Pfinger and the End of Power

By John Margeryson Lord

In a previous book, BORK and the Stones of Power, the birth of the giant stone circle and the start of a static agricultural orientated society is described. In this, the old ways are defended against a destroying army from the north led by Bork, and it survived. In this tale, the stones, and the ancestors they may have represented, are blamed for the natural hardships of weather and poor crops being experienced by the clan. Their ring of giant stones are attacked, ultimately destroyed, and eventually abandoned, as family groups followed each other looking for a better way of life.
It had however performed its function for a good many generations.

The Story Singers first appear in Bork and are a pure invention. But something of the kind probably existed to carry news between relatively isolated groups.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Mar 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466916173

John Margeryson Lord

John Margeryson Lord is a qualified professional engineer, now happily retired and writing books and stories to keep the brain working.

Book preview

Contents

DEDICATION

ABOUT STONEHENGE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

DEDICATION

This story is dedicated to the builders of that unique and mysterious monument we know today as Stonehenge. Their dedication and drive persistent over many generations must have been indeed formidable, and we can only gaze at that which remains today with a mixture of awe and wonder.

ABOUT STONEHENGE

I have long had the opinion that Stonehenge was never an observatory of heavenly objects, nor a place of healing as has been recently suggested. It represented a place of permanence in a world dedicated until then to a roaming, hunting, and following the game based existence. It was, if you like, a place of government for the newly static way of life. More than this we may never know.

For whatever reason at some time it was abandoned, left to moulder into the ground, and this story is just one way it might have happened.

CHAPTER 1

glyph.tif AN UNFORTUNATE INCIDENT glyph.tif

He felt again the rage clutching at his insides. It had been like this for some considerable time. His burning hatred was not directed at the clan chief but at the real source of his anguish which was the monumental ring of massive upright stones that dwarfed the gathering of living huts which stood nearby. Ultimately it was not even the stones, but what they stood for and the blind control they had over the Clan Chief and members of The Clan.

The Clan was facing a devastating problem, the people were suffering, food was becoming scarce and of poor quality and a series of months of wet and cold weather had contributed significantly. Pfinger had long ago decided that their revered ancestors were to blame, and those stones were the means of contacting them. He was utterly convinced that their situation would only improve when the commanding stone circle had been destroyed, and with it the evil influence of the ancestors.

However, Sternn, the clan chief still held the balance of power and he was still supported in his reverence of the stones by most members of The Clan in spite of a growing faction who were becoming persuaded by Pfinger’s arguments.

The source of Pfinger’s attitude could be traced back to an early member of his family from whom he was a direct descendent. According to the history passed down by the Story Singers many years ago whilst the ring was still under construction this ancestor of Pfinger’s tried to destroy that which had already been achieved believing that their new ways were wrong, and the new agriculture was not the way forward, they should, he thought, go back to hunting for survival.

Bork it was who was killed before he could do any real harm to the half-built circle of stone. Pfinger now felt that destiny was offering him the opportunity to finish what Bork had begun. Now a new brand of dissent was growing, and Pfinger was its champion.

The atmosphere was such that it was generally felt that matters were coming to a head and the situation would be resolved one way or another.

It began without any significant warning, and suddenly and visciously.

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The pain from his thigh tore through his body and as he fell he almost lost consciousness.

He looked for but could not see the perpetrator who had chosen his position well, so that Sternn following the missiles trajectory was staring directly into the blinding rays of the mid-day’s summer sun. He prayed that there would not be second arrow against which he was now completely defenceless.

He could not even hide. Fortunately his involuntary cry when the thing struck him had been heard and his wife Wendle came running with several other women who quickly set about getting water, balm, and bandages.

When they saw what had caused his cry they were afraid that they themselves might prove to be an easy target and it took some persuasion on his woman’s part to get the others to stay and help. He closed his eyes and almost passed out again as they, albeit with great tenderness, removed the arrow head which had come adrift from its shaft. They managed to staunch the flow of blood, and wrapped tight bandages round his thigh. He was unable to stand but one of the women brought a pillow and he was able to sit up and take in what was happening.

In such a close community news travelled fast and there was soon quite a crowd gathered round to see what all the sudden frantic activity was about.

