by Troy A Hill
“This hill was probably an outpost at one time.” Bleddyn pointed to a patch of scrub. “Four centuries ago, at least. Maybe five or six. Roman from the looks of it. Cymry forts from that time were less linear.” I looked closer and saw a linear pile of stones, the remnants of a wall or a building.
“The legions were methodical in their approach to building,” I said. I wasn’t sure how much Rhian had told him of my age. Even without the others around, now wasn’t the time for me to give him a history lesson on Roman fortifications.
He cocked an eyebrow at us. The question of what we found was unspoken.
“Something disturbed The land. These were graves,” I volunteered.
“Each of those blighted ovals covers several graves,” Gwen added.
“Romans, even Centurions, were usually cremated,” I volunteered. “Burial would have only been if there were hostilities, and the legion didn’t want to take the time to gather wood, and perform full funerary rites.”
“These graves are old enough to have been during Budug’s rebellion against Rome.”
“Someone dug up four-hundred-year-old skeletons?” Bleddyn asked. “I didn’t notice signs of digging.”
“Their remains seem to have been pulled away underground,” Gwen said. She had to shut her eyes for a second. Her lips tightened with her struggle to control her tremors. But she did well. Bleddyn didn’t seem to notice her struggle. “Magic,” she added. “We have no idea where they went. But, they are gone.”
Bleddyn let out a long whistle.
“That’s two score, at least, from this one area.” He let his gaze drift out to the countryside. The beauty of Penllyn around us seemed to diminish with the thought something had ripped ancient dead from their graves under our feet.
“Why pull the bodies of warriors long dead?” He ran a finger across his upper lip. The hairs of his moustache cascaded across his knuckles as he stared off in thought. “We've had spirits attack our people. Could the bodies be made to walk and fight again?”
Gwen looked at me and swallowed hard. She was still fighting her fear, and the thought of the dead walking again didn’t help.
Bleddyn was still looking at me.
“I’ve heard of wizards who called the dead to walk again, but not for a very long time.” I searched my memories. “Some wizards of Gaul were rumoured to know such magic, and some from across the Mediterranean in the desert lands.”
I glanced at Gwen. Her eyes were closed, and she had her arms wrapped around her chest. I slid my arm around her waist in time to feel another shiver drift through her body.
“If that is the case,” Bleddyn said, still staring off into the distance, “we need to see if this is the only such area. Can you imagine how our guard will react if they see a force of ancient dead running at them?”
20
The Farm
“Notice anything odd?” Cadoc asked the next afternoon as we topped a rise. He had been out front with Rhys and Siors, our scouts. Ahead, in a quiet little valley, a lone farmhouse stood in between animal pens.
“No smoke,” Bleddyn said. He was riding with Gwen and I again. “Something feels off about this. Come, let us ride.”
Chickens pecked at the grass, and a few goats munched on grass and wildflower in a pasture at the back end of the farmstead. Birds sang in the few scattered trees. A small creek gurgled off to the other side of the valley. In between the creek and farmhouse, several small plots with crops had sprouted. A serene location in Penllyn. A perfect place to build a home, raise some livestock, and tend some crops. The only thing missing was the farm family of tenants that should be out tending their chores.
Gwen and I exchanged a glance. She pursed her lips.
“Can you sense anything?” she sent across our link.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the magical connection to the goddess. I pulled energy from it, and sent my mind out into the land, just as I had done the day before at the old Roman graveyard.
“Death,” I replied mentally. “Death has come and left its mark here. This time, though, I sense fear and violence.”
An undercurrent of nervous energy seemed to wash through our party. Creeping up on us like a river that keeps rising during a flood. Calm on first glance, but the surface covers over a torrent underneath. We were all gripping our weapons. My arm across my belly, with my fingers curled around Soul. Siors and Rhys clenched their bows, each with an arrow nocked. Gerallt clenched his spear with a white knuckled grip. His other hand held a small shield at the ready. Afon had drawn steel instead of the spear.
