The Scars of Saints

by Unknown

  Cassandra’s room was empty, no belongings, no sign of life. A man across the street tells me no one ever lived there, and knew not of Cassandra. The woman in the bakery, whose three children have all fallen ill, advised me the cottage had been vacant for years. Where have you gone Cassandra? My love, my life.

  I inscribe this next phrase with absolute prudence. I want the world to know what happened to me next, how I made a change to human kind, how I saved the city. But I must practice diligence.

  I am currently poised in the dungeons of the great Abbey accompanied by three holy high priests. Having learned of my immunity to the disease, they summoned me to the Abbey. They were inundated with fear, terrified the darkness our God had inflicted on this world would soon reach them, and they too would perish. They begged me for answers, for the cure, and for my secrets. In a moment of madness, one of them barged the doors and foolishly locked us all inside. Now they purify the air with smoke, and bless the walls with holy water.

  “Keep it from us, keep it from us” they continue to chant, over and over. They are weak, just like the others. The men blessed with the highest power of Christianity are just like everyone else.

  But my mind is only on Cassandra. To where she is, to if she is okay. I compose this detail in my diary in case I don’t make it, or with the hope she may find me. I increase my notoriety with the frenzied hope Cassandra hears. Maybe, in a twist of fate, she may come and find me instead.

  What’s more, I am closer to alchemising a cure to combat the early stages of the illness. I will wait until the priests are in deep slumber before I purge the darkness and summon flüer. It is dark down here, cold and wet. It’s the perfect place to entice an unholy flame into the living realm, and bring forth the divine light that will suppress the damning beast that has taken these lands.

  And then, soon enough, everyone will know my name.

  ---

  Rian scanned the open grasslands incessantly searching for tracks, or food scraps - something to allude to Sully passing through. He had been riding for a long time now, and the feeling of being deserted was playing havoc with his mind. Wherever he was, he was far from home, and from Orlat. The grass here was long, wild and untamed. It rose high, close to the tip of his horse’s nose. Every few miles, the horse would emit a gentle whinny and feast on the blades of dark green grass. There were no roads nearby, nor obvious trade routes or farming lands. There was nothing out here, except warm gusts of mountain air and the calming swoosh of grass.

  Then he saw them, in the distance, appearing from a valley to the east. A small group of people, walking slowly towards him, dragging along what appeared to be a wagon. Digging his foot into the side of his stolen horse, he influenced it to stop. He counted the number of people in the group. Eight, he thought. Eight, possibly nine. One leading, two behind, four behind them and then a few more at the back. They were still too far away for him to be sure. Remaining where he was, hand clutched on the horses’ mane, Rian watched them approach. It wasn’t long before they were only a few hundred yards away, where Rian was then able to make out what they were wearing.

  Full robes, head to toe, along with a bone-white mask.

  Yet it wasn’t just any mask. It was one Rian had seen in the chapters of history pages. One he had even held once, when he had broken into the cellars of the Biserica Sfantul cathedral. On top of the piles of bones, he had found a mask just like it – with a long, beak shaped nose, ghostly eye sockets and an eerie frown. The mask the people of Europe would wear to ward off the evil of the Black Plague hundreds of years ago.

  The leader of the group was further head of the rest, both hands grasp on a bell. He would swing it up and down with each step they took, a haunting chime echoing through the valley. A dull moan from the robed individuals accompanied the soulless chime of the bell, again after each step.

  “A girl, with red hair and a fur vest, have you seen her pass?” Rian called, still atop his horse, when the first of the robed folks was within hearing distance. He didn’t answer, nor give receipt of Rian’s existence. Instead, the masked bell ringer continued, step by step, swinging the bell up and down. And behind him, the following contingent would hum monotonously. He trod straight past Rian, humming softly. The rest approached, the wagon in tow. Three masked people held a grasp on the wagon, the wheels squeaking as they span. Inside the wagon, on a pile of hay, were six lifeless bodies. Their skin black, eye sockets empty, fingers arched in a claw. Rian covered his mouth as they past, the smell of death weeping across him.

