by Paul Lewis
That was when he stumbled across the graveyard.
At first he did not recognise it for what it was. In the glimmering light it resembled nothing more than an uneven common, that had perhaps been worked for crops in the past, but had since been left to grow over until brambles and weeds had choked the life out of it. Yet as he closed in on it he saw otherwise. The grassy mounds of the graves, four dozen or so at a rough count, were laid so close together they almost touched. A stone had been placed at the head of each grave; they were inscribed, but Dodinal had no intention of lingering to read them. They were weathered, some more than others, but even the most recent must have been put there a generation or two ago.
It was a dead village in more ways than one.
Almost dead, he thought, eyes flicking towards the fires.
Blowing air from between his lips, he turned away and resumed the search, relieved to be putting the graveyard behind him.
Only a few huts remained. He hurried past two that were obviously dilapidated, before he came to a third that was more or less intact. His stride became measured and cautious and he held his sword at the ready as he approached in absolute silence.
He was close enough now to see a soft amber glow spill out from under the door. Amidst the flames that burned around the village he had not noticed it before. For the same reason, he had neither seen nor smelled the smoke rising from the hole in the thatched roof. Questions jostled in his mind, but he silenced them at a stroke. It would not be long before he had all the answers he needed.
Dodinal crept up to the door and stood with one ear pressed to the wood, but heard nothing from within save the muted crackle of a fire, like hundreds of tiny bones snapping. He waited, but still nothing. He sighed. There was nothing else for it. Reaching down with his free hand, he took hold of the latch and eased it up, then pulled the door open hard enough that it smacked against the outside wall. Even before the thudding crash had done reverberating around the dead village, he was inside, sword clasped two-handed.
There was a man sitting on the floor by the fire, or rather, there had been right up until the moment that Dodinal flung the door open. As the knight filled the open doorway, the man let out a piercing shriek and leapt to his feet, only to get tangled in the moth-eaten cloak he had draped around his shoulders. The fire danced hectically and the man, arms flailing, let out another yell as he lost his balance and landed heavily on his arse, recovering quickly to scurry backwards away from Dodinal, his eyes bulging with fear.
The knight sheathed his sword and stood by the door with his palms raised, showing he intended no harm. The man cowered against the far wall, shaking like a beaten dog. He was older than any man Dodinal had ever seen. His body, clearly visible through the tattered rags that passed for clothing, was thin to the point of skeletal, and the hair on his head was sparse and a lacklustre grey. His mouth was parted in a grimace of fear, revealing blood-red and largely toothless gums.
“It’s all right,” Dodinal assured. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The man said nothing. His chest was heaving and his breath came in gasps.
“I swear, you have nothing to be afraid of. I am a traveller. I saw the fires and came here in the hope of finding shelter for the night.”
The man licked his lips and swallowed loudly. “Traveller?” He frowned, as if unused to hearing his own voice, which was dry with age and fear. “No travellers ever come this way. So what could bring you here, eh? Tell me that, damn your heathen hide.”
And with that he let out a high-pitched cackle.
Dodinal’s shoulders slumped. Whatever answers he had hoped for, he doubted he would find them here.
“It’s a long story,” he said tiredly, wondering why he was bothering to answer at all. “I am travelling with friends. Some of their kin have been taken. We are going to get them back.”
The man’s jaw dropped. “You’re going up into the mountains? After those black-hearted bastards?”
Dodinal nodded. He was not in the least surprised the man knew about the creatures. Of course he would, living here in these hills. Who was to say what misery he had endured over the years? Perhaps the reason there were so many dead and only one living was because the creatures had wiped the village out long ago. It would explain the man’s strange manner. To be the only survivor…
“Why didn’t you say so!” The old man suddenly clapped his hands together and hurried to his feet, beaming a gap-toothed grin. “Do you have any idea how long I have waited for you?”
“Waiting for me?” Dodinal found himself backing away as the man stumbled barefoot towards him. “But you couldn’t have known I was coming this way.”
The man waved impatiently. “Not you, oaf. Not you in particular. All these years I’ve waited for someone with the balls to go after those things. I was starting to think I would not live to see it. And yet here you are. At long last.”
Dodinal flinched as the old man held out both arms as if to embrace him. This close, he smelled as though he had recently risen from one of the grass-covered graves. The stink was enough to bring tears to anyone’s eyes. “Well, then, that’s good,” he said helplessly.
The man’s eyes suddenly widened and he flung up his hands as though suddenly remembering something. “Travelling with friends, you said? Quickly, go fetch them. Bring them to me. You will be safe here. I have food. We’ll eat, and talk. Oh, I have such a story to tell.”
Dodinal suspected the man’s story would amount to little more than deranged raving, but was persuaded to stay by the prospect of food. None of them had eaten anything since the fish from the river, and they had walked a long way since then. Now his stomach was so used to being empty it no longer gurgled in protest.
That aside, the man could possess information that might help them. He knew about the creatures. Perhaps he knew where to find them. The mountain range was huge, and they could be anywhere.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, turning on his heel and setting off into the darkness, breathing deeply to clear the graveyard stench from his nostrils. He retraced his steps to the steep slope of the coomb and called out to the men waiting above. Having assured them the village was safe, since the old man, as crazed as he was, could not present a threat, he waited patiently while they negotiated their way down through the trees. With Hywel hampering them, it took them twice as long as it had taken him.
