From his hidden position, Dramble watched a guard set up more shackles and cuffs close to the captive, wondering whether there would be other prisoners to be executed alongside the incarcerated man.
Dramble had a plan, but he wouldn’t be able to stall more than one execution at a time and he had to concentrate on the blonde man if he was to ever find Elly again.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 32
A stinging ache tore across Dramble’s neck, locking his shoulder muscles into a spasming knot. The hiding place was brilliant for surveying the activities in the square, but it kept him trapped in one position and he’d fallen asleep, exhausted from days of evading capture. In an anguished attempt to ease the cramps, he twisted the offended muscles and tried to straighten his neck, placing a hand over his mouth to stifle the sympathetic voice box commanded by his brain and connected to his pain sensors, thus eliminating treason and giving away his hidden position. Finally, after grievous manipulation, the cramp began to ease, freeing his tortured neck muscles and silencing the complaining sensors.
Dramble peered around in shock; the scene of the party had decayed into an ordered rubbish heap with empty food tubes, bottles and expired black hooded men laying where they fell, trashing the once pleasant city square.
Now that the plaza was empty of revellers and had descended into a morbid quiet, a team of elderly black hooded men worked the area with shovels, brooms and plastic bags, dumping the refuse along with inebriated passed out figures onto a cart, and returning the scene into its normal manicured self.
A scan of the stage revealed the blonde man asleep, hanging uncomfortably by the cuffs in a hands up position, but the new restraining devices remained free of occupants and the latest captives hadn’t materialised.
Dramble noticed piles of rubbish scattered at the feet of the prisoner and stains on his clothing. The guards had thwarted attempts to storm the stage and execute the captive by mob rule, but there was no way to stop the missiles emanating from the raging crowd.
On the stage, two guards jumped to their feet, still expecting an attempt by the kafiri to rescue their hero, waking the incarcerated man instantly in a reflex action.
An elderly black hood stepped onto the platform and pointed to the mess at the prisoner’s feet and scattered all over the dais. Settling back down into relaxed positions, the guards nodded their assent and the old hooded man bent and went to work, filling a new garbage bag.
Dramble watched the old hooded figure with distant disinterest, until the old man glanced up at the hostage and some form of silent communication passed between the two.
Dramble’s glare intensified. Had he seen what he thought he had? He stared at the old man, watching for another stolen glance but his eyes never left the job again and the prisoner didn’t seem to acknowledge the black hood in any way. Dramble kept up the vigil with unmoving eyes, hoping to glean something more from the odd behaviour, but his neck began to complain again and he had to change his position or suffer another debilitating cramp.
A sudden bout of jabbering behind Dramble frightened him and he snapped his head around to confront the owner, but before he could move from his hiding place, a gaping grin spread across the assailant’s face and a big arm took a handful of his black robed disguise, suspending him in mid air.
Thinking quickly, it was obvious the black hooded man didn’t understand English and he couldn’t speak the jabber either, so Dramble decided to play the part of a helpless young girl and began to kick violently.
The action seemed to work and a bigger grin exploded across the hairy face at his prize; but before he could torment the kicking girl further, another bout of jabbering allayed his fun and he dropped Dramble to the ground, with a thud.
Two black hooded men stood jabbering; one seemed to be a higher rank and before Dramble could effect an escape, his tiny frame was hauled up under a huge armpit and transported over to the stage and then dumped at the feet of the prisoner.
Thankfully, the guard began talking to the captive in English and Dramble very quickly pieced together what was happening.
“You have a young admirer, kafiri. She hides out to get a unhindered view of your execution, but we have a big surprise for her. She will have the honour of executing you! A fitting end, don’t you think? The brave kafiri Raider butchered by a small Alama Masu princess!”
