“Ready the archers,” Peter ordered. A soldier repeated the call from below. Men armed with bows and full quivers of arrows stepped upon the wall and prepared themselves for the order to engage.
The torches in the shrubbery continued to flicker. Alan watched them carefully. He wondered if the army outside the walls might have left the torches in their place as a distraction so the men could move to other vantage points of attack. He also entertained the thought that perhaps only a few men were out there and that the torches were merely an elaborate trick to give the impression that hundreds of soldiers surrounded them.
In any case, the fear tactic was working. The look on the men’s faces around him was enough proof of how afraid they were. He could only assume that the men and women below were feeling it too.
Suddenly, like an expanding wave, the lights were extinguished starting at the hill’s end and sweeping westward towards the forest. Where dots of light brought fear of numbers, darkness now presented the unknown.
“Now what?” Peter asked.
Alan shook his head, “I don’t know.”
Chapter Four
Alan shivered as he stood watch on the tower. He continued to scan the area to the north in both directions. The moonlight produced a soft, silver glow on the top of the trees in the grove, which seemed to ebb and sway as the gentle breeze from the mountains moved through the branches.
A flock of sheep had gathered near the wall below the tower and bleated periodically as they huddled together for warmth. It seemed that they had sensed the danger and had decided to move to what they considered safer territory near the village.
The men on the wall were set on edge. Fear had gripped their hearts shortly after the torchlights in the shrubbery had winked away, leaving only darkness and uncertainty. Questions and summations had made their way along the walls allowing the tension and dread to build as the night slowly drew on.
Who are they?
What do they want with us?
They are punishing us for taking the body in.
They are devils come to kill us all.
Both Alan and Peter attempted to calm the spirits of the men near them. The soldiers, archers and warriors listened and were able to control themselves for a time. But soon, that time would pass and more questions and summations would be made.
The reality was that both Alan and Peter felt afraid too. It had been some time, hours in fact, since the lights in the wood were seen. Alan longed to be with his wife and children and he knew his friend shared the desire to be with his own family also. A glance around at the faces of the men nearby, standing on the wall exhibited the same emotion. They all desired to be elsewhere.
Although they all wished to be with their wives and children, their fathers and mothers, the wall was where they remained.
They stood watch and waited.
And waited.
Young male serves dressed in armour would walk the wall delivering hot cider every hour. It was a welcome sight when a young man carrying steaming wine skins climbed the ladder and appeared on the viewing platform.
“Cider, my lords?”
The men took the wine skins gratefully and devoured the contents in a few gulps. The cider warmed Alan’s body from the inside out. It was a tremendous feeling.
“What hour is this?” he asked the serve as he handed the wine skin back.
“Fifth of the watch,” the young man answered. “Three more hours until dawn.”
“They’re not coming,” said one of the tower guards.
Alan moved his gaze from the soldier back towards the grove to the north.
“We stay on the wall tonight,” he instructed. “And then we stay on the wall every night if we have to.”
“Why don’t they just attack?” the soldier asked.
“Because they want you to be afraid,” Peter replied. “Are you afraid, boy?”
“I’m not afraid,” the soldier answered as he handed his wine skin back to the serve. “I’m not afraid of them,” he pointed towards the shrubbery outside of the village walls.
“Then you’re as stupid as you look,” Peter said. He polished off the cider in his wine skin and handed the empty vessel to the waiting serve. “I’m afraid. Anyone with any level of intelligence would be afraid.”
The serve disappeared down the ladder and returned to his duties.
The men on the tower stood silently as they watched the northern tree line for any sign of movement.
None came.
“Three more hours until dawn.” Alan repeated the serve’s words. “This is proving to be a very long night.”
The stars began to wink out one by one. The cold breeze from the mountains continued to push the clouds southwards as they donned linings of deep purple. Water fowl boisterously honked and splashed by the river’s edge as the sheep moved back into the pastureland.
Dawn had arrived, finally.
Alan’s eyes weighed heavily in their sockets. He had watched the grove all night, taking his gaze away from the area only when the serve had arrived with hot cider on the hour.
He turned his face towards the bleating sheep in the meadow. A low fog that smothered the ground like a chillingly grey blanket obscured them. The pointed roofs of a few farmers’ huts penetrated the mist here and there.
As the light of the sun gradually filled the sky, more of the area surrounding Woodmyst was revealed. The fog appeared to be moving through the grove and into the pastureland before flowing towards the river.
If the torchbearers from the night before were still amongst the trees, they now had something new to hide in.
The sky turned from purple to blue as more light filled the land. Alan scanned the terrain to the north and could still see nothing beyond the mist.
The sheep had moved on into the meadow and the cattle could be heard even farther away.
“I think they’ve gone,” Peter whispered.
“What makes you think that?” Alan asked.
“The flocks are moving.”