While Dodinal waited, the aroma of cooking meat began to drift across the valley floor towards him. At once his mouth was awash with saliva. The old man had not lied about having food. Dodinal suspected it would be better for their peace of mind that they did not question him too closely as to its provenance.
Finally the men had made their way down, and crowded around him, wanting to know what he had found. “A crazy old man who might just be able to help us,” was all he would tell them before he started back towards the hut. They wanted to hear more, but then they, too, caught the waft of roasting meat. They would have devoured any food set before them, but fresh meat was like a gift from the gods.
Before they reached the hut, Dodinal stopped and gathered them around him. “Don’t do anything that might frighten him.”
“We’ll be on our best behaviour,” Madoc promised. “Any man who can get his hands on fresh meat deserves our respect.”
“I don’t know about respect, but we need to be careful. I think he knows where we will find those creatures. It could save us days of searching. We need him to trust us; if he gets scared or takes a dislike to anyone, for whatever reason, he might refuse to talk.”
“There are other ways,” Madoc growled.
“He is a helpless old man who has done nothing to harm us,” Dodinal answered levelly. “Anyone who lays a finger on him will answer to me. Besides, he has been through so much, I doubt we could do anything to break him if he did turn against us. But it won’t come to that. He seemed eager to help.”
He went into the hut first so as not to startle the old man. The others follo
wed hesitantly behind.
“Come in, come in,” the old man urged them. He was crouched by the fire where a half-leg of meat was spit-roasting over the flames. His eyes widened when he saw Hywel, who was almost dead on his feet and would have collapsed had Emlyn not taken him by the elbow to support him. “What happened to your friend?”
“We were attacked,” Dodinal said. “It’s a long story, which I will tell you later. For now, though, we would be grateful for the chance to rest. It has been a long and tiring day.”
“Of course! Make yourself at home. Not that it’s much of a home, but you’re welcome to it.”
Gerwyn rolled his eyes at Dodinal, but he knew enough to say nothing. They sank to the ground, groaning with relief to be off their feet at last. Hywel sat with his back resting against the wall. The swelling on his forehead was going down, but the bruise was even more livid than it had been. It would get worse before it got better.
“What meat is that?” Gerwyn asked. Dodinal wished he hadn’t. They might not be so eager to eat on hearing the answer.
“Goat.”
Dodinal blinked. “Goat?”
“Yes, goat. Haven’t you ever heard of goat before?”
“Yes,” Dodinal said, not wanting to offend. “Of course. But… well, there hasn’t been any fresh game around for many months, with the winter we’ve had. I was surprised you had managed to get your hands on any.”
“It has nothing to do with the winter.” The man turned the meat with one hand and waved vaguely in the direction of the mountains with the other. “It’s those black-hearted devils up there. They’ve been on the move. I’ve heard them, going down to the forest, screeching and yelping like mad things. Heard them come back, too. Wherever they go they frighten everything away. They scared off the goats for a while. But that was a long time ago, and the goats came back. They learned it was safer up here than down there, even with the creatures on the prowl. Bears and wolves eat goat. They don’t.”
He nodded towards a small stash of swords and spears, all of them faded with age, piled against the wall in one corner. There was a bow and a quiver of arrows too. “The goats know all about me. I still have good eyes, even if the rest of the me is slowly falling apart. But I only ever take what I need, so they’re wary of me and no more than that.”
Dodinal cast his senses out. He had become so used to the empty world he had not thought to do so until now. Sure enough, there were life-lights in the hills around and above him. Whatever else happened, they would not go hungry. Goats were nimble and fast on rough terrain, but if a frail old man could bring them down, seasoned hunters like them should have no trouble doing so.
“Do you know what the creatures are?” Emlyn asked. Dodinal winced. So much for the subtle approach.
“All in good time,” the old man said dismissively, and devoted his attention to the meat. “Eat first, then talk. We have all night.”
They sat in silence, eyes closed, only the tantalising smell of the goat keeping them from falling asleep. Finally the old man judged the meat to be cooked, and he let it cool for a few moments before taking an ancient knife to it, slicing thick chunks away from the bone and handing them around. The men were too hungry to worry about his grubby fingers and snatched the meat off him, scarcely managing to utter their thanks before cramming their mouths full. They chewed like ravenous hounds, swallowed and held out their hands for more.
Once the last scraps had been prised from the bone they sat back with hands resting on bellies, picking their teeth.
“I’d offer you more, but that’s the last for now.” The man’s voice was muffled. It took him longer to chew because he had so few teeth. “I’ll be out with the bow come morning. Don’t suppose there’s any point asking you along. You’ll be wanting to be on your way.”
“That we will,” said Dodinal. “Perhaps you’d be good enough to tell us where we can find what we seek. And the quickest way to get there.”
