and many livestock. The shelters were lined up; a channel of mud and land between them. Fire-sticks flickered down this row, refusing to surrender to the damp. The settlement was unusually silent, apprehension bathing in the rain pools. Our bearded man was moving too fast, not listening to his animal instinct. As he hastened for the sword inside his hut, a heavy thump knocked him down, unconscious.

When he came to, the man's vision was blurred. As soon as his eyes opened, a flurry of heavy blows rained down onto his kidneys, ribs and back. Coughing up blood he knelt in the mud, submerged legs holding him down as four men surrounded him. They were dressed all in black, a peculiar embroidered symbol standing out in contrast on their chests. It wasn't just the soil and rain but their cold stares that held him back. Behind the men he glimpsed something, or someone, approaching. A hooded man, at least 6, 5 in height and even larger in stature. A lesser man was beside him, his fire-stick keeping the hooded man's face in shadow. All that could be seen was a short jet-black beard hugging his strong jaw and structured face. He was both beast and god. 

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes." On his knees, the man's voice was choked by blood. 

"Then you know why I am here."

"Not quite so soon."

"Surprise is a King's greatest weapon. Your time has come. The settlement is dead and soon you will be too."

The man struggled to get up, prompting further punches and kicks. The cloaked man raised a hand to stop it, pulling out a large shining sword with the other. 

"You disappoint me. So weak. So accepting of your inevitability. Your ancestors would be embarrassed to call you their blood."

The bearded man tried to reply but could only hock blood into his mouth. 

"You shall meet them now." 

With a vicious swagger, the dark king swung his sword, taking the fugitive's head clean off. The dying body remained upright, a strange white light streaming from his chest; a light that whistled and disappeared as quickly as it came. 

"Burn these peasants' lives and his body. I want all memory of him gone."

"And any survivor's in the huts, sir?"

"Kill them all."