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

what you'd call ‘wet and willing’.’ TheElf was unmistakably crowing now, ransacking Samuel's private vocabulary andshining a light into the most secret corners. ‘Goodness me!’ he then exclaimedover some particularly sordid nugget. ‘How revolting!’

‘Answerme, you bastard, or I'll come and cuddle you.’

Thatreceived immediate reward; the invisible fingers directly restricted themselvesto the matter in hand.

‘Soyes,’ Trevan was told, ‘your Welsh wife was our half-breed - but you’velong suspected that. She kept us informed and ensured you were not the occasionof harm. Your exchanging of body fluids drained away time and energy that mighthave been put to more pernicious use: from our point of view, of course.’

‘Ofcourse.’

‘Shetrained in our Erotic College in Caerleon. A star pupil. Both a bishop and aPrivy Councillor have succumbed to her delights. Fatally. You should behonoured to have her-....’

‘WhichI do,’ Samuel snapped. ‘Incessantly.’ He’d sought to reverse the flow of crow -to nil effect.

‘...and survive to tell the tale. What else? Oh yes, that. Well, it may helpyou to imagine your persecutors' 'god' as the tiniest fragment of a greaterentirety, inexplicably protuberant into this world. We suspect it is one of theself-aware universes. The portion here stands in relation to the whole as agrain of sand does to Pevensey’s shore. Its further penetration is forbidden bythe Law. No, Samuel, I won't say whose Law....’

‘Youmean can't.’

‘Iadmit we are just as subject to its arbitrary dictates as the 'demon'discussed. Do please excuse me....’ The Elf had to pause and wheeze as thingsindigestible racked his frame, but failing to dislodge them then gamely pressedon. ‘However, it revolts against the restriction for some reason: onrare occasion, in sleepy fashion. Why? That is such an idiosyncraticvermin question. You cannot just do or be, can you? Pitiful….’ Heregrouped again. ‘Well, one presumes that the thing's motives are as random as itspresence here, although I don't recall we've ever given it serious thought.Perhaps it derived a mission from the first surprised vermin met when it burnedits way ashore. Your ‘heretics’ are prone to hiding in caves, are they not? Andeven universes can be terribly impressionable. Now please have compassion:kindly let me go....’

‘Nope!’

Curiously,the Elf seemed at home with such mercilessness: even cheered by it.

‘That'sthe spirit! Much more intercourse with us and you'll soon be just li-....’

‘Iwas always like this,’ interrupted Samuel. ‘I'm not your handicraft: andI won't be distracted either.’

TheElf fashioned a smile..

‘Itwas worth a try, Trevan-vermin. Very well then: yes, we really do think we'vestrangled that smoke-and-factories future. Readings indicate that we survive inmore and more time-lines. We've had babies born to us recently; ones worthkeeping. That's surely a sign.’

‘I'mso happy for you. What about me?’

‘I’veneither wish nor skill to advise newcomer welfare.’

‘Try.Downgrade your sensibilities to animal-doctor level. I insist.’

Persuaded?Intimidated? The Elf looked to the cloudless sky for inspiration, and then,finding something he disliked in it, lowered his sights to the green Weald.

‘Istill don't know what to suggest,’ he said eventually, with transparent honestyby Elven standards. ‘If you join them their ways would drive you mad. Bogomilswould not be stable business partners. On the other hand, if you defythem they will... drive you mad. May I suggest a monastery?’

Thesort of reply Samuel had in mind was said for him - or rather put intopractice. Amidst more pressing distractions he'd barely registered the returnof the 'buzzing' in his ears but it now forced itself on both their attentions.The noise grew loud - and then dominant - and then came screaming down the hillat them.

Thecreature was so near to taking form that they saw its shape and progressdefined in mini suns sparked from the air. Small circles of turf browned anddied at the touch of its feet.

Onarrival, the Elf got similar treatment. He'd drawn a serrated knife from hisboot but it couldn’t harm the maelstrom besetting him. There was time to passthe blade once, twice, through the enemy, but soon after his sword-arm was nolonger available for use. The thing briefly tasted the limb and then cast itaside.

Itisn’t true to say Samuel was rooted to the spot, although he chose to stay put.He'd simply seen the creature's turn of speed and decided there was moredignity in awaiting developments than flogging your guts out and stillbeing caught.

Mentionof guts made him look again at the Elf's dismemberment. He discovered that thespecies’ body cavities were curiously empty. They made little mess whendisassembled: fastidious to the end.

Therewas every opportunity to wreak similar havoc on Trevan but he was spared. Twotiny red coals that might be eyes looked out at him from the tornado. Samuelsaw hatred there, but behind that (fortunately) a far greater restraining fear.So instead they regarded each other - and entirely failed to bond.

Forsome reason Samuel fancied fetching the Elven weapon: maybe as a souvenir ofan… interesting day - but the creature blocked his way. He experimented withother directions and was similarly barred. The thing's swirl grew angrier,raising dust and Trevan's remaining locks - incidentally revealing the originof the 'faery circles' lately plaguing local farmers. Looking round forescape, Samuel noted one in an adjacent fallow field: a perfect circle ofblasted grass. So that was where it had waited for them: perhaps listening,maybe reporting, before it swooped.

Oneroute only was left open to him. Trevan was inexorably herded back to Lewes andhis fate.

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

cHAPTER 7

‘We-don't-want-none!’shouted Samuel. It was what lower-class Lewesians said to hucksters.

Backagain, the callers' pale hides were proof against rebuff. They continued tooccupy the threshold of Galen House.

‘Weare not selling anything,’ replied the male, the one Trevan dubbed 'theUndertaker'.

‘Makesa change.’

‘Weare tired of our visits,’ said the old man. ‘We also begin to tire of you.’

‘Good.So push off.’

‘Moreimportantly, God wearies of you.’

‘It'snot God: I've told you. Or even a god. You've been had.’

‘Hespits on your stupid obstinacy.’

‘It'srude to spit,’ said Samuel. ‘Look, will it speed things up if I stick this gunin your face?’

‘No.Death is sweet liberation and thus holds no fear.’

Suddenly,all the ire went out of Trevan. He stared at the doorstep-missionaries withsomething approaching surrender.

‘Look,’he said, nigh pleading, ‘I was having tea. With my wife. Say what you must andthen go.’

Undertaker'sface was still reddened from Samuel's scalds. His