by Troy Osgood
He glanced behind him, confident that the light would not be seen by the villagers so far away.
Drawing a hand axe from the sheath, slipping the loop over his wrist and holding the wand in his left hand, Culann moved slowly towards the clump of trees. The shadows were dark underneath the branches, the trees so close together that what there was for moonlight didn’t penetrate.
The noise was louder, more agitated, as if the things within could see or feel his approach. Which made sense, he thought. If they were skeletons, then they wouldn’t need light to see, and would know he was approaching.
But why weren’t they coming after him?
The trees were less than five feet away now and the noises had gotten louder. Now there was a rustling, the sound of tree branches and undergrowth being moved. But still the bone scraping of the skeletons did not move.
The light from the wand barely cut into the interior of the tree stand. He strained, studying the shadows, trying to decipher what was tree and what could be something else. There. Movement. He edged closer to the right hand side, where he had seen the movement.
The clump of trees looked to only be about ten to fifteen feet deep, densely packed, but he could now make out something moving at the road’s edge. Two somethings. One on either side.
Looking back down the road, Culann shone the light close to the ground, memorizing every detail. If he had to run, he wanted to know where his feet where planted in the dark.
He turned back to the tree stand and moved forward, a foot at a time. Stopping and pausing after every other step. Waiting for the noises to come closer. They grew in agitation. More bone scrapping, faster clacking and rustling of the undergrowth. But they did not move.
Holding the wand out as far as he could, it finally penetrated and showed him the source of the noise. On either side of the road was a skeleton, apparently trapped in the undergrowth. The limbs of both were twisted, bent at awkward angles, as the things tried to untangle themselves. He could make out what appeared to be broken and ripped up branches and shrubs, the undergrowth slowly being torn apart by the untiring movements of the skeletons.
Culann studied the skeletons as best he could in the light from the wand. Both saw him and were trying their best to get at him, arms outstretched and reaching. Eventually they would break free, but not soon. At least he hoped.
There didn’t appear to be anything abnormal about them. Human, and male most likely. There were no scraps of clothing, no rotted remains of flesh and no muscles that he could see. Definitely held together by magic.
The clacking sound was the creature’s jaws moving up and down, constantly.
“Maybe this will shut ye up,” Culann said to the right hand skeleton.
He bent down, pushing the end of the wand into the ground. Standing back up, he held his left hand out towards the skeleton, palm facing the creature. He started whistling, mixing in some hums and sounds, all coming together to a melody that only he knew. The sounds swirled around, seemingly loud in the quiet night. They reached a crescendo and a bright white light grew out of Culann’s palm.
The light spread out, washing over the skeleton which paused in its movements. Motionless as the light wrapped around it, the clacking noise stopped. The light dimmed, fading from the skeleton and Culann’s palm.
Lowering his arm, Culann watched the motionless skeleton.
“That’s interesting,” he said, wondering why the magically animated creature hadn’t collapsed, the magical bonds holding it together dispelled by his spell.
Slowly the skeleton started to shake. Culann watched, thinking that maybe the effect had been delayed for some reason. The shaking intensified and then stopped. First one arm moved, slowly reaching back up towards Culann. Then the other, followed by the jaw that started the infernal clacking again. Now the entire skeleton moved, trying to push through the undergrowth and get at Culann.
“Really interesting,” he said.
Picking the light back up, Culann moved closer to the one on the left. Focusing the light down at the ground, he saw how deeply this skeleton was entwined in the thick undergrowth.
“Someone pushed ye in there,” he said watching the creature. “Nae a bad plan.”
He turned back to the right skeleton, satisfied that the other could not escape anytime soon. He watched the bony arms reaching, the body bending to get more length. Moving more to the side, Culann swung the hand axe, aiming for an arm. He hit, at the elbow joint, the axe making a scraping sound as it hit the bone. Hit the bone and slid off, leaving no mark.
Culann looked at the axe head, not a mark on the runed surface, and back at the skeleton. An axe, or any bladed weapon, was not the best against the bones of an undead skeleton but it should still have done something. Especially this weapon, magically runed to be harder and sharper.
“What are ye,” Culann asked watching the thing.
More noise turned his attention towards the field, the cemetery, beyond the trees. In the shadows of the moonlight he could see more shapes, more skeletons, and they were coming his way. More bone scrapping, more of the damned clacking. The light and the noise must have attracted them.
“He did say there were six o’ ye monsters.”
Judging that he had a little time, Culann watched the movements of the trapped skeleton in front of him. He turned the axe around, the head pointing away, and swung with all his might at the creature’s head. He felt the jolt in his arm from the impact, the shaft of the axe hitting the creature solid. He stepped away quickly, the swing bringing him in reach of the grasping arms.
He brought the light wand closer, studying the skull where he had hit.
“Damn tough ye are,” he told the skeleton.
Tougher and harder than any other undead skeleton he had heard of. Where did these things come from?