The black hood then turned to Dramble and started jabbering again, expecting him to comprehend. Dramble panicked, not understanding what he was saying and glanced up at Finn. The wavy blonde locks caught his eye and he was sure every black hooded woman would want to feel the texture of his unusual crown. In the performance of his life, Dramble reached for his own hood and made a massaging motion of his hair and then pointed to Finn.
Gaining the desired response, the black hood laughed and seemed to understand his gesture. “Your executioner, kafiri, wishes to touch your hair. The Alama Masu women don’t often see white hair on such a young man. So you are an anomaly to us.”
Then with a jabber aimed at Dramble, the captor pointed to Finn’s crown and walked away, allowing the girl payment for her services.
Dramble stood, glanced across to the guards and then ambled over to Finn’s disdainful glare. Reaching up to his face and then caressing his hair, two stolen words escaped Dramble’s lips.
“Trust me!”
Finn heard the petition from a male voice coming from the girl’s disguise and reacted with a confused grimace and then realisation dawned. Finn’s face quickly lost all expression, understanding the small figure’s intention.
As if the guard had had enough of the adoring display, he jabbered angrily at the girl and summoned her to his side. He placed a watermelon on a block and then with a razor sharp cutlass grasped in his hand, came down with a thump, splitting the fruit with surgical precision. The remains were scraped from the block and another oversized melon positioned in its place. With a gesture that Dramble understood, the guard handed the ornate execution cutlass across to him.
“See how easily our smallest girl can take your life, kafiri.”
The guard nodded and Dramble raised the cutlass above his head and drew it down, splitting the watermelon with limited effort and watching the two halves drop to the stage floor, with a hollow bump.
Satisfied the rehearsal had gone to plan, the black hood glanced over to an adjacent tower clock; the execution would take place in little over an hour and the crowds would gather soon. Malhalem himself would give the order from a nearby third floor window, regally overlooking the crowded piazza. The guard was sure his little sideshow would bring a pleasing response from the vassal ruler and a well earned reward for his creativity.
Now that the captive had been suitably unnerved, the guard took a seat and drew Dramble onto his lap, holding his prize so she wouldn’t escape and destroy his planned sideshow.
*~*~*~*
A well behaved crowd began to trickle into the piazza and before long, the trickle had turned to a raging flood. The front rows were populated by gawking black hooded women, while the back rows filled with hungover hooded men, desperate to escape the loud speakers trained onto the horde.
Black hooded warriors lined the periphery and scanned the massing population, expecting a rescue attempt at any moment, but nothing seemed out of place.
Binyamin worried as he and the others gathered against a wall, still smelling like garbage from the cleanup operation. They had managed to make eye contact with Finn, but because of the guards, that was all they could do and now the operation seemed doomed to fail, leaving the rescuers powerless and only able to observe.
Binyamin pleaded to Jehovah for His intervention and confessed their sin of acting without consulting the great God first. Just as his pleading prayer gathered momentum, it was interrupted by jabbering over a loud speaker.
The crowd roared in exhilaration and their attention fixed on a third floor window, while the figure of Malhalem pressed against the glass, wavi
ng his hand to the adoring crowd. Then the vassal ruler nodded his head toward the executioner and all eyes diverted to the stage.
It was the executioner’s intention for the small Alama Masu girl to torture Finn before finally executing him and give the crowd an awe inspiring show. But unfortunately, Dramble hadn’t understood the jabbering instruction and as the girl appeared on stage with the cutlass, the crowd went wild with the spectacle, calling for the Raider’s blood.
Finn had his hands tied behind his back with rope and the guards forced him into a kneeling pose, with his head over a block. As the tension mounted, so did the blood lust and the chants for the death of the kafiri echoed ever louder.
The guard yelled above the crowd. “Now, kafiri, our little Alama Masu princess will hack bits off you before she finally puts you out of your misery!” Then he nodded to Dramble to begin.
