A Site for the World 1 - Writers Forum

SevenWaters · 05-24-2008, 03:36 AM

Hi!

This is the first part of a completed story I have been working on. Unfortunately the entire story is probably a bit long for one posting. However, I am hoping for critiques particularily with the dialogues.

Thanks!

A Site for the World part 1

In response to a semi-frantic summons of “incoming!” from one of the undergraduate students, Emily lifted her head from the carefully delineated meter squared plot that she had been working in. “Fucking Hell.” She took off towards the west, setting her course directly towards the pale, robed figures heading towards them. The New Agers were back and coming at the small team of archaeologists like twenty-odd portly, human cannonballs. Emily was amused to note that some of them were even trying to float ethereally while they jogged, as if their glistening red faces and ragged breathing weren’t already destroying any hope of an otherworldly appearance. When she reached the edge of the village site, she paused, muddy boot clad legs apart and hands on her hips to wait for them to come to her.

This was the third time that week that such so-called druids had decided to pop-in and offer their assistance in uncovering the graves of the “Ancestors,” Emily had yet to develop the nerve to ask them to write it out; the capital “A” just seemed implicit when they vocalized the word, and they did ad nauseum. In the past, Dr. Tennant had dealt with them. With his degrees, wild peppered hair, and ringing baritone voice, he soon squelched any arguments these people had presented. Of course, this was the first time that they had come in a group larger than two or three and Dr. Tennant had gone to meet with the press and other scholars in London and wasn’t expected to return until the following morning. This meant that she, a mere All But Dissertation doctoral candidate, was the highest-ranking member of the team. It was therefore her responsibility to carry on her own work on the site, to supervise her fellow students—both graduate and undergraduate—and, unfortunately, to deal with any errant people who “happened” to wander over. Emily wished that she could send the people at the main National Heritage Site visitors’ center a nasty letter, but knew that such an endeavor would be futile. They did what they could, but like any government-funded cultural resource site, they suffered from the dual evils of lack of funds and lack of staff.

The site was an exciting one; one to cause the soul of even the most withered, curmudgeonly denizen of the Ivory Tower to take a flight of fancy into the shrouded caverns of time. It was located a mere three miles east and slightly north of Stonehenge on the west bank of the river Avon. Excavations were still very much underway, but even at this early stage it was obvious that the foundations and structural remains were old, very old. In fact, if the preliminary radio-carbon dates taken from animal bones found within the same stratigraphic layer as the foundations were correct, these structures would be late Stone Age. The proximity to Stonehenge and the contemporaneous dates might even suggest that the people who had once dwelt within these small, stone structures were the mysterious builders of Stonehenge. The mere thought of such a site was enough to send any archaeologist or historian into paroxysms of lust; the actuality was a dream come true.

Unfortunately, it was also enough to “bring out the crazies”, as Eva, one of the undergraduates studying abroad from America was wont to say. Emily was not an insensitive person; she could understand how standing before the monoliths and lintels of Stonehenge could make one long for some sort of connection with these mysterious builders. Every night since she had first convinced Dr. Tennant to bring her along as his graduate teaching assistant that summer instead of making her finish her dissertation she had laid awake, stroking her cat and wondering about these mysterious people. Securely shrouded in her worn red flannel sheets, Emily imagined what their lives had been like. How had they organized their families, their villages? What had inspired them to undertake the phenomenal task of transporting tons of stone in from Wales and build such a monument? Did they even dream that it would last thousands of years after its real purpose had been forgotten?

Such fancies were, in truth, one of the reasons that she went into Archaeology against her parents’ wishes. Ever since she had stumbled across that wonderful book about the pyramids and mummies of ancient Egypt, the one that kindled the flames of curiosity within her small breast, she had known what she wanted to do. Her mom and dad had wanted her to be a doctor or a barrister or something a bit more practical and with a much higher income. The Ivory Tower was not known for its grandiose salaries or benefits packages. However, any empathy she may feel for these New Agers and their obsession with the site was destroyed by their sheer persistence, ignorance, and supercilious airs. Despite their claims, the real builders of Stonehenge had died before the Druid religion in its real form, the one practiced amid the primeval forests before the Romans even set foot on the island, had even begun to form their beliefs. They had no more right to be here than anyone else on the island.

Emily tightened her grip on the dirt-encased trowel. These people may be harmless, but the slight weight and the edges, well-sharpened to cut through weeds and move dirt in precise, even sweeps, were comforting in some oddly primal way. The New Agers were within hailing distance now. The leader, a balding man whose facial features evoked images of Britain’s Saxon past, despite the softening of layers of fat, staggered to a stop and smiled beatifically at her. Emily took the first shot.

“I’m afraid that I am going to have to ask you to leave. This is an archaeological dig funded by the National Heritage Foundation, the UNESCO World Heritage Project, and Manchester University. It is also, therefore, closed to the public until excavations are complete. At that time, I’m sure they will post brochures at the visitors’ center.”

The smile never left his face. “We are not the public. We are here to let you know that you are forgiven for disturbing the graves of our Ancestors.”

Emily blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“The graves, we have come to forgive the desecrations that you and yours have committed and to rebury the sacred remnants of our glorious Ancestors.”He whirled around to face his followers so quickly that Emily was afraid his voluminous robes would fly up and reveal more of him than her stomach could handle.