Both men had been thinking the same. Alan had noticed the sheep huddled by the wall during the night. Now they were out of view. Perhaps it was safe for the time being.
“Should we send men to investigate?” Peter queried.
“Let’s wait until the sun breaches the mountains,” Alan answered. “I would prefer more light before we venture in there.”
The fog crept between the trees creating confusing shadows. In his mind, Alan saw men moving where there were only trunks of pine and maple. He was tired and the brain was playing tricks.
“We should send people who have rested more than we,” Alan suggested.
Peter grunted his concurrence as he nodded.
“My lords,” a voice called from below.
Peter peered over the side of the tower. “What is it?”
“Chief Shelley has called for serves to take watch on the towers so that the men could receive rest,” a warrior called back.
“Well tell them to hurry up,” Peter responded.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good news,” Peter announced as he turned his attention to the others on the tower.
“We heard,” Alan said as he continued to watch the grove. Peter followed his gaze and stared blankly at the fog swimming between the trees.
“You think they are still there.”
“I don’t know,” Alan replied. “They could be sitting there just watching us. Waiting for the right time to pounce. Taking the men from the walls might provide them an opportunity to attack.”
“I think the night has been long, old friend,” Peter said, and smiled. “You’re starting to sound paranoid.”
“Perhaps,” Alan agreed. “If they are not there, then where did they go?”
“There are caves past the ridge.” Peter pointed beyond the grove to tough, rocky hills that stretched into the northern mountains. “Some are large enough to house horses and men. They could have moved there during the night.”
; “True,” replied Alan. “Let us hope that they have moved further north than the caves.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” Peter slapped his friend on the back. “They saw our walls and the men upon them and decided to go home.”
It was a small hope that the four men on the tower shared and their faith in it faltered as they continued to watch the north carefully before they were relieved of their duty.
Peter Fysher returned to his hut where his family awaited him. He undid his leather straps and leaned his sheathed sword against the wall before taking off his armour, draping the heavy clothing over a chair near the door. With a long breath of relief, he sat at the head of a table positioned in the centre of the main room.
His two girls, Agnes and Jane sat either side of him and watched him with worried faces. Martha, his wife, served up some stew from a pot on the stove into a bowl and placed it before him.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Tired,” he replied softly as he lifted a spoonful of stew. It was warm and tasted good. “What’s this?”
“Some of that fowl you killed the other day,” she answered. “It doesn’t stew very well.”
“Yes it does,” he said before shovelling another portion into his mouth.
Martha placed another bowl in front of Agnes who began to quickly devour the contents. Jane soon received her lot before her mother finally sat down to join the family. Both daughters ate furiously but Martha simply sat and stared silently at her bowl of steaming stew.
Peter discerned there was a problem and stopped eating. He watched from across the table for what seemed a long time. Both of girls eventually realised something was wrong and put their spoons down.
“What’s the matter?” Peter asked. Tears stained Martha’s cheeks and glistened in the firelight.
“I forgot to bake the bread,” she answered.
“It’s been a busy night,” Peter reassured her. “We can live without bread.”
“It’s not about the bread, Father,” Agnes interjected. For a ten-year-old, she had great perception. “She’s scared. We all are.”
“Hush,” Martha instructed her daughter.
“I will not, Mother,” she stood. “Why don’t you just tell him?”
“Agnes,” Martha thumped the table with the palm of her hand. Agnes compliantly sat back down and lowered her head.
“Tell me what?” Peter queried as he placed his spoon onto the table.
A long silence followed.
“Somebody please tell me something,” he said.
“Mother was crying,” Jane started. “She cried so much and she grabbed us and took us home during the night.”
“You didn’t stay in the Great Hall?”
“We stayed for a while, but then we came home,” Jane continued.
“Jane, enough,” Martha commanded.
“Let her speak,” Peter said. “Continue.”
“Mother took some of the meat from the Great Hall and we came back here to make a stew,” Jane finished.
Peter stared at his wife who returned his gaze with watery eyes.
“Why didn’t you stay in the Great Hall?” he asked her. “You would be safe there and well looked after.”
“I couldn’t just sit there and have serves looking after me,” she sobbed. “All I could think about was you. I couldn’t be there and do nothing.”
He understood. She was always someone who liked to keep busy. It allowed her to occupy her thoughts with other things instead of allowing worries to take control.
Peter lifted himself from his chair and slowly walked around the table to his wife. He bent low and kissed her on the forehead.
“I will be back upon the wall tonight,” he told her as he crouched beside her chair. “I want you to be in the Great Hall. I will talk to Barnard about placing you in the kitchen or anywhere you like. But I need you to stay there so that I don’t worry about you and these two ogres.” He glanced over to his daughters. They smiled back.
“Promise me you will stay there tonight.”
She nodded and leaned into him. He hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek.
