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The Hypogeum Ch. 04-05 free porn video
CHAPTER FOUR
‘You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.’ – Matthew 5:4
Alma wandered between the trees, she was in the midst of a huge forest. Tired, footsore and hungry, she walked. Not knowing where to go or even why she was going there. All she knew was that she had lost something and needed to find it again. Not only that, but every few steps she felt a sharp stabbing pain in her belly.
Stepping out into a clearing, she spied a man standing with his back to her. She approached him warily and asked, ‘Where am I?’
The man continued to face away from her, but replied, ‘You are where you belong, on the road to death.’
Alma winced as yet another dart of pain shot through her stomach and his words chilled her, ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean what I say. You are travelling toward your death, as are we all. Life is but a march through misery and pain until we meet the inevitable end.’
Alma moved around to stand in front of him, she looked into his face, but it seemed to be wreathed in shadow even though the sun was high in the sky.
She said, ‘There must be more to it than that. What about love, hope, happiness?’
‘What about them?’
‘Aren’t they a part of life as well?’
There was a chuckle as the man replied, ‘You speak of these transient things as though they are important. Trust me, they are not,’ he paused briefly and then spat, ‘Misery, pain and death are all you should consider, because they are all you deserve!’
Alma took a step back at the change in his voice. She felt that she should recognise it, although she could not remember whom it had belonged to, she was sure that she never heard it with such a cruel tone before. A single tear came unbidden to her eye as she asked him, ‘Why? Why do you say that?’
The man’s voice took on a mocking quality, ‘Because you are weak, worthless and a murderer!’ Alma could only stand silent in the face of this accusation.
She didn’t know where she was, where she was going or even what she was looking for. All she knew was her own name and that she had lost something.’
The man continued harshly, ‘You are looking for something. But you’ll never find it, because it’s gone. Gone forever and its all your fault!’
Almost screaming, Alma responded, ‘What’s gone? Tell me, what have I lost?’
‘Ha ha ha! Everything!’
Confused and afraid, Alma fell to the ground sobbing, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks. She couldn’t understand why this stranger was saying these things to her and the pain in her stomach was now constant and brutal, like a sword being rammed into her abdomen again and again and again.
A soft breeze picked up, warm when it should have been cool and she dimly made out a whisper of soft voices. Her sobbing died down as they washed over her. ‘The trees say no, Lady.’
She raised her head and looked around her, through bleary eyes she could see that the strange man had gone.
Alma wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffled once or twice. Already she could feel the despair leaving her to be replaced with something else, something warm, something comforting.
Again she heard the voices in the wind, ‘The trees say no, Lady. You are burdened with pain that is not truly yours. Let it go. The trees say no… The Elm and the Oak and the Yew say no…’
Alma woke up with a start and sat up. She found herself sat in the shade of a large Oak tree. She looked down at the shirt she was wearing, it was one of Jonathon’s and her legs were covered in a thick woollen blanket.
A few feet away, a small fire was gently heating a billycan full of water and on the other side of the fire sat two rucksacks, one of which had a blanket similar to her own, rolled up and secured in place by two leather straps.
A movement to her left caught Alma’s eye and she turned to see Ranulf step into view from behind a Birch tree, he saw she was awake and smiled as he approached. He was carrying some small pieces of wood, which he dropped next to the rucksacks before coming to stand nearer the fire.
He was no longer dressed in the council coveralls and donkey jacket that she had last seen him in. Now he was dressed in green corduroy trousers, a white shirt and rough leather waistcoat and on his feet, he wore a pair of sturdy hiking boots.
‘I see you’re awake, Lady. The waters boils ready for tea if you’d like some.’
The loss of her husband and unborn child, the dreams, the pain in her stomach that wouldn’t go away even though the doctors could find no physical reason for it, the attack, the sight of her would-be rapist having his neck broken in front of her and now this!
Waking up in the middle of a strange forest with a stranger was too much for Alma.
She burst into tears, curled into a ball and hid her face in her hands as she sobbed. Ranulf squatted down next to her and tried to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off and continued to cry her heart out. Impotently, Ranulf could only stare at this lovely young woman as she succumbed to the despair that was threatening her health, sanity and even her life. He knew to his cost what despair was capable of.