“We have brought everything that we need to complete the ceremony…”

Emily’s jaw dropped. He, and nearly all of his followers, began to pull oddly shaped bundles shrouded in gaily colored scarves out from under their robes. Emily stared around the motley bunch before her. All but the two youngest members—a tall familiar looking pale young man whose face was partly obscured by a fashionably coiffed swath of dark hair and a willowy fair girl with the vacant cornflower eyes of an addict—had begun to rummage through the assortment of packages before them. She had the sneaking suspicion that this line was an agreed upon cue, and, as the tall young man lifted his head and met her eyes with his own dark ones, she knew that she was right. She held his gaze for a second. Where did she know him from? A vague memory of polished wood and darkened windows lurked out from the depths of her mind before disappearing. Emily chose not to chase it.

“I’m sorry, but you need to leave. Now.”

“My dear girl, we have a ceremony to perform.”

“No, you don’t,” she snapped. Was that cherubic, graying grandma of a woman tying sage to the handle of a camp shovel? Emily couldn’t decide if tears or a chuckle was more in order.

“I’m afraid that you are trespassing. If you do not return to the appropriate tourist areas, we will be forced to phone the police.”

The leader laughed at her. It was a horrible, wet laugh and that damned smile was still smeared across his wide face. Emily couldn’t believe that cheeks that flabby could have the muscular fortitude to maintain that smarmy grin.

“Then we will have you arrested, my dear. It really isn’t very polite for you to dig up our Ancestors and then to deny us our right to be here.”

“Firstly, unless you have been illegally past the perimeter markings by Stonehenge, there is no possible way for you to know if any of our excavations contain burial sites. I know this because the press release detailing our findings doesn’t air for another two hours. Secondly, who the bloody hell are you anyway?”

“I, sweet girl, am Nigel. Leader of the Glorious Order of the New Druids of the Sacred Oak, and we have a right to be here.”

Emily held her ground. “G.O.N.D.S.O.? I would remember if someone had authorized a group with such a…charming acronym.”

“Ah, you mock us. Do you believe in anything besides that perfectly filthy little shovel of yours?”

Emily took a step forward. Her hand was going numb from the force of her grip on the trowel. She sure as hell was not discussing religion with this nutter. The man was still smiling that horrible, beatific smile. Nothing that she said was getting through to him. A voice came from behind her, and a large, dirt encrusted hand curled around her shoulder.

“Well, Nigel, that, as it happens, is not a shovel. It is a Marshalltown trowel, preferred tool of archaeologists near and sundry.” It was Paul, the other lead graduate student on the site. Emily forcibly loosened her grip on the trowel.

“My mistake. Now if you could point us in the appropriate direction…?”

“That’s quite alright. It’s a common mistake.” Her temper restrained, Emily was back in form. “Oh, and unless you can produce a permit from the National Heritage Foundation detailing the parameters of your ceremony and verifying your right to be here, you need to leave.”

Emily looked behind her to see Eva shaking the radio that connected the Durrington Walls archaeological site with the main office at the visitor’s center. She nodded.

“Eva, if you please. Ask for John with security. Tell him to ring the police and alert them to an antagonistic mob of trespassers.”

Eva nodded and retreated to the top of a hummock for a clearer signal. Paul was eyeing the granny with the shovel.

“Tell John that these people are armed,” he said. Eva absently waved agreement back at him.
Emily turned back to Nigel with a smile of her own. His followers were staring at him with trepidation in their faces. All except for the dark young man; his eyes were locked on hers. Was that a glimmer of amusement in his saturnine gaze? She blinked, and he was staring at Nigel with the same look of pouting outrage that his older companions wore. Emily shook her head.

“Now, let us not be so hasty.” Nigel mopped his brow with the sleeve of his robe.

“Oh, are you leaving?” Emily chirped sweetly. She could just see the security jeep speeding towards them from the main building.

“For the moment. The, er, signs are no longer auspicious. However, when they are we shall return.”

“Bring a permit and we’ll chat.” She called to their retreating backs. They were attempting to move even faster this time, all pretenses of ethereal gliding forgotten in the haste of their retreat. Emily, Paul, and the rest of the field crew watched as the jeep veered to intersect the fleeing New Agers. It skidded to a halt, and the gangly figures of John and his assistant Marc sprang out. Emily watched with amusement as Nigel flailed and gesticulated with the force of his argument. John was clearly unimpressed. He then made a shooing gesture with his hands herding the motley assortment of robe-clad figures towards the exit before climbing in the jeep and following them at a creeping pace. Emily watched until they were gone, out of site before turning to her group.

“Right then, we have an hour until it’s time to pack it in. Let’s get back to work.”

A couple of muted groans met this pronouncement. Emily could sympathize; it was hard to get back to the meticulous labor of archaeology after such an entertaining spectacle.

phurst · 05-24-2008, 01:49 PM

In response to a semi-frantic summons of “incoming!” from one of the undergraduate students, Emily lifted her head from the carefully delineated meter squared plot (not knowing till later that they were excavating, this line threw me)that she had been working in. “Fucking Hell.” She took off towards the west, setting her course directly towards the pale, robed figures heading towards them. The New Agers were back and coming at the small team of archaeologists like twenty-odd portly, human cannonballs. Emily was amused to note that some of them were even trying to float ethereally (this part doesn't seem right. They were trying? How. It's not possible and when I read it I thought I was getting into some type of bumbling ghost story.)while they jogged, as if their glistening red faces and ragged breathing weren’t already destroying any hope of an otherworldly appearance. When she reached the edge of the village site, she paused, muddy boot clad legs apart and hands on her hips to wait for them to come to her.

Other than the above, I thought is was well done and the dialogue read fine to me. The leader of the new agers could be brought out more. Nice work. Easy read.