Heads Will Roll and Other Pieces

By Rotorua Writers Group

Rotorua Writers Group entertains! Heads Will Roll is a wonderfully eclectic collection of stories - short and short-short - commentary, poems and memoir. Ranging around the universe, life, death and everything in between, this book startles with its sheer breadth of subject matter: a snake-filled cave, a magic bag, taste of asparagus, voodoo ghosts and so much more! There is whimsy, fantasy, humor, pathos. It is a book to dip into as a mood takes. Beware! You may find that once you start... you will be hooked!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rotorua Writers Group
• Release date: Jul 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9780473491963

Book preview

HEADS WILL ROLL

by Jim Rotherham

Slowly and with many setbacks the human race is moving away from the animal behaviour of our forebears towards a just global society.

We live at a time when there are still many countries in the world where most of the population live under miserable conditions while elite privileged minorities hold the power, own much of their nation’s wealth, and set the rules. Syria is a prime example. Regimes like Assad’s have to go to make way for progress towards a more just society.

Knowledge is power, and the availability of modern cheap communications systems that operate globally across national boundaries are making it difficult for despots and dictators to prevent their countrymen and women from obtaining knowledge. For the same reason it is becoming easier for oppressed people to tell their stories to the rest of the world.

Every nation, no matter how reclusive, needs trained people to operate its various technological systems. Training in other countries exposes those people to life in freer, better societies and makes them realise what they could have.

Inevitably, demands will be made for more freedom and better living conditions and if oppressive regimes refuse to budge, heads will roll.

FABLIAU

by Vicki Arnott

The discovery of the Fabliau had caused a sensation in the archaeological community. For Professor Madeleine Hewett (unkindly referred to as Mad Madeleine by a significant number of her peers) it represented vindication, after years of fossicking through dusty, crumbling parchments in the spooky basement storerooms of museums. Years of sorting and examining jumbled collections of broken pottery, odd-shaped pieces of metal, and strange, perplexing artefacts. Years of traipsing to far-flung corners of the globe, scratching through ancient ruins and following flimsy leads to gather evidence in support of her theory.

The Fabliau did exist, and in the end, they had found it in exactly the place she had told them it would be. It took some time for the scientists to figure out how to operate it. Once they finally switched it on and viewed its data recordings there could be no further doubt. All the unanswered questions, the wild theories and crazy notions, could finally be solved. Undeniable proof now existed. Ancient aliens had indeed visited and, long ago, colonised the planet. They had crossed the vast expanse of space, escaping from a dying world. The Fabliau had carried them here, from a planet called Earth.

THE BATTLE OF SATH

by Mollie Smith

The whine of arrows flying through the sky cuts into his ears, and Arzhon Frostsworn, first commander of the Frozen Wolf tribe, drops to his knees and covers himself with his wood and leather shield. Above him, the thunderous thunk of arrows bears down on him and his arm collapses, bringing the arrow tips which have managed to penetrate his shield close to his head. His muscles shake with the effort of not dropping his arm even further.

Five of his tribesmen lay dead next to him.

Off in the distance, a horn resounds on the plain. The Bear Children rush forward, their cries and howls drowned out by the cries and howls of his tribe. The ground rumbles and thunders with the heavy footfalls of thousands of men and horses rushing toward each other, clashing, slashing, cutting. Men scream and moan in agony. Some stumble only to fall down again when their legs don’t work.

Arzhon picks up his brother-in-law’s battle axe and cuts through them with the blade, shearing them off close to the shield. Tarith had been one of the ones next to him who died in the first volley, designed to diminish their numbers quickly. He does not need his axe any longer.

His sister will find another warrior to ally herself with.

Mourning will come later; he must fight, must survive this battle. His son needs proper instruction and it falls to Arzhon to teach him certain ways of moving, blocking, and hitting. The techniques passed from warrior to warrior, father to son, and brother to brother he needs to know when he leads the Frozen Wolf tribe to victory over the Bear Children tribe in the future.

A rider on a horse cuts down at his head and Arzhon ducks, bringing his shield up just in time to avoid his head being taken off. The horse slows and turns around. Valgerd, the rider and the Bear Children’s first commander, holds up a strip of leather which he recognises as coming from the shield of a Frozen Wolf tribe member, wipes it down the length of his sword, and throws it at Arzhon.

Late morning sunlight reflects on the tanned leather and on the thick globules of blood and thicker things. That blood is the blood of his friends and tribesmen. The men he has led into battle at the behest of the elders.

He advised against it, but they were determined to avenge the slight. Allies are now enemies. Sadness rips his chest open, but he keeps his eyes on Valgerd. The man is known to be cunning, ruthless, and surprising.

Around him, there’s no telling who is who. Men rush at each other, screaming, fighting, yelling, slashing, stabbing. Most fall where they stand. Others stagger and collapse over bodies. Only a few manage to scramble back to their feet for one last swing of their sword, to die in glory. The battle rages on. Sword clangs against sword and shield. A bow releases an arrow with a heavy twang. Bowels void onto the ground, and carrion eaters feast on the dead at the fringes of the plain.