He tried again to touch her shoulder as the sobs racked Alma’s body, ‘Please Lady. Take heart, I know you’ve suffered. Much more than anyone should, but please Lady, take heart.’
Silently cursing himself, Ranulf retreated from where Alma lay and sat down next to the packs. If only Taika were here, she would know what to do. As this thought crossed his mind, Ranulf once again wondered why his travelstone had brought them here instead of straight to Taika’s house. He knew the Forest like the back of his hand and he considered that they were several days walk from Taika.
He reached into his pack for a mug and some Camellia leaves which he crumbled into the mug before using it to scoop some of the boiling water from the billycan. Then he waited and watched over Alma. It took quite some time for Alma to calm down.
Her stomach was still cramping, but had settled back into a dull ache rather than the intense stabbing sensation, also in addition to the grief that filled her heart, she now felt embarrassed as she realised that she had made something of a spectacle of herself in front of this stranger.
Self-consciously, she uncurled from a ball and sat up, she drew her knees up to her chest and held her knees in her arms. Looking down towards the fire, she murmured, ‘I’m sorry.’
Ranulf took a sip of Camellia and asked, ‘What for, Lady?’
‘For making such a scene.’
He waved away her apology and answered, ‘Nothing to be ashamed of or sorry about. I know many men who would cry like a baby for having had half your woes.’
Alma glanced up at his open, honest face and gave a half smile, ‘I wouldn’t know about that. But I’m still sorry you had to listen to me.’
Ranulf smiled in return, ‘Lady, I can think of few places I would rather be than with you and many more where I would definitely not.’
Unsure quite how to take his words, Alma decided to ignore them. She glanced around the clearing and asked, ‘Where are we?’
‘This is the Forest, Lady.’
‘Which forest?’
‘The Forest.’
Alma raised an eyebrow, ‘What do you mean?’
There was a long pause before he sighed and replied, ‘Lady… I don’t have the words for the explanations you want. Best to wait until Taika can speak to you.’
Alma jumped slightly at the mention of the name, she knew it from somewhere… It was the old woman in her dream. She was called Taika.
Ranulf did not notice her reaction to the name and continued speaking, ‘All I can say, Lady is that this is a very special place. A place of peace and safety,’ he frowned, ‘Actually I thought to
bring you straight to Taika, but for some reason the travelstone brought us here, some days walk from her house.’
He took another sip of Camellia, ‘Still, I’m not the one to question the wisdom of the Trees. If they brought us here then I’m sure they had good reason. Would you like a mug of tea now?’
Alma nodded absently and accepted a mug, but her thoughts were elsewhere, Trees having wisdom? People from my dreams? Am I going mad? She was distracted by a twinge of pain in her stomach and she rubbed it absently with an open hand. Then she took a sip of the Camellia and a startled expression crossed her face, it was just as delicious as it had been in her dream… If it really had been a dream. Greedily, she drank the Camellia as quickly as its temperature would allow.
Once it was finished, Ranulf stowed her mug away in one of the backpacks. He helped her to stand and then said, ‘Lady, you might want to think about changing for the journey.’
She looked down at herself and was forced to agree with him. She wore only the shirt that had belonged to her husband and nothing else. She looked back up to see that Ranulf had pulled some items from the pack and handed them to her before turning around to face in the opposite direction so she could change with a modicum of privacy.
Alma quickly shrugged off her shirt, feeling a little uncomfortable to be naked in the presence of someone other than Jonathon, so she rapidly dressed in the clothing that he had given to her. A pair of dark blue, utilitarian panties, thin cotton socks, a pair of green corduroy trousers that matched those worn by Ranulf and a white smock blouse. ‘It’s okay, you can turn around now.’
Ranulf turned to face Alma and smiled, then he reached once more into the pack and produced a pair of hiking boots in Alma’s size and passed them to her. Whilst she sat down and laced the boots up, he made himself busy tidying up their temporary campsite.
He banked the fire, poured the unused water from the billycan away and wrapped it in a grey cloth. Although the billycan was far too hot to touch with bare hands, he had no difficulty with it once it was wrapped and it went into his pack.