Fenge, a tall man with strong features, Sternn’s deputy and second in command, arrived and quickly took in the scene. He then turned to face the crowd and taking charge spoke with a voice loud enough to be heard by all present—

‘Who did this? He must be caught and punished, tell me who was it Sternn?’

‘I do not know,’ Sternn answered, ‘the sun was blinding me.’

Then after a short pause Fenge continued—‘Never mind—we will find him—we know who these disbelievers are.’

‘There now can’t you all see,’ a voice was raised in the in the crowd, ‘even the life giving sun itself is now the enemy of these ancestor worshipers.’

Then bitter words from another. ‘You got what you deserve ancient one, if it had been me firing the arrow I would not have missed. It would have been your miserable heart not your thigh, and you would by now have joined your beloved dead relatives.’

This triggered a rebuke from Fenge—‘It is the act of a weak person to attack someone who is defenceless. He must be brought before the council to answer for this crime, does anyone know who the owner of this arrow is?’ But in spite of the great respect in which Fenge was held—no one spoke.

The ring of giant stones which overshadowed the group was silent.

Into this quiet Fenge’s voice rang out harsh with pent up anger—

‘I will deal with the guilty would be murderer, he who did this, later. The ancestors will guide me, but we must first take care of the Chief.’

He addressed the women. ‘Carry him carefully to his house and tend to his wound.’

With this instruction Fenge reached out and took the arrow still dripping with Sternn’s blood from the woman who had removed it from the wound and still held it.

He waved the arrow in the air—‘This is my witness,’ he shouted. ‘I will, I swear by my ancestor’s bones, find he who’s weapon this is, and he will be punished.

We will drive him out of the Clan.’

This statement provoked a roar from the crowd but not all the voices were raised in approval.

At this the women with great care placed Sternn on the stretcher which was brought from the place where it always rested to be used in any emergency, and two men from the crowd volunteered to carry him from the scene.

The crowd gradually and noisily dispersed.

The stones became deserted.

They turned silent, grey, and blind faces to the centre of the circle.

But the incident was a catalyst for discussion and back amongst the dwellings the Clan’s people gathered in groups to debate the event.

In Sternn’s hut the Chief lay on his bed and the women who had cleaned and dressed his wound quietly left. Sternn’s wife held his hand and moistened his brow with cool water.

The chief considered the event, he knew that the pain he felt from the broken skin and shattered bone was as nothing compared to that which he felt from the fact that such a thing had happened. It was the first physically aggressive action to have taken place here where their ancestors had lived, died, been honoured by those who had since died and been honoured in their turn for several generations. Ever since the death of Bork there had been peace here where the tall stones stood in the grand double circle—a monument to all the Clan had achieved.

As he lay, Stern cast his mind over the long history of the place. The building of the grand stone circle, which according to the many visiting travellers, was the biggest and the grandest in the known world and was the culmination of the work of several generations of dedicated workers in stone. These determined men were fed and housed by a growing Clan which lived by the rich fields of grain and fruit which lay nearby. There could be no doubt it was an amazing achievement in which the whole Clan could take some credit.

It was many years ago that the first settlers arrived with the brand new skills of breaking the ground, planting seeds, and harvesting the good grain. These skills had almost replaced the alternative old time means of survival—hunting. They almost lost this new way of life when that now notorious leader of men, and Clan chief in his own right, called Bork, arrived from the north with an army and with the clear intent to wipe out the new way and restore the old. Bork’s attempt, the last fling of the old regime failed, and from then on the Clan grew strong and flourished.

That was then. The future looked settled and the ancestors looked well upon the

Clan. The construction of the grand stone circle to honour their ancestors was re-enforced by these successes.

And the place grew.

And continued to grow.

But some while ago things began to change.

The change was small to begin with, almost un-noticeable.

The story of these early difficulties was passed down to the more recent generations by the Story Singers. It should have been seen as a warning—but it was not understood.

Instead—they appealed to their ancestors to set things right.

And the decline got worse.

Now up until then, life was good. It was based on a simple process.

A handy strip of ground would be identified and claimed. The scrubby vegetation that hitherto had grown there was then burned off this patch of earth. Then, the now bare soil was broken using the new tools made of hard deer antler bone, and more recently diggers made of iron.

Then grain saved from the previous year’s crop was scattered on the broken earth and hoed in. The mild winters