The round home was made of stone and timber with a thatch roof. The men all had a bow or spear in hand, ready for any attack by man or beast. Afon stepped into the house first, swept his glance around, then turned back toward Lord Penllyn and his son. The light-haired guard gave a shake of his head. His normal jovial manner was gone.
Bleddyn his sword bare in his hands, ducked under the door frame. His son followed him, but waved that Gwen and I should wait. After a moment, Cadoc emerged and shook his head.
“It’s safe,” he said with a grim shake of his head. “I didn’t want to see that. I’m not sure you do either.” He headed toward the animal shed off to the side of the main yard.
As I neared the house, I smelled blood. Old, dried blood. A few days at least.
“We need to see,” Gwen said. “I sense death here. Similar to the shepherd and flock we found the morning after you first awakened.”
“If the wolves were here,” I added, “Mother might catch the scent and tell us if it’s the same creature. She didn’t seem to believe it was a bear.” Gwen nodded. Perhaps if Ruadh were here? But, he’d be best alone. Shifters needed those three nights of the full moon away from others. Their tempers were beast like until the moon cycle passed. Tonight was the last night. Better leave him alone until tomorrow at the earliest.
Just inside the house, the body of man lay. The smell of blood was overwhelming. Stale. Probably two or three days old. Flies swarmed his body. Bite marks of other small vermin dotted his flesh. He had been here a while. Two days, maybe. Something had ripped his belly and neck wide open. His eyes stared lifeless at the stout cudgel of hickory that had fallen from his now open hand.
Beyond the dead farmer, two boys perhaps a dozen winters old at most, stared lifeless at the thatched roof. Their own throats and chests gashed. A belt knife, coated with his own blood, lay next to one of the lads. The carnage continued. The boys had died shielding a woman with the blood covered infant in her arms. A chill settled on me. The cold that gets into your bones and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. This was wanton slaughter. The woman’s husband and sons had died protecting her, as she tried to protect her babe. What kind of creature would do this?
“Have you ever heard of an ordinary doing this kind of damage?” I asked. Gwen shook her head.
“Perhaps one has the biting disease?” Bleddyn volunteered.
“Great,” I groaned. “A deranged animal out of its mind and frothing at the mouth.” But, if that was what we faced, I knew I had to be the one to take it down. Any of the others, normal human, would contract the disease. If such a beast had been infected, and killed these folks, they were best off dead. That disease wasn’t kind, but, it was always deadly. Since I was already dead, I should be immune. I hoped.
Gwen and I headed back out into the sun-drenched valley. The bright light did little to cheer us. Death was all around. Even outside. Over at the small animal shed, Cadoc knelt in the dirt by another body. Smaller. He made the sign of the cross over the deceased. Bleddyn stepped out of the house behind us and motioned toward the dead youth by the animal shed.
Cadoc’s face was hard. His expression cold, yet sad.
“The younger son,” he said, his voice hard. “The beast probably caught him unaware as he went out for his chores. A bucket of feed was spilled right by his head. No weapons about. Clawed, just like the o
thers.”
“Milord,” Rhys, called. “Riders approach.”
Gwen and I stayed near Bleddyn as Cadoc waved his two bowmen off to the side. Siors moved behind the small shed, Rhys to the backside of the house. Both had arrows knocked, and quivers with a dozen more hung from their belts. Gerallt with his spear in hand stood several paces in front Lord Penllyn. Afon and Cadoc both had naked swords in hand a pace behind and either side of Gerallt.
The horses, five in total, approached at a slow but steady walk. After several minutes my gut tightened, and my hand shifted across my belly to grab the hilt of Soul under my cloak. I must have hissed. Two men rode in the middle. One wore black leathers, the other black robes. The old one carried a staff topped with a symbol of iron nails twisted into a cross, wreathed with silver brambles.
“Oh, dear,” Gwen said.
Bleddyn shaded his eyes with his hand, then let out a slow whistle instead of a sigh.
“The Witch Hunters have returned. Cadoc, warn the archers,” he said. “We’ll be cautious, but firm.” Bleddyn glanced at me. His eyes lingered on my left side where my blade rode.