Ranulf stowed Alma’s blanket in the same way that his, then said, ‘Well, if you’re ready, we can make tracks.’
He picked up the backpacks and handed the smaller one to Alma, before shouldering his own.
As Alma jostled the pack into a comfortable position, Ranulf pointed along a track led meandered through the trees to the east, ‘we’re heading this way,’ and set off at a gentle stroll.
After a couple of hours, Alma was beginning to feel the strain. The pack she carried, although much lighter than Ranulf’s, was starting to feel heavier and heavier on her back and she could feel a bead of sweat roll from her neck, between her shoulder blades and down her back.
She stopped to glance up through the broad green leaves at the blue sky above where the sun was beginning to dip towards the west. ‘That’s it,’ she gasped and shrugged off her burden and dropped it on the floor, ‘I need a rest.’
Kicking the pack to one side, Alma sat down in the shade of a wide oak tree and wiped the light sheen of sweat from her forehead. Aching muscles creaked and complained when she stretched her legs out in front of her.
This was their first break as lunch had been taken on the march, some small snacks and a piece of Kendall mint cake, washed down with a couple of gulps of water from Ranulf’s canteen
Ranulf asked, ‘The pace isn’t too fast, is it?’ even though he considered their walk a gentle stroll.
A deep breath and a glance at her watch, which appeared to be broken as the second hand ticked forward once and then back again, staying between the ten and eleven on the watch face. She answered, ‘No. I’m just not used to all this walking. Besides, it must be close to dinner time.’
He grinned and agreed. Dropping his pack next to Alma’s, he reached inside for a couple of tins. Baked beans and hotdog sausages were poured into his billycan and placed over a small fire that he built expertly and quickly.
As Alma smelled the aroma of the simple meal cooking, her mouth watered and she looked all around. Trees of every type stretched off in all directions, but even though the forest was quite dense, the atmosphere was still light and airy.
A gentle breeze picked up and she enjoyed the cooling sensation on her sweat-dampened skin. The cry of an unknown bird occasionally broke the silence and her eye caught the quick movement on the branch above her, which turned out to be a small red squirrel. Alma considered that it seemed to be quite confident, even with her and Ranulf so close.
She pondered, ‘I think…’
Ranulf stirred the food and answered, ‘What?’
‘I think… This is a very special place.’
He did not answer, but his eyes glittered as he turned his attention back to the beans and sausages. Alma had noticed how the light had caught his dark eyes and she was surprised at the thought of how handsome he was, especially when he wore a smile.
A stab of pain shot through her, Alma’s eyes shot wide open and she held her hands to her stomach.
Ranulf glanced up and he was concerned, ‘Are you okay?’
As the pain ebbed away, she said, ‘Fine, fine. Just a twinge, that’s all.’
He seemed unconvinced, but remained silent and went back to the food.
Inside, Alma was raging at herself. How could you! How could you even think about another man with Jonathon not gone even a few weeks. You bitch! You worthless bitch! Silently a tear made its way down her cheek.
A bowl of food appeared under her nose and she accepted it without a word.
Ranulf frowned, ‘Lady?’
Alma turned her head away, unable to face him as the recriminations continued inside her head. Ranulf bit back a swear word and retreated back to the fire. He sat down and began to eat the remainder of the food in the billycan, silently cursing himself with each mouthful.
He was a strong man, calm under pressure, able to react and make decisions that were normally the correct ones, at least he hoped so and he had stared death in the face. But now he felt helpless in the face of the torture that Alma was going through. All he was able to do was stay silent and let Alma work this out by herself.
Mechanically, he finished the food and then looked back at where Alma still hadn’t eaten. Gently he called, ‘Lady, you should eat something.’
Alma turned her red-rimmed eyes to the bowl she still carried and whispered, ‘Sorry. I’m not very hungry,’ and placed it on the ground next to her.
Ranulf sighed, ‘No problem, leave it there, you might be hungry later,’ he looked at the darkening sky and continued, ‘We may as well set up camp now, it’s getting late.’
He unpacked their blankets and built the fire up a little. Then he laid his own blanket nearest the track and handed the other to Alma, ‘Best get some sleep,’ he said, ‘We still have a way to go and you look like you could do with the rest.’
