The Swayer of Sankara - Preview
Why I went into the wood, I
don’t quite know; I’d heard something, as if there was an animal in pain, but
it was already getting darkish and my brother Evan suggested I was a bloody
idiot to even bother looking. I suppose it might have had something to do with
the fact that I’d just had my seventeenth birthday, whereas he was only
fourteen, so naturally, I couldn’t possibly be the one who suggested we run
away.
The wood I mentioned isn’t a
public one; in fact, the general populace would have quite a problem getting to
it, as it’s on an island in the middle of a lake on my auntie’s estate.
Actually, I suppose it’s Dad’s estate now, as aunt
Esther is no longer with us, having died six months ago at the ripe old age of
a hundred and three. She was quite a gal, as they say and even in her nineties,
always swanned about in a black-beaded flapper dress, festooned with pearls and
usually sported a highly politically-incorrect hat covered in bird-of-paradise
feathers. I mostly remember her from our infrequent visits, when we’d ‘take
tea’ in the stuffy Victorian front parlour while she reminisced about the world
war – and I mean number one, not number two – and her adventures on the estate
as a young girl, after she’d been rusticated to save her from the bombs
‘raining down from the Zeppelins’. Apparently, the last straw had been the
Sopwith Pup that crashed in the back garden of their
Apart from auntie, another
reason for the glee was the house itself; a huge, rambling place with four
floors, not including the kitchens and servants quarters in the basement, plus
a dusty, bric-a-brac-crammed attic. I don’t think
Evan and I ever got to explore all of it – how my aunt had managed to amass so
much ‘stuff’ always amazed me. Like once, we were looking through this fairly
ordinary drawing-room on the third floor and found an Egyptian sarcophagus
hidden behind an old sofa. There wasn’t anyone in it unfortunately, but it
didn’t stop us playing ‘The Mummy of Doom’ for a good hour, Evan shrieking his
way down the corridors while I clumped after him with a sheet over my head.
Then there was the Chinese
room, which we found out later was in fact devoted to all things Japanese,
where we gasped at the sight of a huge glass cabinet set smack in the centre of
the floor, home to an enormous red dress covered in gold thread and sparkling,
multi-hued embroidery. Over a glass of dilute elderberry wine, auntie held us
enthralled with hair-raising tales of her sea-voyage to
However, there was one thing
that auntie wouldn’t talk about and
that was the wood, or even the lake surrounding it. If we tried to turn the
conversation onto that particular subject, she’d skilfully turn it away again
and eventually it became obvious that she was never, ever going to discuss it.
We were prevented from exploring it for ourselves because although there was a
dilapidated boathouse, there was no boat.
It was one of the first
things we wanted remedied, Evan and I, after Esther passed away last year
leaving everything to Dad, who was her only remaining relative. His first
instinct was to sell the place, deeming it much too large for a four-member
family, but with the surprisingly vehement support of Mum, my brother and I
managed to talk him out of it. Frankly, I think the one thing that finally
persuaded him in its favour was its proximity not so much to the city, but to
his favourite golf-course. Anyway, after four months we were firmly established
in our new home, with Nellie, the cook and Old Roger, who although rather bent
over with arthritis, still managed to get through a staggering amount of
gardening and odd-jobs. With Mum often away on promotions or book-signings, we
also had an army of cleaners come in once a week, though as Evan and I were
still at boarding school in
‘David …’ His voice had an,
urgent, worried edge to it. ‘Come on … leave it, please?’
‘There’s something in there … something hurt, I
think.’ I was still heading stealthily
into the bushes, pushing them aside as I tried to peer through them into the
gloom.
‘It’s getting dark, David. Dad’ll be livid if we’re late for dinner. You know
he’s got all those people coming!’
Reluctantly, I had to admit
he was right and turned back to head for the boat. We’d only got it yesterday
and today’s first chance to explore had been all too short. Still; there’d be
other days and the noise I’d thought I’d heard hadn’t repeated, so another of
Dad’s tedious gatherings of academics had perforce to take precedence over
adventure.
‘Can I row? Please?’
In fact, he was better at it
than I was – though naturally, I’d never admit it to his face – so I freely
consented, lying back on the rug to watch the shadows play across the ripples
as they trickled into the reeds. It was only a five minute haul, but by the
time we’d got the boat up onto the ramp, it’d already started to rain quite
heavily, so all things considered, Evan’s insistence that we return had been
well timed.
Saturday mostly down and
only two days to go before we went back to school on Tuesday … but there was
still Dad’s dinner to get through. Don’t get me wrong – he’s a good old stick,
but he does rather tend to pontificate at times. To give him his due, he treats
us more like young adults than children, so we’re expected and encouraged to
contribute to the various discussions rather than being given the
seen-but-not-heard treatment. Now that Evan’s fourteen, he’s also looking
forward to the fact that this time, the port decanter won’t pointedly miss him
each time it makes its way round the table.