“Keep your cloak closed, and avoid contact with them,” he said. “Perhaps you and Gwen should wait in the shade of the shed, so there is less attention on you.”
“I could kill them now, and we wouldn’t have to worry about them,” I said. If they had condoned even half of Onion Breath’s actions against women, the world would be a better place without this Seeker and his minions.
“I’d like to avoid more deaths,” Bleddyn said. He wasn’t in a joking mood. I wasn’t sure I was either. “You are a friend of Penllyn and under my protection. But, I can only carry that so far with church matters. We don’t have the bishop here to intercede on our behalf.”
21
Guests
I kept glancing over my shoulder at the riders as Gwen and I moved toward the small shed. We sat on a bench around the corner and out of sight of the young boy’s body. The stench of death lingered here. The sound of flies buzzing around the corpse was a sad counterpoint to the sounds of the valley wildlife. A feeling of dread grabbed my stomach and spine. One twisted, and the other chilled as I watched them ride toward us.
Bechard the Seeker and his toady with the staff rode slowed but stayed in their saddles as they stopped in front of Bleddyn. Their silver pendants, as big my fist about their necks, seemed to glare at me, as if they were eyes seeing my true nature. We know what you really are… the pendants seemed to whisper. I swallowed and wanted to reach out to Gwen. But, any movement might divert their eyes to me.
“Milord Penllyn,” the Seeker said.
Cadoc returned from warning Siors and Rhys. His hand wasn’t on his sword hilt, but he stood with his feet apart and balanced. Ready to draw steel. I saw Emlyn’s influence in his stance and posture.
“Seeker Bechard,” Bleddyn replied. “What business brings you to Penllyn again?”
“Sad business, milord Penllyn,” he said. His gaze found Gwen and I off to the side of the main yard. I shifted my glance away, toward Bleddyn before I caught the seeker's eye.
Running around the hilltop at Caer Penllyn shoving my glowing cross into ghosts to dispatch them from the earth, and then giving that cross up the guilders so they could “examine” it was more attention from them than I needed. I didn’t want the Seeker to notice anything more about me. I wanted them gone. As far from me as possible.
I glanced back in time to see Bechard’s eyes slid off of us, as though we were of no concern to him.
“We have found a dead monk, half a day’s ride toward Mercia,” Bechard continued. “We gave him a proper burial.” His tone was sombre, yet hollow. As though he was the bearer of sad news that had no impact on him. “We believe it to be one of his grace’s monks. We thought we should bring the news to his grace.”
“What makes you suspect he was from Penllyn’s abbey?” Cadoc asked.
“His cross seemed to be of a style favoured by the monks there.” Bechard said. He held his hand out toward his assistant. The bald guilder reached into a pocket in his robe and pulled forth a carved wooden cross. Much like those that monks in Penllyn wore, and I now wore as a replacement to the one I had to give up to Bechard earlier. The cross he held out was carved in an intricate curved and pointed Celtic design. The dark stained wood seemed much like the ones Penllyn’s monks wore, but I was too far away to see much of the detail work in the carving.
“That might be,” Bleddyn said, and touched his son’s arm before Cadoc could speak.
“You have our sympathy for the loss, milord,” Bechard said, his tone devoid of emotion.
“How did he die?” Bleddyn asked.
Bechard smiled a thin little smile. He dismounted, then glanced at Gwen and me.
“Perhaps that tale is best out of earshot of the good sisters. It is not a pretty tale.”
Despite the scene of death about us, the guilder wasn’t where he would notice any carnage. So, saving Gwen’s and my ears from such a tale didn’t seem as frivolous to him as to me. But, a dead monk, somewhere in the borderlands, and details too grizzly to share with women? It had to be the same beast. I hated to think there were several.
But, it could also have been brigands. I’d already dealt with several bands on my travels in Britannia. I stared after the Seeker, dreading the news I suspected was coming. Cadoc drifted back and spoke to Gerallt, and one of the Guilder guards. Both nodded and moved off toward the farmhouse. Cadoc waved Gwen and I over to him.
