The Two Confessions by John Whitbourn (good books to read for adults .TXT) 📕

the serviceof prime. The old man said the responses but his attention was divided. Part ofhim considered the ravenous and watchful ones outside. They were probably closeenough to hear the plainchant.

Afterbreaking his fast, he sat alone in the library, too aged and feeble andthreatened to join in with community labour in the priory’s grounds. Basking insunshine in a window seat he deluded himself he was studying St RichardChalloner's 'Lives of the Lewes Martyrs'. Then it started to rain.

Itbegan as heavy droplets, impacting against the diamond-pane glass. They came inslow but steady succession, like the drumming of impatient fingers. Graduallythe pace increased, imparting more urgency to the sound. He was caused to lookup and thus note this was no shower from heaven. Each incoming speck arrivedwith venom, akin to spittle flung into a hated face. Each expired in a puff ofcorroded glass. Within a minute or so the window was pockmarked with tiny craters.

Theold man tottered over to the library rope-pull and raised the alarm. Soon agroup of monks arrived to splash the panes with holy water and erect thespecially prepared steel shutters. One of the team of Rome-wizards nowpermanently stationed at the priory supervised. He frowned at the attemptedincursion, whilst reinforcing the warding spells round the window frames. Allthe chalk and wax symbols were painstakingly checked.

Itwas done in unhurried, seen-it-all-before, manner: as well it might, for thiswas a familiar drill. None of them spoke to or acknowledged the old man.Discouraged by their confident precautions the 'rain' ceased, its pitter-pattergradually dying away.

Thenhe was left all alone again, in the now darkened library. He was amazed to findhimself weeping, only alerted to the fact by the fall of teardrops onto hisrobe.

Evenas a boy and all through the too-long years he'd always refused to wave a whiteflag at life. Only once before had he weakened - and that was the day he lost her.But this was unconditional surrender. The tears became great heaving sobs tornfrom deep inside his shrivelled chest.

'Where did it go wrong?' he asked the echoing empty room. 'When did allthis start?'

************

Theanswer to that was: long before he thought.

Inthe beginning was the Power and the Power slept, and whilst it slept itdreamed.

Tiredof activity since the start of time, it chose to rest and escape the torrent ofsensation. There was a period of total repose, a blank black interlude fromwhich no light or sign of life escaped. Then the dreams began.

Bubblesand whirlpools of activity boiled to the surface of that part in which itstored its memories and thoughts. A minute degree of wakefulness returned.Things had slipped since the sleep began and the Power's private universe hadgone its own way. Without permission, tiny motes of matter had gathered andcoalesced to form galaxies. Within them suns had exploded into being and spoiltthe infinite night. Such gross insubordination!

ThePower lazily considered these signs of rumbustious anarchy and then fed on thenearest spiral form, rending it apart into nourishment. The cleansing handreached on towards all the others - but at the last moment was withheld. ThePower restrained its momentary flare of anger. After long neglect a few cobwebswere only to be expected. It would let them live a little longer beforevisiting due punishment. Replete, the Power slept again.

Onedream was persistent and intriguing. A current of sleep-castrated excitementslithered through the Power's expanse. It dreamt that a keyhole had opened up,through which one could peer into an altogether different universe. Yet thatwas unlikely, for such a thing was forbidden by the strictest and most eternalof rules. The Power, and its countless brothers and sisters, and even theircruel superiors ascending into infinite heights, were all of them barred from travelling,in anything else but thought. And even then any trip was by invitation only andbound with humiliating conditions. The Power ignored the implausible,unsettling, temptation for many millennia - but the dream persisted.

Itsview seemed fixed; persistent, the tiny scene visible through the portalhard-edged and real. The Power might have presumed this a state of being thatactually was - save that that was impossible. More likely was anunusually vivid intersection with another Power's personal creation. Whichwasn't uncommon and supposedly the way the Powers bred.

Unableto resist, the small proportion of the Power not in wearied sleep, driftedtowards the keyhole.

************

Itlooked through and saw that the scene was true. Rock barred the way butit being in molten state meant the Power could bore a tunnel through with justa look. The way was cleared.

Nothingoccurred for a very long time, though the view itself was entrancing enough.Sometimes the Power surrendered to total sleep but when any portion was evenhalf awake it kept its 'eye' pressed to the gap.

Then,much later, some activity presented itself. The Power's eye winked open andbeheld life forms. It studied them and their past and future and it amused thePower to tell them the truth: namely that 'one day, through this portal, Iwill behold your Messiah....'

Theyleft, but soon returned with other 'people'. Over time, there came a small butsteady stream of them. They were most attentive and polite. Therefore, inreturn, over the centuries when sufficiently awake and playful, the Power gavethem the same good news.

U[U[U[U[U[U[U

************

THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1994

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cHAPTER 2

‘Well, damn youreyes then!’

Thecabby considered his passenger's verdict on the view. He'd been around and seena thing or two. Two decades in the trade had left him no longer sure where'normal' ended and 'strange' began. If someone wanted to stop and get out andcurse, that was their business - and good business too, since they were payingfor the lost time. Only idle curiosity prompted his enquiry about what soenraged his fare in the distant prospect of London.

Thestocky young man span round, revealing a face in thrall to powerful emotions.Momentary concern made the cabby recall the cutlass tucked away beneath hisperch.

‘What?’said the young man. ‘What? What d'you want?’

Thecabby whistled through his teeth.

‘Blimey!I only asked. Don't jump in me face. All I asked was what's amiss?’

Thehorses required some quietening, long service allowing them to pick up on theirmaster's alarm. Meanwhile, the passenger composed himself and turned back tothe panorama of the metropolis.

‘Nowthere's a tricky