It’d gone quite well I
thought, snuggled up in bed on a cold, winter’s night. At one point, a
severe-looking woman in tweeds had asked my opinion of Nietzsche’s assertion
that the envious could never really be happy. As she’d had a rather penetrating
voice, the question had sort of hung in the air while I had to admit that I’d
never read that particular treatise into an uncomfortable silence. Luckily for
me, we’d done Engels only the year before, so I quoted a bit from ‘The Law of
Value’, on the subject of trade being driven by people who were unhappy with what
they hadn’t got, which sort of touched on the envy thing. I got an approving
look, some muttered nods and a pleased beam from Dad. Fortunately, I wasn’t
asked any more awkward questions, Evan and I eventually being released before
the cigars came out. He’d gone off to do some procrastinated homework, while
I’d played one of the three computer games I was currently struggling with and
got lost in the middle of a gigantic maze. After I’d found myself back where I
started for the third time, despite the aid of an A4 sheet covered with what
looked like the web of a demented spider, I gave up and went to bed.
Sunday and pouring. Evan
said I was mad, but I wasn’t going to let it deter me from exploring the
island, raining or not. I pointedly didn’t ask the parents’ permission, because
I knew they’d say no, but I did at least tell Old Roger and made sure I wore a
life-jacket. I had my mobile with me as well and checked that it was charged
and everything.
Getting the boat into the
water wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it’d be, mostly because the rain had turned
the old boards slippery and I ended up on my backside twice, fervently wishing
that
The island wasn’t very
large; perhaps half an acre in all, but the wood covered most of it, some of
the trees in the deeper parts obviously very old. With the rain still pouring
down, my lurid yellow sou’wester and plastic mac proved indispensable, keeping
me nice and dry as I clambered over moss-covered tangles and through the odd
briar or nettle-patch. I wasn’t too worried about getting lost, because all I
had to do was walk in a straight line and sooner rather than later, I’d hit the
water, but nevertheless, I couldn’t help shivering now and then. ‘Cold,’ I told
myself, ‘that’s all; just the weather,’ but despite my self-reassurances, a
feeling of unease wouldn’t go away. When I stopped for a bit after negotiating
my way around a particularly large blackberry bush, I realized what it was that
was unnerving me – the stillness. Apart from the rain and the noises I made
myself, there wasn’t a sound; as if somebody’d thrown a blanket of silence over
the entire wood.
Then I heard it again, the
same noise as yesterday; like a moan, but not the sort a man would make; more
like a big animal, deep and throaty. It rolled over me like a wave, making the
hair on my skin stand on end as Doppler echoes shuddered into the trees behind
me. There was something there;
something I probably should run away
from if I had any sense. A sudden flash of lightning lit up the trees in front
of me, the almost immediate boom of thunder giving me a double shock as I
stared at the strange building not ten yards ahead. It was so covered and
shrouded by lichens, ferns and algae that I hadn’t been able to make out the
shape before; like a little temple, or a vault of some sort. It was circular,
perhaps twenty feet across and twelve high, with a shallow, domed roof,
supported by what looked like six marble pillars. I couldn’t see an opening
from this side, but the walls appeared to be made of marble blocks as well, the
whole thing so encrusted with various growths that I might have missed it if I
hadn’t almost bumped into it. I circled cautiously around what now looked like
a tomb, the rear of the building almost blocked off by overgrown briars and
dodder-vine. Thorns snagged on my mac and the dodder’s seed-heads covered me in
sodden fluff as I fought my way through to what actually had to be the front,
because there was a doorway. A rusted iron gate formed from tightly interlaced
scrolls and curlicues blocked the darkened entrance and though the hinges still
seemed sound enough, the latch had been all but eaten away.
There was something engraved
into the marble of the lintel above the gate; it looked Gothic, possibly
Germanic. I wiped the worst of the grime off with my hand to reveal four words.
I was taking French, not German, but I knew enough to recognize it as such, in
some form of ancient script:
Liegt hier der Teufel
At the
time, I hadn’t the faintest idea what it meant or I’d probably have left well
enough alone and very quietly gone back to the boat. I didn’t though and gave
the gate a bit of a push to see if it would open. It scared me half to death
when it did more than just open, the old hinges proving to be as brittle as
dried leaves, crumbling to dust as the gate clanged to the ground with
frightful clatter. Slowly it tipped backwards, then fell from view into the
dark interior of the building. I could hear it banging and crashing as it
tumbled a short distance, finally coming to rest with a muffled thump.
There was another sound as well; the same
moan I’d heard before, only now it was a more of a shriek, long and drawn-out,
as if of timeless agony. It was accompanied by a clanking noise, like
chain-links rubbing together … and this time, I did run, heedless of the branches and brambles which tore at my
clothing.