The noises from the field were closer. Sighing, wishing he had more time to study, maybe in the morning when the sun was out, Culann turned and walked out of the clump of trees, back towards the village. He muttered the word that extinguished the wand’s light, putting it back in his pouch.
There was something at work here, something he had never encountered before.
CHAPTER FOUR
The 13th day of Deireadh in the year 324 WR (Way Reckoning)
The sun rose in the east, shining down through the mountain peaks. It was a beautiful fall morning, crisp and cool. But the two men at the road couldn’t appreciate it.
They stood behind the turned cart, watching the eastern road that led to the cemetery. Shielding their eyes from the glare of the morning sun. They were both cold, chilled, the sun not fully up and not fully driving away the cold of the night and morning. They were both tired and bored. The night had been blessfully uneventful.
Neither would admit it, but they were truly glad for that. Neither knew how they would have reacted if skeletons had come down the road. Would they have run in fear? Screamed like little girls? Both were thankful they were not put in that position. The night’s watch had gone fairly quickly, neither wanting the other to think them afraid, not wanting to be embarrassed in front of the other.
Larford adjusted the grip on his pick axe as something caught his attention.
There, out on the road, coming around the bend, was a shape. Shadowed by the sun, but it was definitely man-shaped and coming towards them.
“Will,” he said reaching out and pushing the other man, who had been looking back towards the village. “What’s that? Is it…,” he let the thought hang.
Will turned and looked, taking a couple steps forward, shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare to get a better look.
“Is it…,” Larford started to say but Will motioned with his free hand, telling the other to be quiet.
He listened. He remembered the other night. He remembered the noises the thing had made. That horrible scrapping of bone against bone and the clacking. That clacking had kept him up the rest of the night, haunting his dreams. The jaw moving up and down
with no sound coming, just bone clacking against bone.
But he heard nothing. Nothing like that. Just some whistling, a tune he thought he knew but couldn’t quite catch.
The shadowed shaped moved purposefully. Will could see arms outstretched, but to the side, not forward, not reaching. But there was something odd about the full shape, no definition of the chest or body. There was just a head, legs and arms coming out of a blob like middle.
“That’s not a skeleton,” he told Larford. “I think it’s a person.”
“Who would be coming from the cemetery,” Larford asked.
“I don’t know,” Will said grabbing his own pick axe harder. “But he’s coming this way.”
Culann stopped ten feet from the barrier, stopped whistling and just stood there with a smile.
In the daylight he could see that it was an old hay cart turned lengthwise, at an angle, across the road. An effective enough barrier against the skeletons. It wouldn’t have done anything against things that could truly think, but for the undead it would work. For awhile, depending on how many there were.
The men behind it were young. Blond and brown haired, beards that had just started growing. They were big, strong, looking men. The clothing was rough and patched. Each held a pick axe in a tight two-handed grip. They looked at Culann, fear and confusion in the eyes, and at each other.
“Good morning,” Culann said bowing, keeping his arms outstretched to show he was unarmed. He had pushed the edges of the cloak behind the weapon sheaths, so the men behind the make shift wall could see that he did carry weapons beyond the bow on his back.
“Who are you?,” one of the men asked.
“What are you doing here?,” the other asked.
“Both good questions,” Culann replied. “But why donnae ye go get someone in charge so I only have ta go through it once?”
The two young men looked back and forth at each other and back at Culann. Neither knew what to do, what was expected.
“If’n it makes ye feel better,” Culann said starting to walk backwards. “I kin wait further down the road.”
He stopped about after another ten feet, standing still with arms still outstretched.
The two men started talking hurriedly back and forth.
“You.”
“No, you.”
“Not me.”
It went on for a minute or two and finally the brown haired me said he was the older and turned and ran into the village. The other man, the blond, visibly nervous, looked back out at Culann.
“I’m going ta put me arms down now,” Culann said. “Bit tired holding them like this.”
He lowered his arms, still keeping away from the axes at his belt. The young man tightened an already tight grip on the pick axe.
Culann smiled at the lad and started whistling the old mountain tune again.
Davey followed along behind his Da, Hutch and Will. His Da kept glancing back, wanting to tell Davey to go back home, but did not. The boy was thirteen, old enough, Sheren thought with a smile at the lad.
Will had come running into the village square, where the council was meeting, yelling about a stranger coming down the eastern road. That was the cemetery road, why would anyone be on that road?
Davey and some other boys had been playing a game, sketching out lines of Xs and Os in the dirt of the square, when Will had caused the commotion. They could only hear bits and pieces from where they were so Davey had moved closer. At first Will had been too excited, only speaking in parts and trying to catch his breaths between. Hutch got the young man to calm down and that was when he explained about the stranger. Armored, cloaked and with weapons. Bow and axes.
Hutch and Sheren had looked at each other and brought the council closer together. They had spoken quietly, too quietly Davey thought, with Will catching his breath nearby. A minute, two, the conference continued with sharp words and gestures. There was a lot of hand waving and Davey could tell that Hutch and his Da were overpowering the others.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity to the impatient Davey, the council broke up and Hutch and his Da walked over to Will. They gestured and Will led them off towards the east road, his Da carrying the sledge hammer that seemed to be always with him since he had gotten back from the graveyard yesterday.