  “A girl,” Rian called down to one who passed, “did a girl pass here on a horse? She would have had a rucksack.”

  One of the group stopped while the others continued, passing the now motionless robed, masked individual. Looking up, Rian could see sadness in the person’s eyes. The masked follower outstretched an arm, pointing west, down a valley.

  “You saw her?” Rian asked, leaning forward.

  Up ahead, the bell rang, and the contingent sung their baritone hum. The motionless follower, staring at Rian, mimicked the hum.

  “What are you doing?” Rian asked, “why are you dressed this way?”

  Without an answer, the follower turned, and continued on their way. Watching the group wander for a moment, Rian pursed his lips. The smell of death still lingered, and he wanted no part of it. He jabbed his foot into the side of the horse, and swung to the east, heading for the valleys ahead.

  He rode quickly, his horse strong and agile. Its graceful run helped cover distance, and soon was at the base of the mountain range that hugged the side of the valley. A small hut up the rocky slopes to the south secreted puffs of smoke from its chimney.

  Persuading his horse to a gentle trot, Rian admired the open meadows. In the valley ahead, a small cluster of houses formed the small village of Malancrav, and to the left, thick woods rose up the lush mountainside. Pointed mountains rose along the east, their mighty peaks hidden in clouds. A gentle stream trickled perpendicular, its harmonious flow soothing.

  Shoving his foot into the horse’s belly, he prompted the timid colt to take him down the open valley. He scowled, lost in thought contemplating his future argument with Sully. She was overly-sensitive, aggressive and naturally unreasonable. He knew this would be a challenge. Dismounting the horse, his feet crunched into the opulent grass. He felt vulnerable without his dagger.

  Resting against the horse, its giant belly rising and falling, Rian noticed movement from the corner of his eye. Out of the woods to the hillside in the west appeared a shadow, bulky and agitated. At first Rian was startled, unable to make out the approaching beast, but soon realised it was a horse.

  A horse with a blue bandana around its neck.

  The horse seemed troubled, bleak in its step. With a short, discontent whinny, the mare shook its head and lowered to graze, ignoring Rian as he tentatively approached. Paused in the open, Rian darted his head around with the hope of finding Sully. It was unmistakably the horse she had taken from Orlat. Leaving his own horse to graze, he made his way towards the disgruntled mare.

  Had Sully deserted her horse?

  Shaking his head with derision, Rian pondered his options. It initially appeared Sully had entered the woods and deserted the horse whilst inside – but why?

  “Sully!” Rian shouted, his concerned voice ringing out across the valley. His only response was a gust of warm summer wind and the rustle of leaves. Frustrated, he approached the sprawling woodlands, scanning the area periodically.

  The two colts behind him guffawed nervously, seemingly growing agitated. They paced back and forward, no longer grazing but watching him.

  Rian heard a crack behind him, as though someone had stepped on a twig. Turning, he found no one, just another gust of warm air, with it the soothing aroma of willow trees.

  “Sully?” Rian called out, towards the direction of the noise.

  Silence.

  Then, with a terrified roar, the two horses behind him rose to their hind legs, fl
aring their two front legs in panic. Clearly spooked, their cries of alarm continued, again rising to their powerful hind legs. Then they took off in a fierce gallop, back towards the south.

  “No!” Rian bellowed, arm outstretched, “No! Come back!”

  He gave chase, his hair flicking about his face as he ran. But he soon realised it was pointless and it wasn’t long before the two terrified mares had disappeared from the horizon. A bout of humility washed over him, the idea of him chasing down horses absurd. It angered him, and his frustration continued to build. Standing motionless watching their silhouettes vanish, he shook his head, turning and making his way towards the forest to look for Sully.

  He started to foster a plan – the sizeable stretch of forest seemed to rise considerably to the west, and if Sully had entered these woods, it would be unlikely she would take that route. If she was in fact inside, she most certainly would have followed someone in to rob them. There was no doubt in his mind Sully would be near the entrance. And so, he decided, once he located Sully they would continue on into Malancrav to organise more horses with the little money Rian held.

