By Ailad's Bootstraps Read online

  Ailad felt a thrill pass through him as his uncle faced down the Pregethwr. He thought, I was that acolyte, but I understand the truth now. The truth, it has set me free…

  “How dare you—” Iefan fumed, red-faced.

  Brynmor cut him off. “You preach the philosophies of men, with just enough of a veneer of holiness to raise you above other men—the judge, jury, and executioner of God’s word here below! But your day is past. You cannot stop this work from proceeding. The word of God will spread forth, nobly and boldly, until it has filled all of Edom!”

  Pregethwr Iefan suddenly realized that he had met his match for oratory. But he was not about to back down. He pounded the pulpit and scanned his congregation. “We shall see about that… How many of you have received copies of this vile book? I demand that you bring them here to be burned! Those who refuse shall receive the interdict!”

  Ailad scanned the congregants and noticed that many of them were glancing at each other. Then he watched as about half of the congregation silently left the church.

  “There, you see?” Iefan sneered down at Brynmor. “My sheep hear my voice.”

  Brynmor smiled back. “We shall see, Iefan. We shall see…”

  “We have heard enough!” Iefan snapped. “The accused has admitted his guilt! What say you, counselors?”

  The seven counselors conferred for a few minutes; then they handed a slip of paper to Bœnder Hrethstan. He glanced at the paper, smiled and announced, “The verdict is unanimous! Brynmor, by order of the Council of the Cairwyn-Eglwys and of myself, you are hereby condemned to be burned at the stake along with your vile publications—that is, unless you recant and confess to your wicked act!”

  Ailad gasped. Burned? he thought.

  Brynmor stoutly replied, “Burn me, and be damned!”

  Ailad glanced back, and noticed that Aunt Tegwyn seemed to be serenely unperturbed by the verdict. She stood motionless with her hands folded, completely inscrutable to him.

  The Bœnder looked at Brynmor and said, “So that is your decision? Then the sentence shall be carried out this same afternoon! That is all!”

  The Pregethwr raised his hand. “Not quite, your Highness. There is still the matter of the ink-boy, here…” He scowled down at Ailad.

  For the first time, Ailad noticed his uncle become agitated. “Leave him be!” he cried. “He is not of age. He was merely following my orders.”

  “Uncle, I—” Ailad whispered.

  “Shh!” Brynmor whispered back.

  “Very well!” the Pregethwr declared. “Ailad, I hereby strip you of your calling as an acolyte of the Cairwyn-Eglwys, and pronounce the interdict upon you! May your soul rot in Sheol for your wickedness!”

  Chapter 14

  Ailad was released to the custody of his Aunt Tegwyn, while Brynmor was escorted by the guards to the courtyard in front of the Cairwyn-Eglwys. Ailad and Tegwyn followed along behind with the other congregants.

  As Brynmor passed them, he embraced Tegwyn and whispered to her. “Our work here is complete, fy annwyl.”

  She released her grip on him and nodded silently.

  In the center of the courtyard, a heavy stake had been sunk into the ground. A large pile of logs and kindling surrounded the stake. When Ailad saw the execution pyre, he began trembling. They really plan to do this… he thought. The Messenger was right—all Sheol is breaking loose on us…

  He glanced sideways at his Aunt Tegwyn, and noticed that she stood motionless, with her hands clasped and her eyes closed. She opened her eyes for an instant, glanced back at him, and gave him the faintest of smiles. Then she resumed her silent meditation.

  A hollow box of about a hundred soldiers surrounded the place of execution to keep the townspeople at bay. Ailad glanced up at the rooftops surrounding the square and noticed that soldiers had been posted there as well, carrying matchlock firearms. The Bœnder and the Pregethwr are not taking any chances, he thought.

  Brynmor was forcibly marched to the center of the courtyard. Then Pregethwr Iefan addressed the crowd again, waving his copy of the Norm. “Now is your chance to redeem yourselves. All those who have copies of this wicked perversion of the Norm are ordered to cast them onto this pyre, to be burned along with their wicked author!”

  The crowd grumbled ominously and shook their heads, but not one book was cast onto the pyre.

  Iefan was taken aback by this willful act of disobedience. The Bœnder pressed on.

  “Brynmor, we shall grant you one last opportunity to recant. Do you disavow this wicked translation, and repent of your evil deeds in publishing it?”

  “I do not!” Brynmor stoutly replied. “My only desire has been to accomplish the work which God sent me to do. I have done that. And as to my martyrdom…” he chuckled, “I have no fear of death, I assure you. I have already faced death and overcome it, and in a coming day I shall stand before God and accuse you of murder, Iefan—you and all your kind who persecute the true believers of God!”