Dramble’s heart was pounding; he hadn’t understood the earlier directive to torture the blonde man and now he felt sick at the thought. But what could he do? The blonde man had no chance to escape with his hands tied and the crowd was chanting, louder and louder.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 33
Binyamin peered across a seething mass of blood lusting black hoods, writhing with hideous intent and egging the small Alama Masu princess on toward torture. The chant was gaining momentum, to the point where Binyamin could feel a helpless, nauseous lump rising in his throat and needing to leave the hapless scene immediately.
The small girl suddenly bent over Finn, blocking the guard’s view and played with his wavy blonde locks, grasping a handful and then with an unassuming stroke of the cutlass, a patch of blonde hair cut free and lay across the girl’s hand.
She held up the blonde locks for the women to see, creating a wave of explosive excitement, and erupting into wild animal gyrations while the energized seething crowd became more enthralled by the teasing young Alama Masu princess.
With an animated wave of her hand, the princess cast the blonde hair follicles out among the crowd and it drifted down over the crazed women, causing a frenzied stampede as each woman competed for a small piece of the prize.
Unseen by the crowd or the guards, the cutlass had made a detour from Finn’s haircut and had easily sliced through the ropes holding his hands bound, with only a gentle rub of the razor sharp blade. Waiting for an opportune time, Finn pressed his hands together and pretended they were still tightly bound.
But as the guards moved in to break up the commotion among the women, a blonde flash grabbed the Alama Masu princess, tucked her under his arm and bolted from the stage, careening through the crowd at high speed.
In full flight and before anyone could comprehend what had just taken place, Finn was gone, navigating for the safety of the tunnel system, only minutes away.
As the Raider crashed past him, Binyamin threw a black robe at the escapee and then tripped up a pursuing group of warriors, creating a human roadblock.
Pretending to be outraged at the Raider’s escape, Binyamin berated the warriors, dragging them to their feet and ordering them to follow his lead. The warriors followed the angry man, figuring he was someone of importance, but Binyamin led them in the opposite direction to the one Finn had gone.
Realisation dawned and shock lifted slowly over the crowd.
Soon, they spilled from the square in all directions, indignantly searching for the escapee and their stolen excitement.
Finn abruptly stopped in a sheltered grove of trees, slipped the black hooded robe over his body, pulled up the hood and casually exited, holding the hand of a small, black hooded girl and walked slowly away from suspicion.
A tsunami of highly agitated black robed pedestrians caught up to him from behind and overtook his position, drowning him in a sea of antagonised searching black. But mingling among the growing number of hunters, Finn blended perfectly and pretended to search for the fugitive, too.
Approaching the palace grounds, he slipped away from the crowd unnoticed and entered the gardens; as expected, the grounds were empty with all the guards busily searching in other places.
Finding the secret entrance, he pushed Dramble down into the tunnel and closed in behind him. Then grabbing the small figure’s hand, pressed headlong into the blanketing darkness, feeling along the tunnel wall for the familiar guiding hand grips.
As the first hand grip moulded into his grasp, Finn let out an enormous sigh of relief, reverberating down into the encompassing darkness.
He was free, something that only moments ago seemed impossible, but his God specialised in the impossible and he began thanking Jehovah loudly and full of emotion as he continued to walk.
Suddenly remembering Dramble, he turned his attention back to the silent figure. “I owe you a debt of gratitude and thanks, my little friend; now tell me who you are.”
*~*~*~*
Moshe tended the rows of beans with enthusiasm and renewed vigour, chipping delightedly at the hard soil and humming a hymn of praise as he worked. Binyamin and his secret group had returned from their mission and exposited the whole incredible story, without a single misadventure.
Binyamin and the resistance leaders had learned a valuable lesson; and Moshe was sure they would pray and seek Jehovah first, before attempting any further missions.
Moshe took a break from weed chipping and leaned against his hoe, admiring the neat rows of artificial beans. Everything seemed brighter and full of life.