  Furious that Sully had forced him in this position, Rian pulled his cotton kirtle across his shoulder, reaching a small patch that appeared a credible entrance into the woods. At his feet, a small path led into the leafy abyss. He couldn’t see far inside; haunting trees blocking the path, their outstretched spiked tips protruding like claws. Cautious of being spotted, he braved a few slow steps in. After a further few steps, he heard a raspy moan amongst the sea of dark wooden trunks.

  “Sully?”

  The further he walked, the darker it became. Constant scurrying amongst the branches above him appeared as though something was leaping from tree to tree, following him. Each time Rian stopped to glance up, the sounds would dissipate. The forest offered few answers, its impenetrable foliage blocking Rian’s view.

  It wasn’t long before he came across a halberd, on the edge of the small path. Its impressive steel design was one Rian had seen before in Bucharest. And just ahead, two axes. He noticed other abandoned weapons, behind him a small dagger, and to his left, in the scrub, a scythe. Confused, he stepped towards the halberd, and bent down. As he did so, a drop of blood landed on his hand. Then two more. His throat seizing up, he took a breath and looked up.

  A dozen or so headless bodies hung from the tree branches high above, tied in place by their intestines. They swung in the wind, their muscular arms dangling candidly. Gasping in horror, Rian stumbled, scanning each body to make sure it wasn’t Sully. Each single corpse was decapitated, the blood from the neck gushing down the torso like a fountain. The dead men swung in the wind like decorations, their pink and purple innards attached to branches above. Each corpse was specifically dressed, with Rian recognising the attire.

  They were hunters…

  A flap of wings, and a cold menacing hiss left Rian frozen in a deep panic.

  The frantic scuttling above him grew loud, abrupt scampering feet jumping from tree to tree. Menacing hisses broke the silence from above.

  His peripheral vision caught movement to his left. Something had backed away out of sight, hiding behind a huge tree just off the tiny trail ahead of him. Realising he was deeper in the brooding forest than he first thought, a wave of vulnerability crossed him. Another more agitated hiss lingered from behind the tree ahead. Unable to take his eyes off the hiding entity, Rian instinctively reached for his dagger. The sheath remained empty. A cold dread gripped his forehead, the hairs on the back of his neck pricked. The scurrying above him ceased. Plant debris rained down, landing on his shoulders.

  Whatever was up there high in the tree branches, had stopped right above him. A lump formed in his throat. Droplets of blood fell around him, the forest floor a deep, grisly red.

  His body felt detached and numb, as though he had no control over his movements. He so desperately wanted to run. It was his natural reaction to the unknown, it always had been. He wasn’t as brave as Sully, or anyone else thought he was. Not after what happened to his father.

  Once again, something caught his attention from the corner of his eye, subtle movement from thick scrub to his left. The darkness offered little visual assistance, but he was able to make out the shadow of a small figure, appearing to be cowering out of sight. Bolstering the idea to move towards the hiding object, he managed a single step with silent caution, an effort not to disturb the ambivalent figure. The single step nearer gave him a closer look.

  It was small, about the size of a baby pig. It had the same body shape, rounded and plump. With rising curiosity, Rian crept closer. His hands shook feverishly, his throat dry.

  More and more hisses filled the air, surrounding him. He heard a branch crack, inches from his face. Turning in fright, he came face to face with something that made him quiver in horror, something he would never forget for the rest of his life. He involuntarily wheezed in shock, the air ripped from his lungs.

  In the tree right beside him sat two beasts, covered in feathers. No bigger than a fully grown lamb, they perched amongst the branches, watching him. Their faces were distinctively human. As Rian scanned the branches, he noticed more and more. The creatures had human female faces, long flowing hair, and glassy eyes. Their features were taut, callous and menacing. Wrinkles covered their faces, their noses elongated and disjointed. The sickening stench that accompanied their arrival was repugnant and acidic, a mixture of stale urine and excrement. Feeling his legs begin to twitch, he battled the urge to faint, his face insidiously pale.