How I made it back to the boat as fast as I
did, I don’t know, but I do know I’d
wet myself long before I got there. I heard someone whimpering as I frantically
untied the boat and practically flung it into the water, grabbing for the oars
and thrashing away like a novice. I had to force myself to calm down or I
wasn’t going to get anywhere, only
then realizing that it was me doing the whimpering.
I’d never been so terrified in my life; in fact, I’d never realized I could
be that terrified. I had to change my
underpants and trousers, though I think Mum was rather mystified to find me
doing a load of washing without having to be prompted to the point of threat.
‘Are you alright, dear?’ she said, a bemused
frown on her face, ‘you look a little pale.’
‘I’m fine, Mum,’ and by then I suppose I was,
more or less. Nobody’d noticed my absence it seemed, or if they had, no-one
said anything. I left the washing machine to do its thing and went back up to
my room to see if I could coerce my computer into translating the inscription
on the tomb … though from the sounds I’d heard, whatever lay inside it was a
long way from being dead.
‘Original text:’ so I typed ‘LIEGT HIER DER
TEUSEL’, and hit the ‘Translate …’ button.
‘Here lies the Teusel,’ it said, which got me
no further than I already was – until I looked up gothic scripts and realized
that the ‘s’ was actually an ‘f’.
‘Original text:’ : ‘LIEGT HIER DER TEUFEL’
‘Translate …’
‘Here lies the Devil.’
I’m glad Mum wasn’t there or she’d have
thought I’d died for sure; I could feel the blood draining away from my face.
Here lies the what?
Neither of our parents was particularly
religious, so the idea of Satan as a tangible, physical entity hadn’t been
exactly drummed into us. I’d thought about it of course and came to the
conclusion that he was probably a bug-a-boo, like the Bogeyman – so if that was
right, what was in the tomb? It had to be something incredibly long-lived and
even more unbelievable, something that didn’t need food, because quite clearly,
that gate hadn’t been touched for decades.
‘David?’ Mum, yelling up the stairs.
‘What?’
‘The washing machine’s been beeping for five
minutes, dear.’
‘Oh … okay!’
I hurried downstairs to deal with the thing,
remembering to clean out the lint-filter like a good boy before I chucked the
clothes in the dryer and was collared by Evan on the way back to my room.
‘So did you go then … over to the island?’
‘Um … yes … it was boring.’
‘Did you find out what made that noise?’
‘What noise? I thought you hadn’t heard it?’
‘Well I did
… so what was it?’
‘No idea … the wind, maybe; I don’t know …’ It didn’t feel right,
lying to him about it, but whatever that thing was, I didn’t want Evan anywhere
near it.
‘Can we go over there tomorrow and have
another look?’
‘No point … there’s nothing there, trust me.’
He must have caught the tension in my voice,
because a grin suddenly spread across his face and he punched me lightly in the
arm. ‘There is something, isn’t there
… I can always tell when you’re lying!’
I had about two seconds to decide what to do
before he dashed off like a rabbit to tell Mum and Dad about it, though I think
the force with which I grabbed his arm might’ve been a bit heavy-handed.
‘Ow! Let go!’
‘I want to show you something.’ I was already
frog-marching him towards my room, but maybe it was my tone which wiped the
smile off his face. ‘Sit …’ I said, pointing him at the computer and waiting
until he complied before I shut the door and went over to sit on my bed. He
swivelled around to face me.
‘That hurt! What’s the big idea?’
‘I did
find something; a little marble building, like a tomb or something.’
He whistled. ‘You’re kidding me!’
‘Look at my face. Do I look like I’m kidding?’
‘No … now you mention it. Did you go inside?’
‘Not on your life! There’s something in
there!’
‘What? Something alive, you mean?’
‘It moaned again, two or three times … and I
heard something else too, like chains, clanking.’
He whistled again, softly. ‘D’you think
there’s something tied up then, or what?’
‘Whatever it is, it’s been in there for years. There was this rusty old gate,
still in place, but it literally fell apart when I just touched it.’
‘But … that’s not possible. How can anything be locked up for years and still be
alive?’
‘That’s not all … there’s something chiselled
into the marble over the door … like a warning. Oh, for God’s sake, stop whistling!’
‘Sorry … what was it?’
‘It was in German – I got the computer to
translate it.’
‘So? Go on!’
‘It says … “Here lies
the Devil”.’ I swallowed nervously as his mouth puckered up for another
whistle, but this time, nothing came out. He just sat there, goggling at me for
a second or two … and then he exploded.
‘You bastard!
Fuck you and your stupid stories! You
almost had me believing you!’
‘Evan!’ but he’d got up and
rushed out before I could stop him and by the time I’d got to my own door, I’d
heard his slam shut with a force that shook the whole floor.
~
The Swayer of Sankara - available in book or download
format – What had David found? And what was his future now? Back to school,
perhaps? Buy The Swayer of Sankara, and find out why David has to go to hell,
with, as his mother puts it, ‘a professional sodomist.’