Chaos, in all its glory, is everywhere.

Your friends, he taunts in a voice like gravel, are easy pickings.

You will come over here and say that, Valgerd.

Valgerd dismounts his horse and flings a heavy sword over his shoulder, the flat lying against his skin. It looks like it’d take two people to carry it, but Valgerd has always been a strong warrior. In another battle, he carried two men off the field at the same time.

A battle axe and his own sword, still in its sheath, will be enough of a match. He points the battle axe in challenge, and...

His back bends. A cold, hissing pain slices through his body.

No!

Arzhon looks down at the red sword coming out of his chest. Blood drips down the blade and runs backward, sliding down his chest to his stomach and onto his legs.

The battle axe tumbles out of his hand and clangs on the ground. Arzhon twists his body around.

Hallex, the Bear Children’s second commander, shrugs his shoulders, a smirk on his face.

The sword, which was in his periphery, disappears from his chest, and Arzhon falls to his knees. Pain, worse than he has ever known, pulses through him in large, black beats. He bites back a roar of anger and anguish.

Who will teach you now, my son? Who will raise you to be a man? Who will raise you and teach you to lead the tribe into battle? Who will teach you the art of fighting? How to move so your enemy is caught off-guard? How to hone your body to your advantage? You have seen seven summers. A child who will grow into a man without knowing--

Valgerd’s mouth drops open a moment before the top half of his body collapses to the ground. Two arrows zoom past Arzhon’s head, hitting their mark behind him.

Hallex’s body crumples.

Callan, Arzhon’s second commander and younger brother by two years, stands with Randwulf, one of the elder’s sons. It’s Randwulf’s first time in battle, a boy-man of sixteen, deadly with a bow and arrow from a young age.

Artax. His voice is barely a whisper.

I will teach him, brother. Callan says.

Dezra. She is with--

I will care for her and the child as my own.

He knows Callan will survive and return to take Dezra as his wife, as is an unmarried brother’s duty. Dezra will be in good hands. So will Artax, and his unborn.

Run with the wolf god, brother.

The sounds and smells of the battlefield dim bit by bit. He cannot feel his brother’s hands hold him, nor see the sadness in his eyes.

Nothingness envelops him.

There are so many things he wanted to say to his son.

NATIVITY

by Dolly Varden-Chambers

And Mary sang to her baby as she cradled him in her arms:

Oh, little one if you only knew

How much the world will ask of you,

How long it has needed someone to be

The guiding light for humanity.

We expected a King in glorious array,

When we heard that our Lord

Would be born this day,

I had no idea that the babe I bore

Would change the world for ever more.

If you'd known little one,

What your fate would be,

Would you still have been glad

To be born to me?

And I, as your Mother,

Will I survive

The pain in my heart whilst you're alive,

And suffer abuse and hurt and shame,

So that we poor mortals may live again?

Must my love be as great as yours, little one,

Now that God can proclaim you

His living son?

THE DETECTIVE

by Terry Newton

Characters:

Richard, the Earl of Warrenshire who inherited the title from his father;

His eldest son, Michael, a devious bastard, 20 years old, with a cruel nature;

Younger by three years, Paul, a twin, a decent, reasonable person, a rather artistic young man;

The other twin, Vanessa, seventeen years. A very quiet and rather beautiful young lady, extremely talented with animals;

A nurse;

A maid, Shirley;

A cook who is the wife of the groundsman;

A general Mr Fix-It called Robert, about fifty, who looks after the estate;

A house dog, a cocker spaniel called Rover;

A large black male cat called Tom;

A bastard brother called John, a detective, a year younger than the Earl. When John’s mother died in childbirth he was fathered and adopted by the last Earl at the insistence of his wife, who passed on 12 years later. The Earl followed six years after that.

Margaret, John’s wife

The Earl hugged his brother with genuine affection then kissed his sister-in-law, saying, Margaret, you are looking after him too well. He should be lean and mean like me.

Margaret smiled, saying, You work too hard, Richard, you should relax more and enjoy your family. Life is too short to have stress. It wears you down. I'm going up to have a shower and change. It has been a long trip down from London. I shall see you later.

Richard poured brandy into two glasses and handed one to John. Take a seat. How is the job? Are you still enjoying your work? Have you been promoted again?

Good, to the first question. Yes, to the other two; you probably will guess what they call me in the Department now.

Richard said, after thinking, The hound dog?

No, but close. They call me ‘Sherlock’. I had a bit of luck with my last three cases and it rubbed off. I’m Chief Detective and I’m in charge of the Department now.

I’m not surprised. You always were a very astute brother who seemed to see things sometimes before they happened.

And what about you, Richard? You do seem to be the worse for wear. I would guess family stress, perhaps?

Richard took a sip of brandy. You could be right, but everything will sort itself out. It always does.

John leaned back by the fire. Rover and Tom were curled up together so closely you couldn't put a cigarette paper between them.

I see those two don't have any problems, he laughed. I remember when Robert found Tom on the Estate and Vanessa adopted him. A starving kitten that trusted nobody, especially Rover - who didn't like cats.