Alma tried to smile her thanks at Ranulf, but could not. The pain inside wouldn’t let her.
* * *
Sir Nigel Winthrop’s vintage Bentley pulled up outside the old farmhouse and he waited for his chauffeur to get to his door.
Once it had been opened, he eased himself from the seat and took a deep breath of the crisp air. ‘Wait here, Reece,’ were his only words to his driver before stalking across to the dry stone barn that stood near the farmhouse.
He knew the keeper of this property, whose family had owned it for as long as anyone could remember, just as he also knew that the family’s links to the area stretched back more than any genealogist could imagine. In fact, it was not commonly known that one of the family was responsible for the building of the castle at Old Sarum, now a ruin, but once the beating heart of a thriving commu
nity.
In fact, the original cathedral was once in the castle grounds until it was torn down and moved to where it now stood in Salisbury. The castle was now a tourist attraction with a visitor centre, several shops and a cafe, it was also a popular spot for locals to bring their dogs for walks in the grounds.
The history of the place was well documented, but it still had a secret. A dark and evil secret buried deep beneath the centre of the courtyard area.
It had a vaulted chamber, not accessible from the castle itself, but only along the dank underground passage, that started from the hidden trapdoor in the floor of the old barn, in the farm half a mile away. In the middle of the main room was a circular carving of a horror that haunted the dreams of man since before recorded history began.
Several other men, all from powerful families or important in the fields of finance and industry were already in the barn when Sir Nigel entered. He took his place in the line as they each made their way down the stone steps to the underground corridor and along to the robing room.
In the past, each would have needed a torch to see where he was going and to avoid the rats and their mess, but in the early 1950’s the then owner of the farm had installed electric lighting and Sir Nigel could see rat traps spaced evenly along the length of the corridor.
He regretted keeping his outer coat on as the warmth and closeness of the atmosphere was making him sweat. Soon, he joined the group of men in the robing room. A simple undecorated area that had a collection of brown robes hanging from iron hooks on the far wall. The north wall had an oak door set into it, banded with strips of ancient iron and a large metal handle. Next to the door was a wooden rack that held a number of finely decorated ceremonial daggers.
Once the men were robed, they each took a dagger from the rack and then made their way quietly through the door. They filed past the stone carving one at a time and as they came to it, each man pulled back the sleeve of the robe to expose a bare left forearm that was decorated with a network of scars, a quick slice with the dagger and then a clenched fist to make the blood run more quickly, they allowed the red fluid to pour over the carving. Then they each moved to their allotted space around the circle etched into the floor.
The men stood in silence as they watched the carving soak up their spilled blood and waited expectantly as a wailing began to fill the room, the sound that heralded the arrival of their leader, Baphomet.
The carving began to move, the carved tentacles writhed and grew and the obscene parody of a face grinned. Baphomet pulled himself up changing before his disciples’ eyes from stone to flesh until he stood before them naked and awash with their blood. He turned slowly on the spot until his eye fell upon the robed figure almost directly across from Sir Nigel, in deep growling tones he said, ‘Have you done as instructed?’
The man swallowed hard and then answered, ‘Yes Milord. I have used my influence with the council to ensure that Stonehenge will be closed to the public when we need it. As far as anyone will know, it will be closed for renovation.’
Baphomet nodded in satisfaction before spinning round to face Sir Nigel, who almost staggered as he felt the strength of will that was directed at him through Baphomet’s black, soulless eyes. ‘And you Winthrop? How does the DataVault project fare?’
If Sir Nigel felt any affront at being addressed by his last name, he hid it well, ‘It is ahead of schedule as I promised Milord. I have ensured that all but the Hypogeum routine are already in final testing and it is performing well.’
‘Why is the Hypogeum still not part of the machine’s mind?’
Sir Nigel knew that Baphomet was tied to the past and had difficulty understanding modern technology, even though from one perspective, he was its father. ‘We hit a number of small snags, but the team have ironed them out and it will be installed into the final program this week.’
Baphomet held Sir Nigel’s eye for a long second before he said, ‘Good.’
Virginia
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