  Now the crowd began jeering the Pregethwr and the Bœnder, shouting,

  “Let him go!”

  “Brynmor is innocent!”

  “Set him free!”

  The people began throwing rocks and pushed against the cordon of soldiers surrounding the courtyard, but the soldiers linked arms and pushed back. Ailad heard a loud BOOM, and looked up. One of the rooftop guards had fired his matchlock into the crowd. Several people screamed and fell to the ground, wounded.

  The Bœnder motioned to Brynmor’s guards. “Enough of this! Tie him to the stake, and let us be done with him!”

  The guards hustled Brynmor over to the stake and bound him to it. Then they doused him with oil and poured oil on the kindling. All this time, the crowd was becoming ever more hostile.

  Ailad looked on in helpless anguish. Only Tegwyn was the picture of serenity, with her hands clasped, her eyes closed.

  One of the soldiers approached the pyre with a burning torch.

  “Brynmor, do you have any last words before I send you to Sheol?” the Pregethwr cried.

  “Oh Lord, open the Bœnder of Frieland’s eyes!” Brynmor replied, looking up.

  The soldier approached the pyre with his torch. A deafening cry erupted from the crowd, who began pressing upon the cordon of soldiers, pushing them inward.

  “Do it!” the Pregethwr screamed. “Now!”

  The soldier applied his torch to the pyre, and instantly the flames sprang up, engulfing Brynmor. Horrified, Ailad watched as the flames enveloped his uncle. Aunt Tegwyn still stood like a statue, her eyes closed.

  Suddenly, there was a flash and a thunderous roar from the execution pyre. For the briefest of instants, Ailad saw a brilliant column of light appear around the burning stake, extending high into the sky. Then Brynmor vanished. The execution stake fell over with a soft whoomph, and the flames slowly subsided.

  Aunt Tegwyn opened her eyes, smiled at Ailad and said, “Tha’ cannot kill a seer, my boy.”

  Chapter 15

  When Brynmor vanished, pandemonium broke out. The Bœnder’s guards closed ranks around him and quickly escorted him to safety. The infuriated townspeople broke through the cordon of soldiers and rushed the Pregethwr, who made a dash for his church. They caught up with him just outside the church doors and seized him by his arms and legs. Then they carried him toward the still-burning funeral pyre, crying,

  “Murderer!”

  “Spawn of Shaitan!”

  “Butcher!”

  The soldiers on the rooftops opened fire with their matchlocks, adding their roar to the pandemonium. Several people around Ailad and Tegwyn screamed and fell to the ground, wounded.

  Pregethwr Iefan thrashed about and screamed at the mob to release him. His captors carried him as near to the flaming inferno as they could, and paused.

  “Hide thine eyes!” Tegwyn cried to Ailad. They both turned away just as the mob heaved the hapless Pregethwr into the fire. They heard him scream once. Then the courtyard suddenly fell sile
nt, save for the crackling of the flames. Ailad turned back and saw the townspeople staring at the funeral pyre in glassy-eyed fascination. Then someone cried, “Let’s sack the church!”

  The mob roared their approval, and began stampeding towards the front door of the Caerwyn-Eglwys. Ailad and Tegwyn fought their way clear of the mob and stumbled down the street, away from the church.

  “What are they doing?” Ailad panted, looking back

  “Looting the Eglwys,” Tegwyn replied. “The Pregethwr, sure I be that he hath salted away a tidy sum from the tithes of his congregants.”

  Chapter 16

  Ailad and Tegwyn made their way home to the demolished printing shop. When they arrived, Tegwyn scanned the ruined first floor and staunchly declared, “Well, ‘tis not so bad after all… We can always rebuild, aye?”

  Ailad’s ears were still ringing, and his mind was spinning. The last thing on his mind was the ruined printing shop. “Modryb Tegwyn!” he cried, spreading his arms. “Thy hwsmona is dead, and all thy concern is this shop?”

  She motioned to him. “Dewch, Ailad.” Sit.

  They sat down together on the stairs, and Tegwyn put her arm around him. “How can I explain to thee,” she said. “Thy Uncle Brynmor, he is not dead. He is risen! As I said before, tha’ cannot kill a seer.”

  “A seer…” Ailad whispered, as comprehension slowly set in. His brow wrinkled, and he sat in thought for a time. My Uncle Brynmor was a seer? Which one? I should’ve paid more attention to those scriptures as I was printing them…

  “Who are you people?” he finally said.

  “That, I canna’ reveal just yet, Ailad,” she replied. “But ‘twill all be revealed to thee soon. Quite soon, now then.”

