Betrayal

At first there was silence. A group of seven cloaked men wandered mysteriously towards an old, damaged shack. The shack was only a small cube made of jagged wooden planks. The building was falling apart but none of them seemed worried. Suddenly, they all started to take their black hoods down, revealing their surprisingly normal faces. Each of them were fully human and all seemed like normal men. The man in front bent down a little in order to get through the door and the others followed in the same way. The leader took out a lighter and lit all the little candles which were already placed on the wooden cabinets that filled the whole outline of the shack. The others all sat in a circle in the middle of the room and the leader joined them once he’d finished with the candles.

They began their ritual. It was just a song. It was a bit weird, but a song nonetheless. They reminisced over the war their ancestors had experienced. The stories went back as far as they could remember. They now knew this had to be done. The ritual to ensure they understood. To ensure they, too, could comprehend the horror of what had happened and how it could never be forgiven. They had to believe it happened to them. That it was real and not a story. They had to feel it.

Seven hundred years before, The Battle of Alistair took place in the North East of Scotland. The side of the good, ruled by Osmont, gathered their axes and spears and created a long horizontal line of soldiers over the field. The side of the bad, ruled by Cain, did the same thing on the other side of the field. Osmont and Cain met in the middle and shook hands. As it was Osmont’s territory, he was the one to ring the bell in the centre. The loud chime sent shivers down their spines as they knew it signified the start of their eighth battle.

There were screams and roars as the two sides mixed, axes and spears colliding with skin. Osmont and Cain sank back to their respective armies and fought too. The sound of metal on metal, the growls of the two armies and the ripping of skin filled the gloomy dank air. Bodies lay lifeless on the ground as the heavy boots trampled them. Everyone was stained a deep red colour from, not only their own but, others’ blood.

One man in particular was very important. In fact, he was who the battle was named after: Alistair. While no one was watching, he crept away from the fighting to a cube shaped shack where he hid. He hid from the fighting, wanting anything else than to be killed. It was a while that he waited for. Until another man by the name of Caius found him. He asked if he was alright, if he was going to return. The reply was reassuring, telling Caius he’d be back out in a minute. Alistair was, once again, left alone.

The armies chased each other over a hill and waited; their hearts racing and their chest rising and falling as they breathed. It was like an unspoken truce for a few minutes as they caught their breaths back. Peace was restored for a brief moment in time. Osmont and Cain nodded to each other as if to confirm the fighting would stop shortly.

Alistair returned from his shack and crept back to his army, picking up an axe from a dead body on the way. Cain’s army had noticed Alistair’s return but Osmont’s hadn’t. He lifted the axe above his head and snuck up, as quietly as he could, behind Caius. He brought the axe down with such force into Caius’ back who let out a yell before falling to the floor, blood oozing from the wound which still had the axe in it.

There was silence. No one could believe what had happened. A traitor was among them. One of Osmont who should belong to Cain. A demon of Judas. There, not only fighting with them, but, against them too. And, all of a sudden, the dead reacted quicker than the living. Their skeletons emerged from their bodies, one by one. Each stood still on their feet, waiting for the others to join them. They picked up the axe or spear from their body’s limp hand and screamed, “I will end this tonight!” somewhat melodically, all running towards Alistair and hacking at his body with their weapons. They pounced on him and screamed the same line over and over again until they were certain Hades had welcomed them with open arms. They then turned towards Cain’s army and charged at the same pace. They slashed at their bodies in the same aggressive manner they did to Alistair but, this time, screamed, “Get out my life!” The whole army shrieked and writhed in pain as the weapons decapitated them and the skeletons didn’t have mercy until they had gotten their much needed revenge. Once all of Cain’s army were dead, the skeletons yelled, “Get out my life!” one more time as they glided through the air and back to their corresponding bodies and, once again, it was silent.

The men in the shack sang their song, recognising and feeling the betrayal more severely as they sang. Their bodies flashed between flesh and skeleton as the anger overcame them more and more. One stayed skeleton for a whole line as he sang, “Can we suffer through the abuse and the pain?” in the same demonic tone as the skeletons from all those years ago. He almost fell over as he became human again. The others grinned as they continued singing.

When the verse finished, silence surrounded them like a black cloud. All that could be heard was the dripping of water from the ceiling and deep breathing. They bowed their heads in respect for what had happened as they remembered Alistair grabbing the most important axe in their history. And they remembered the song and how the guitar would be played as the blade collided with Caius’ spine and how everyone would try to empathise with Osmont’s army and imagine the skeletons rising from the bodies as the guitar would continue playing. But they no longer needed to imagine. Now they knew. Now they remembered. They remembered as if they were there. And they knew the song so well. They all knew exactly where the guitar would finish but the song didn’t stop there anymore. No. The circle of men transformed into the skeletons and they screamed the same words the original skeletons had. They screamed demonically in the same way as if they were actually the originals. “I gave you my heart and you only kill!” they bellowed, swiping the candles off the cabinets and onto the floor, setting the whole shack alight. They repeated, “Get out my life!” as the fire burned them alive but didn’t kill them. They didn’t evacuate they just continued. They didn’t stop until they’d repeated as many times as the originals had and their bodies were restored. They still burned, their flesh being cooked by the golden flames but they weren’t hurt. They were alive, revitalised, aware, complete. Even after death enveloped them and they were greeted by the army of Osmont as one of them.