Lawrence Verney tumbled on the grass with his children outside the eastern gates of Woodmyst. He held his son Lor in his right arm and his daughter Sevrina in his left as he rolled to his left and right. Both children laughed hysterically as their mother Elara sat on a blanket nearby watching and giggling at the frolicking. Some cattle had gathered to scrutinise the strange behaviour the humans displayed as they grazed upon the grass by the village wall.
“You’re attracting an audience,” Elara called over to her family.
“They’re just envious because they can’t do this,” Lawrence replied as he hoisted his daughter up to his bearded face. He placed his lips upon her cheek and blew as hard as he could. A long farting sound resonated across the pastureland followed by loud cackling from Sevrina as her father lowered her back to the ground.
“You left slime on my face,” she laughed as she wiped her hand across her face.
“And now for you,” Lawrence announced as he jogged towards his wife.
“Oh no you don’t,” she objected with a smile. She jumped to her feet and ran towards the wall. He was too quick and had her in his arms within a blink of an eye. He began to quickly peck her on the face, neck and head until she collapsed in a laughing fit.
The cattle retreated away from the humans as the children rushed over and tackled their father to the grass. He started tickling them furiously.
“They’ll wet themselves if you keep that up,” Elara said.
“You’re right,” Lawrence replied. He sat up and released his children who both groaned their disapproval of ending the game.
“Father,” Lor whined. “Please.”
“No,” he answered sternly. “Your mother is right. I’ve been tickling you for so long that it just isn’t right.”
They all looked at him confusedly.
“Why should you have all the fun,” he smiled, “while your mother needs tickling too?”
“No!” she shrieked. Suddenly Lawrence and the children were upon her like ravenous tickling wolves. Her laughter was mingled with intermitted screams the echoed across the open grassland.
The cattle continued chewing cud as they observed the conduct of the humans and how strange it was.
Chapter Five
Alan Warde stretched out upon his bed with his wife. She snuggled against him as Tomas and Linet slept in their own cots in adjacent rooms. An occasional snore made Catherine lightly shove her husband in order to silence the terrible noise.
She had found it quite amusing that such a small physical act on her part could result in quietening her husband. His breathing returned to normal and she tried to return to her sleep.
Small birds chattered outside the window and distant sounds of village folk moving about reached her ears. She focused upon the birds and controlled her breathing as she placed her head upon Alan’s chest.
His heart was strong, filling her senses with its constant rhythm.
She found her comfort zone again.
Her mind swam as her weariness swept over her like a gentle wave. Her thoughts blurred and interspersed with images of her children running and laughing upon the meadows during the height of spring.
Bright yellow daffodils and blue forget-me-nots peppered the open fields like colourful stars on a sea of green. Her children, like all children, pranced and ran through the pastureland for hours. Flocks of sheep would be chased but never caught as laughter filled the air.
Orchards on the southern side of the river would be in full bloom with red apples clinging to branches and ready for the picking. The pumpkin patches nearby would house large orange flowers and greyish green fruit lying on the ground.
The market would be active with happy faces as bartering and sharing of resources took place in the streets of Woodmyst. Horses were bridled and carts were filled with supplies so that trade could be made wit
h neighbouring villages.
These were happy times and their memories brought happiness and peace to her as she slipped deeper into sleep.
Her children leaped and laughed with other children through the flowers of the fields as she watched from the eastern gate. They looked over to her and waved to which she repeated the gesture in reply. Their smiling faces returned to their play as a sense of dread filled her.
Dark clouds blanketed the sky and flashes of lightning streaked across the air. Her heart sank as she watched the children stop in their tracks.
She called to them but no sound came.
Tomas turned away from her first and faced the hill at the end of the pastureland. He reached out his hand to his sister. Linet glanced towards her mother momentarily before taking her brother’s hand.
Catherine called to them as thunder roared from the heavens.
Linet turned her face towards the hill and joined her brother’s stare away from the village. Catherine moved her gaze across the meadow and saw all the other children doing the same.
They were facing away from Woodmyst.
They were staring at the hill.
None moved.
Not an inch.
She moved her eyes towards the hill to the lonely figure perched on top.
There stood a rider on horseback cloaked in long black coverings staring towards the village.
Staring towards her.
It raised a sword high above its head. The blade sparked and was suddenly alive with flame.
The sword was lowered towards the ground and the grass caught alight.
The fire swept towards the children like a rushing tide, engulfing everything in its path.
It swallowed daffodils, forget-me-nots, sheep, cattle, and farmhouses as it raced forward with a terrible booming.
Tongues of flame licked the staring children and melted their flesh from off their bones.
Catherine tried to scream but still no sound from her could be heard.
She suddenly found herself sitting up in bed, breathing hard and fast and covered in sweat. A deep feeling of dread filled her as her heart thumped fast and heavily in her ears.
The Walls of Woodmyst Page 4