  Chapter 17

  The Caerwyn-Eglwys was taken over by a group of believers calling themselves the Diwygiedig, or “Reformers.” The old church council was abolished, and the Reformers gradually developed an informal seventh-day service, centered around the reading of the Norm—the entire Norm that is, including those parts that were formerly off limits.

  Ailad converted the old printing shop into a weaving mill for the use of his Aunt Tegwyn. Lleucu moved in and assisted Tegwyn at the loom each day. As time passed, life slowly returned to normal in Stroma.

  Ailad was reluctant to press his aunt on what had become of Uncle Brynmor, and she was not forthcoming. Ailad was left to wonder. My uncle was a seer… that explains the more-than-human things I saw him do from time to time—but who was he, really? Will I ever see him again?

  Six years later Ailad and Lleucu finally pledged their troth and were wed in the Caerwyn-Eglwys. By now, the Norm was the best-selling book on the continent of Melek, and all sorts of factions had split off from the Church of Cairwyn and formed their own congregations.

  Shortly after their wedding, Ailad took Lleucu with him to an open field outside of Stroma, near a fine stand of beech and oak trees. He gazed at the beautiful setting and declared, “Yes, it was right about here… This would be a fine place to build a cabin, would it not?”

  “But why here?” said Lleucu. “Why not closer to town, now then?”

  Ailad smiled. “Let’s just say… I be drawn to this place, my dear.”

  She hugged him. “Aye, ‘twill be splendid, Ailad. We shall raise a fine large brood of babanod in thy snug new cabin here.”

  Ailad went to work, and with some help from his friends in town, he soon had a spacious log cabin built on the site, with a half-story attic and three glass windows.

  When all was completed to his satisfaction, he brought Lleucu to the new cabin from the printing shop where they had been living with Aunt Tegwyn.

  “Now, close thine eyes,” he said as the wagon drew up near to the cabin. She played along as he helped her down from the wagon. “Look,” he said.

  Lleucu opened her eyes and gasped. “Oh, ‘tis beautiful, Pa!” she cried. “Mindest thou, that I call thee Pa? Thou knowest I be carrying our first babi, aye?”

  “No, I mind not at all,” he replied with a smile.

  Ailad was struck by the cabin’s remarkable resemblance to his parent’s cabin, but of course he could say nothing of that. He had planned it that way.

  He helped Lleucu unload their sparse furnishings from the wagon into the cabin: a bedframe, a small table and two chairs, and a cradle that Uncle Brynmor had made years before. Then he showed her the attic floor. As he opened the trap door and stuck his head up through the opening, a flood of memories came back to him. It was exactly like this, he thought. My last view of my old life, so long ago…

  A few months later they had their first son. As Ailad held him for the first time he said, “He shall be named Hywel.”

  “Why Hywel?” said Lleucu.

  “‘Tis an old family name,” Ailad replied.

  In quick succession, they were blessed with daughter Thoetha, sons Ailad, Clywed, and Gwilym; daughter Catrin and son Siarl, and daughter Llachar.

  Chapter 18

  As they approached their twentieth year on the property, Ailad looked back with satisfaction. His family was his life now, and he seldom gave thought to the life of his youth, so long ago.

  One evening, Pa took his well-worn copy of the Norm and opened it to a dog-eared page. He read a familiar verse:

  “A seer shall God raise up, who shall be a choice seer; him shall ye obey in all things; and he shall be called after the name of his father.”

  The family all knelt next to baby Llachar’s cradle, and Pa prayed. After the prayer and a hymn, everyone stood and hugged, said their goodnights, and the older children climbed the ladder to the loft above the main floor of the cabin. Ma dragged baby Llachar’s cradle over near the fireplace, next to their own bed.

  A few minutes later Pa called up to the attic. “Hywel, Ailad, boys! Time for bed!”

  Pa blew out the candle and settled into bed alongside Lleucu.

  Soon he noticed a light coming down through the trap door. He got up, crept to the foot of the ladder, and gazed upwards. Just then he saw young Ailad step into a column of light and disappear. Now I understand perfectly, he thought, smiling.

  The End

  Did you like this book? Please rate it or review it.

  Then check out Kurt Kammeyer’s other publications here:

  The Clan of the Stone series:

  The Clan of the Stone

  The Defender of God

  The Empress of Edom

  The President Elect series:

  Book One: Joseph Smith the Prophet

  Book Two: Joseph Smith the Candidate

  Book Three: General Joseph Smith

  The Last Stradivari (Short story)

  Bath-time Anomalies (Junk science at its best)