Scholarly Executions

He came out of the tree clearing and very carefully, and he hoped noiselessly, walked in a crouch toward the ditch area abutted by the wheelbarrow.  The hammering continued.  The wheelbarrow was half-filled with a whitened powder, and the occasional rock or shell.  He looked down the gradual slope of the ditch and was struck by how deep it was.  He estimated about seven feet.  The hammering noise continued as Cal wavered on what to do next.  Probably, since he had put so much effort into this, he should work his way over toward the center of the trench where there was an opening where he could make a clean observation before he got the hell out of there.  Cautiously, while turning around and looking back at the cabin, he ventured toward the trench opening.  As he did so, he began to hear the very slightest sound of a murmur, no – a chant – a melodically deep and mournful sound, only really discernible when he was within three feet of the opening.  When Cal looked into the opening, he felt his legs go leaden.  Down in the trench was kneeling a figure dressed in a long orange robe with a cowl covering his head.  He heard now clearly; it was a low chant coming from him.  He saw the hammer, beating itself onto some white object, and with every blow of the hammer on the object he could see the sleeve of the orange robe moving up and down on the bare arm.  He moved ever so slightly to see just what this robed figure was pounding.  He knew enough about anatomy – the skeletal remains of an arm was being hammered into tiny parts.  The figure was ringing blows down on the fingers which were separating into smaller and smaller pieces.