That had been scary. The scariest moments of Davey’s young life.
When his Da had left with the other two, something had happened to Ma. She was a wreck. Sat down on the edge of the stage, crying, along with the wives of Mattias and Timon. Other women had gathered close, comforting them, all hugging and soothing words. Davey had never seen his mother like this. Working in the mines was dangerous. Someone was always getting hurt and some had even died. But Ma never was this way when Da was in the mines.
That alone told Davey that this situation was very different.
It was a couple of hours later, long hours, tired and scared hours, before the shouting alerted him that Da had returned. But there was something wrong with the shouting. The three wives of the men that left all looked at each other; fear in their eyes. They all clutched each other. They all knew, from the tones of the shouting, that something was wrong. Very wrong.
The wives had taken steps to move forward, but held back by other women all telling them to wait, let it get sorted out and not to jump to conclusions.
Davey watched his Ma’s face. Never had he seen Mary Tobiason so scared. He needed to know. Had something happened to Da? So he ran towards the east road. There was a crowd forming and he pushed his way through, roughly, not caring.
There was his Da, lying on the ground. Timon lying beside him. Was he dead? Were both dead? Men were gathering around them. He saw his Da try to sit up, fall back down. He was alive. But was he hurt?
“Timon’s dead,” one man shouted as two others picked up the young man’s body.
“Sheren’s alive,” Davey heard as two men helped pick Da up.
“He’ll be fine lad,” someone said next to Davey, clapping him on the shoulder.
All Davey could see was his Da, not moving, not awake, as two men carried him. The crowd parted, Davey on the edge, as Timon and Sheren were carried back to the square. Davey followed, with the rest of the crowd. Silence had fallen, some people murmuring questions, but everyone was shocked and scared.
He glanced down and could see a blood trail on the ground, blood dripping from Timon’s body.
They laid Sheren and Timon down on the stage. Tears of relief rolled down Ma’s eyes as she stood next to Da, watching his chest move up and down. Timon’s wife screamed, tears falling as she clutched at her dead husband. Other women held her, comforting her, trying to sooth her.
Davey looked back and saw an older woman, Mattias wife, step out of the crowd and towards the Eastern road. Others started to notice her. She looked down the road and back at the crowd.
“Where’s Mattias,” she asked.
Events happened quickly after that.
Sheren woke up. He was unharmed, just tired from the fight in the cemetery and carrying Timon the whole distance. He stood on the stage, Hutch next to him, Mary holding onto him, and explained what they had seen and what had happened. The death of Mattias had caused his wife to collapse and both she and Timon’s wife had been taken into a neighbor’s home. Timon’s body had been removed. Taken somewhere else, wherever they had brought the body of Gerald Harickson who had died of his wounds well the three men had been gone.
The villagers were afraid. Six of the skeletons? One had been deadly enough. But there were more? And still no idea how or why.
Hutch had ordered a rider be sent to the Duke, to bring the King’s Guard. Michel Tarryson, only seventeen but one of the best rider’s in the village, was tasked. The lad was scared but excited. Almost too excited. He had mounted his horse and charged out of the village. Davey, who didn’t know much about riding, could tell that Michel was pushing the horse too hard and too soon.
But there was nothing to be done about that. Mi
chel had a job and hopefully he would do it.
What now, was the question all were asking. It could be days before the King’s Guard would arrive. What did they do in the meantime?
“We’ll block the road just outside the village,” Sheren had said. “We’re form a watch through the day and nights until the Guard arrive.”
Davey was proud of his father. Even after the ordeal of carrying Timon, the fight in the cemetery, Sheren volunteered to take first watch. Mary had tried to talk him out of it, so had Hutch. No one would have thought less of him if he had chosen out of the first watch, but Sheren would have none of it.
The villagers used one of the old draft horses to bring an even older hay cart to the Eastern road. They placed it a distance past the village, where the road narrowed. They unhooked the draft horse and used brute force to push the cart, angling it so it blocked the road.
Hutch had the idea of driving braces into the ground behind the cart, to prevent it from being pushed.
Even thirteen year old Davey understood that if the skeletons could push the heavy cart, that had taken nearly ten men to move, then some small braces wouldn’t do a thing. But it made everyone feel better. And that was enough. For now.
“Who are you?,” Culann heard a voice say.
It was the man from the night, the man with the sledge, Sheren.
Culann had been standing at the edge of the road, looking off into the forest down the slope, wanting to appear as unthreatening as possible, as the men came to the wagon. At this point in the road’s path around the mountain, the other side was a steep drop, almost a cliff. It would have been a hard climb for an experienced climber. The pine trees were tall, an old growth, and almost came to the edge of the road. He could see the smoke from the Waystation, the morning fires being lit, drifting out over the trees. He wondered where in this forest he would be right now if he hadn’t come here instead. He wondered if he would regret coming here.