He squinted, trying to recognise a figure walking towards his position; the walk seemed like Yusuf’s, but he was staggering slightly. Within minutes, Yusuf’s sickly appearance came into full view and with a huff that should have raised the dust, he engaged the old man without wasting a word.
“How did the kafiri rescue Finn?!”
“Good morning, Yusuf!” Moshe entreated, almost singing.
“Don’t patronise me, old man, and answer the question!” Yusuf’s sulk was evident and he wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Moshe answered.
“Don’t tell me you knew nothing of the planned escape!” Yusuf seemed a little hungover and intolerant.
“Yes, I knew about the escape; it’s all over the settlement and people are celebrating,” Moshe’s eyes twinkled.
Yusuf eyed the old man with a steely stare. “Look me in the eye, old man, and in front of Jehovah tell me your people didn’t plan this escape.”
“My people did not plan this escape!” Moshe reiterated. “But I do believe Malhalem had an execution, anyway. Wasn’t it the guard who concocted the whole bizarre show?”
Yusuf held the old man’s gaze for a long moment, and then spun around on his heels in disgust. Grabbing his entangled robe in an enraged fist, he reefed the fabric from a stubby bean bush and stormed off, making no secret of his displeasure.
Moshe contentedly returned to chipping weeds, humming another hymn.
*~*~*~*
The flaming torch guarding the Lake of Purity unexpectedly flickered, as if it had been stirred by a violent wind current. Hakham lifted his head tiredly and gazed around the cavern, wondering what had caused the diligent light to react the way it had. His eyes were drawn to the shimmering images painted onto the cavern roof and then to the small swirling waves agitating the calm surface of the Lake of Purity.
A shiver ran up and down his spine, wondering whether their protected, subterranean world was suffering a distant trauma.
The tunnels were extensive, but none of the family had ever been much beyond the outer reach of the guiding hand grips before, although some had insisted they had experienced strange and wonderful places deep within the extensive tunnel systems, when young love had beckoned them into the search for the Altar Rose.
Hakham’s mind drifted back to Yoni and his screaming. If only he had listened, he wouldn’t be dead now, lost without eternal hope. Even if it meant hiding in a cave and hunted by terrible people consumed by blood lust. The bloo
d of Jehovah’s tribulation people.
Another bout of disgruntled rumbling echoed from deep within the cave system and diverted Hakham’s mind. He steeled himself for the telltale signs of a cave-in, but the rumbling abruptly stopped and settled again, bringing an immediate sigh of relief. The unhappy murmurings of the family shelter were a direct result of the changed world they now lived in and at any time, the final domino could be set tumbling, bringing the shelter down around them.
In the times before the terrible war, things were vastly different and the earth was stable, green and full of life. But since the dreadful attack at the hands of armed and dangerous nuclear vandals, many strange happenings had taken place. New volcanoes had appeared overnight, displacing and devastating vast tracks of land and sea; while towering tsunamis, triggered by massive earthquakes never before seen, had devastated much of the coastal regions, wiping out whole cities and forcing those who remained to take shelter far inland.
Meanwhile, the constant dust storms of radioactive fallout from the worldwide nuclear exchange had turned a fertile world into a contaminated desert, leaving those who survived to eventually die of starvation and thirst, or the acidic effects of radiation poisoning.
Thanks to the ingenuity of Jehovah’s jewel, Israel, many enormous climate-controlled geodesic cities had been constructed. But only to be overrun by the Assyrian’s armies and populated by the likes of the evil Alama Masu, leaving those who refused to worship the Assyrian and take his mark, suffering starvation and exposure in the desolate wastelands, or persecuted and dying at the hands of their barbarian overlords.
Feeling the weight of things to come prophesied in the Book of Wisdom and its consequences for the family, Hakham tried to remain focused on Jehovah and not lose heart. The loss of his beloved friend Yoni and the hope of ever seeing him again in a joyous atmosphere, pierced his heart.
If only he had heeded Hakham’s words, instead of building a personal empire.