  It cannot be – his mind raced– it simply cannot, they weren’t real. History preserved tales of these grim anomalies, risen from spite. Creatures whose soul are consumed by the demons that reside within the darkness of death. Souls returned as punishment for the sins of the living.

  Legends, myths, stories. The same stories his father once prophesised before his death.

  Harpies.

  ---

  “My leu,” Cervis asked, trying not to shiver from the cold, his stomach rumbling “you promised me payment, for the pendant. Did you mean it?”

  The candle in the corner grew dim, its flicker barely lighting the wall Phillipe was studying.

  “And the pendant, where is that?” Phillipe asked, dryly.

  “The girl took it, I still did as I was asked.”

  “Stulte,” Phillipe muttered, “you didn’t even barter. No pendant, no payment,” Phillipe responded, not once looking to Cervis. His attention was drawn to the carvings on the southern wall, deep and articulate.

  “Then I am leaving, I have no reason to stay,” Cervis threatened, glancing up at the exit in the roof.

  “Do as you please,” Phillipe replied.

  The injured man coughed and wheezed, squeezing the hay from his bed as his chest contorted.

  “I will fetch food, and medication,” Cervis promised, knowing full well it was a promise he couldn’t keep. He wanted to get away from this place, the thousands of markings on the wall seemed to pique Phillipe’s interest, but not his. They were dark, macabre serrations - dreary, demonic and terrifying. Whomever was responsible, was likely trapped in this room to die. There was no food or water in this basement, no way could a person live. Cervis squeezed his eyes shut to distance the chilling thoughts from his mind, but was quickly interrupted.

  “Non intrabit, non intrabit” Phillipe gasped, his voice quickened and shrill. His attention was drawn squarely on a small mark in the corner of the room, “re-light the candle, hurry!”

  Cervis hesitated, staring at Phillipe, shocked by the sudden demand.

  “Did you not hear me? Re-light the wick or we shall have no light.”

  “I don’t have any-“

  “Stulte!” Phillipe hissed, rising to his feet. Catching his glasses as they fell from his nose, he propped beside the bed of the injured man and scooped up a mass of hay. Dipping it into the dying flame it erupted immediately, and he jammed it into a broken bottle on the floor. The room was
bathed in glorious red. Whirls of red sandstone dust consumed the air, and Cervis spluttered.

  “Two hundred years ago, everyone in this village vanished,” Phillipe said suddenly, tracing markings in the south corner along the wall, his finger jammed in the recesses as he walked sideways. “I read of it. No one really knows why, but one day the whole village was empty. ” He stopped, impeded by an old bookcase leaning against the sandstone wall, “later on, a Hungarian scholar would pen a note allegedly describing two young sisters from the village who went missing. Their father was said to have gone insane with grief, and the whole town fell into deep depression. Livestock began to die, the wine went bad, and the cheese grew mould. They all blamed themselves for the disappearance. And then, they all vanished.”

  “I have not heard of this,” Cervis queried, “not in Orlat.”

  “Orlat?” Phillipe replied, “that is what your ancestors named it. Its original name is unknown.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Do you not think it’s time you know?” Phillipe asked, throwing some more hay onto the diminishing fire nearby, “wasn’t it you that demanded we tell you about the pendant, and of Hyclid?”

  Cervis shook his head, “I’m here because you persuaded me to do something you were too afraid to do. I think the stories you make up about the witch doctor and the dead forest are to hide that fact. I don’t believe you three are anything more than petty thieves.”

  “I think not.” Phillipe chuckled, shuffling with his glasses “you’d be offended at what Sully and Rian would retort to that accusation.”

  “And where are they? They have the pendant now, and I expect that’s why you don’t care if I leave. I’m guessing the only reason you’re still here is because you want to know more about these markings in the stone.”

  Phillipe lifted a book from its resting place, and blew away a mound of dust. “I know all I need to about these etches, and you sound like a despoiled, churlish little child.”

  Shocked, Cervis made an effort to hide his distain. Pouting, he turned to his side, head lowered, “Then tell me, is there a link between the villagers who all went missing and the pendant I found?”