The man nodded. Something about him had changed. The manic intensity had vanished from his eyes. Perhaps that had only been an act to scare away strangers. He looked almost sad. “You can leave your injured friend here if you like.” He nodded at Hywel, who had fallen asleep sitting up, head tilted to one side. “He is no use to you blind. Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’d have to be blind myself to miss it. Don’t worry, I’ll look after him until you return.”
He did not say if you return, but he might just as well have.
Dodinal looked at Emlyn, Hywel’s closest friend, and was more than a little relieved to see the bowman nod his approval.
It made sense. As much as they liked him, there was no denying Hywel was a dead weight. He would hold them back when they needed to hurry. He would be no use in a fight, and could not defend himself from attack.
No, it would be better this way. At least they knew one of them would survive the journey. Maybe one day, if his sight recovered, he would make his way home and tell the villagers what had happened.
“We accept your kind offer,” Dodinal said. “Seeing as we will be away with the dawn, perhaps you will tell us now where to find the creatures, to save us having to disturb you before we leave.”
“You first,” the old man said. “Tell me what brought you here. Not just you, Dodinal, though I sense you’re different from the rest. All of you. What happened to bring you to this cursed place?”
Dodinal saw no reason to complicate matters by telling of his own past. So he began at the point where Ellis had arrived in their village and recounted the tale from there on as quickly as he could. The old man listened intently. His eyes clouded with pain when he heard how they had found the missing boy’s body in the snow. His face twisted with anger as Dodinal described the attack on the village and the ensuing slaughter, followed by the taking of the two children.
When the story was told, the old man sat in silence. Then he slowly shook his head. “Dear God, it’s worse than I thought.” His words were thick with emotion. “And it’s all my fault. All our fault.”
“Don’t blame yourself.” Dodinal failed to see how one frail and elderly man could have been responsible for any of it. “Please, just tell us what you know so we can sleep. They are so far ahead of us we will have to leave as soon as it is light. Even then, I fear we might be too late.”
“I’ll stand first watch,” Madoc volunteered.
“And I’ll stand second,” said Emlyn.
“No need,” the old man answered wearily. “The creatures will not trouble us. They have not bothered me for so long now, I suspect they have forgotten I even exist. No, they will be long gone now.”
“Then why light all those fires?” Gerwyn asked.
“Because I don’t want to be alone in the dark, that’s why, not with the restless spirits of the dead haunting these hills.” He looked deep into Dodinal’s eyes. “You saw the graves, didn’t you? Have you not asked yourself why one man is alive when so many are dead?”
Dodinal nodded, feeling an icy trickle down his backbone. “The creatures did this to you?”
The man’s laugh was brief and harsh. “No, we brought it upon ourselves. This village died of shame. You want to know what those things are and where to find them? I will tell you. Then you will understand why I am the last man alive, here in this place of ghosts.”
NINETEEN
My mother gave birth to three daughters before I was born. Two of the daughters died of fever. The eldest also fell ill, but she was strong and survived. Her name was Megan, and we were as close as any brother and sister could be. If anything, we were closer than most. I was small, the runt of the litter, but if any child threatened me or pushed me around, Megan had a way of finding out, and she would make them sorry for whatever it was they had done to me.
In those days, the village was thriving. There were fish from the lake and the river. We kept cattle and sheep and feasted on meat from the goats, hares and deer that were plentiful then, and crops that were grown in the fertile land around us. We
wanted for nothing.
Each autumn and spring, we would load up our carts and set out for the forest, where villagers from across the region would gather to trade. And more besides; my mother said that when a son or daughter was old enough, it was where they were taken to meet a wife or a husband. Otherwise they would end up marrying their cousins and their children would be soft in the head. It was God’s judgement.
All my young life I had thought of Megan as nothing more than my sister. Until a certain age you do not see boys or girls, only other children like yourself. Megan was Megan, and that was that. But then, one summer, that terrible summer when the barking of the dogs brought madness and death, I saw her for what she was; a beautiful girl on the cusp of womanhood. I was fourteen, Megan two years older. For the first time I began to notice the soft golden sheen of her hair, the gentle swelling of her breasts, her clear grey eyes and high brow.10
Don’t misunderstand me. I did not desire her, at least not then. Rather, I was sad, for I knew that, come the autumn and the next gathering, my parents would take her with them in the hope of finding her a husband. I also knew there would be no shortage of suitors. She had a sweet nature and her voice fell as happily on the ear as her form did on the eye. Any young man fortunate enough to talk to her would be smitten in an instant. That day was fast approaching.
Every morning we would do the chores assigned to us, and then we had the day to ourselves. It had been a hard winter, if not as hard as the winter just gone. We relished our freedom, and loved being able to run as far as we wanted after the long months in the snowbound valley, trapped in our huts while the roaring wind shook the timbers.
On that hot August day we decided to climb out of the valley, higher into the hills, to the lake and the woods that surrounded it. We often went there to fish or hunt for hares. Not because we needed the food; more because it gave us something to do, away from the others.
Away from him, I thought, although I did not say so aloud.
Megan led the way, as usual. As I followed I found my eyes drawn to her buttocks, swaying as she walked. As young as I was, I understood that was not how brothers were supposed to look at their sisters. I walked with my head lowered so I was watching the ground rather than her.