“Our men and the guilders will bury the dead before we move on,” Cadoc said.
“What news of the dead monk?” Gwen asked.
“Killed by some beast,” Cadoc said. “Clawed apart, throat ripped open while he slept near the road. The cross looks like one of Brother Iolo’s.”
“Was it his cross?” Gwen asked.
“We don’t know,” Cadoc said with a shake of his head. “Ruadh or uncle Heilyn might know. Seems like every monk Iolo ever met gets one of the crosses he carves.”
“Brother Iolo is an artist at heart,” Gwen explained. “He always takes materials to draw with when he travels. When he’s stuck in the monastery with his duties, he spends his free time carving. Once you meet him, he’ll probably start several projects just for you. I’ve never known him to not be working on something to give away.”
“Sounds like Penllyn has an interesting collection of monks,” I grinned. But my eyes shifted toward the door where the men carried a blanket wrapped corpse through the doorway.
“The guilders insist the borderlands are not the place for women,” Cadoc added. “They insisted that we send you two back to the cantref under their protection.”
Crap! My urge to run crept up my spine again. I must have frowned. Cadoc gave me a smile that helped calm the worst of the dread.
“Father told them in no uncertain terms he would not send women back with them. He pointed out we had two archers and four bladesmen with both spear and sword. They had only a few guards with them.” Cadoc winked at me. “Father left his other assets unmentioned.” Cadoc’s eyes drifted to my side, where my cloak covered Soul.
Some of my tension ebbed. Bleddyn said he’d have my back. He was living up to his promise.
“The guilders said they had found tracks of a great bear near the monk’s body. They sent the rest of their party to track it. The leader, Beck…”
“Bechard,” I added. That was a name I’d not forget. Anyone who put a price on my head and will send men to torture me because they didn’t like my diet was someone I would remember for a very long time.
“Bechard said their hunting party was a score strong. He suspects they'll catch the beast today or tomorrow at the latest.”
“Well, they’re good for something,” I sent to Gwen. Cadoc wasn’t aware of my nature, and I doubted he knew much about Gwen’s. “Killing diseased and mad animals may be a good use for them before we find a reason for Bleddyn to kick them out of Penllyn.”
> “What can we do to help?” Gwen asked the young lord.
“The men will remove the bodies out of the house, and dig the graves,” he said. “Perhaps if work on a meal for this evening. The guilders will camp here tonight.”
I stifled a groan. Crap. An entire night with the guild right next to me.
“Why here?” leaked out of my mouth.
“Father couldn’t refuse the offer for help,” Cadoc said. “They appear to be of good intentions. Three more strong backs on the shovel will be a great help.”
“Three? Huh?” I glanced over to where our men had laid out the shovels they found in the farm shed. Bleddyn already had his tunic off and was driving the blade into the soil. The Seeker stood with arms crossed over his leather tunic, next to another shovel. “Oh, some are too high of station to know which end of the pick goes into the dirt.”
“You’ll not find that in Penllyn, milady.” He swept his arm in a wide flourish. “I’ll lay a fire before I go help dig. If we get the blood and mess cleared, you two ladies can have privacy there tonight.”
Gwen nodded. “We’ll make the best of it, and keep ourselves out of their sight,” she sent to me. “If Bleddyn pushes too hard to make them leave tonight, that may draw their attention toward Penllyn, and at us.”
Bleddyn and Cadoc both took turns with the shovels while Gwen and I worked to get a meal started, and clean the signs of death from the farmhouse. Neither the seeker nor his servant, however, lifted a tool or help with any other preparation. Instead they sat in the shade and watched everyone else work.
As the day wore on, I was reminded that any cooking skills I once had, were gone. Centuries of not eating had driven the training from me. I did remember how to boil water. I set to scrubbing the kettles and pots that the men brought out from the blood drenched farmhouse. I made many trips out to the small creek and pulled a bucket after bucket of water from it. I was careful to keep Soul hidden under my cloak and tried to keep its silhouette from showing through the cloth.