John looked at the photo on the mantelpiece and took it down. It showed Vanessa sitting on the grass with Rover by her right leg and Tom at her left, her hand on each. It was magical, it was as if she could talk to them.

Richard smiled "It was magical, and it has never changed; I am sure she can communicate with animals. Even the deer eat out of her hand. With anyone else, they're gone.

How's the family?

They’re visiting friends. They’ll be back in time for dinner.

And Michael?

Richard sighed, "His behaviour is not acceptable! I have removed him as the main beneficiary of my will. He will get a pension on my death, but the Estate goes to my daughter and to Paul."

John put a hand on Richard’s shoulder. I'm sorry that you had to do something like that. I can see it has been very stressful for you.

Richard laughed, You must know something about stress with your two boys growing up in the city?

John agreed, Yes, but I think I've gone past that stage, now they're both going to university. Dennis will probably go into the Air Force and Larry will do something with computers, I think.

John stretched and emptied his glass, I’II head up to my room and freshen up; dinner will be at 6.30, I presume?

Yes, that’s correct; we must keep up the traditional values here. I will see you at dinner.

After climbing the impressive staircase John strolled down the hallway lined with the paraphernalia of the history of the Earls of Warrenshire. He stopped before an oil painting of the 1650 Earl. This one was well-known as the black sheep of the family. The peasants finally rebelled against his cruelty and callousness towards them, forcing him to flee to France. He died there five years later - perhaps he was murdered. No one knew. His younger brother took over the Estate and was known as a man of the people.

The artist of the time had captured the nature of the man perfectly in the oil painting. His eyes seem to dominate the whole scene. John glanced at the picture in passing and thought, I never did like you.

Dinner was as John remembered, a splendid meal and a happy affair. Vanessa and Paul returned home in time and were delighted to see their Uncle and his wife Margaret.

The maid, Shirley, bought the message to the Earl that Michael would not be home for dinner. After their meal they all retired to the large lounge and enjoyed each other's company until they retired for the night.

After breakfast Vanessa, with Tom, headed off onto the Estate with her sketching equipment, telling her father that she was going to sketch a fawn.

Her father remarked to his brother, She will succeed and sketch every detail. I have seen her sketching in the middle of a mob of deer that were grazing all around her. They were not worried in the least about her.

She is quite remarkable, said his brother. I’II go for a walk over the Estate. It is not often I visit the country and I intend to make the most of it.

Robert has put up quite a lot of bird boxes, including a couple of barn owl nesting boxes. Try not to disturb them as they are very sensitive, said the Earl.

Sure thing, replied John as he shrugged into a walking jacket, I’II be away about three hours. I’II head towards the lake and return around it.

The maid handed him a shoulder satchel with a flask of coffee and a pack of sandwiches inside. Nodding his thanks and stowing a small pair of binoculars in one of the large pockets, John set off.

Margaret remarked to Richard, John has been looking forward to doing this for months. The city is his life, but this is where he is happiest.

John had been walking for nearly an hour. He was heading for a position overlooking the lake that he remembered as a teenager. Ten minutes later he arrived, and it was as he remembered it, except there was a lot more bushy growth around the area. With the binoculars he could make out the mallard ducks and drakes around the lake, the odd moment of drama occurring when the dominant male chased off a hopeful suitor.

In the distance he could see Robert and Paul setting the eel traps before the breeding season. This was to give the young ducklings a good chance at life. The eels were predators and ducklings were an easy meal.

After half an hour, a sandwich and a cup of coffee, he slowly headed in a roundabout route back to the manor. Ahead of him he spotted movement on the flat. Carefully climbing the small spur, he stared in amazement. Down below, a mob of deer were grazing, hinds with fawns, and not 40 yards from him was Vanessa sketching a mother hind with her young, both within ten feet of her. The deer were totally ignoring her. In a tree above her sat Tom curled out on the branch, totally relaxed.

John smiled to himself. Involved as he was in the hypocrisy, lies and deceit of the city, this was a beautiful scene.

Suddenly the head of the dominant stag snapped upwards! The animals disappeared rapidly. Tom sat upright on the branch, intently focussing behind Vanessa. The figure appeared through the brush fifty yards from Vanessa. John focused his binoculars. It was Michael and he did not look happy. As John watched, he was suddenly struck by the similarities in the features between Michael and the black sheep of the family, the 16th century Earl that the peasants had rebelled against and driven out.

Vanessa folded up her sketches and turned as he got near; her voice carried clearly, Michael, you always spoil things; you could have waited until I had finished.

Michael did not speak until he was about five paces from her, his voice harsh and angry. I don't give a damn about your animals, you sneaky bitch! You have been sucking up to our father to cheat me out of my inheritance. His voice rose to a shriek, Well, you won't get away with it, I'll take it to every court in the land. By the time the lawyers are paid, there won't be anything left - so suck on that, bitch.

He advanced menacingly on Vanessa. John, watching, decided it was time he interfered; the girl could get hurt.