by Jon Jacks
The steady crumping of the landing Greek Fire grows louder, more frequent.
The flashes of flame that briefly light up great crescents of the night sky are drawing nearer.
The men left waiting in the forest clearing are becoming increasingly nervous.
They’ve had no word of the men sent on ahead to search for and capture the castle. They have been gone far longer than anticipated.
Finally, the commander decides he’ll take two volunteers with him, make a last, quick search for the missing men before retreating before the swiftly encroaching enemy.
The tracks of the men who had gone on earlier have already been covered by the rapidly falling snow. The men the commander takes with him, however, are experts at spotting where twigs had been broken – and there are so many of them, even he can see where to head.
Making their way with incredible difficulty through the thickly set forest, they come at last to a wide river, offering them some respite from the clawing, riving branches.
Even so, on the other side of the river there’s nothing but more dark forest, more endlessly intertwined, interlocking branches.
From where they are, neither he nor his men can see anything that looks like a track on the other bank. Either the other men have simply vanished, or they’ve made their way down the river.
The river has frozen over, the ice itself veiled by a thick covering of snow. Bending down, the commander uses a gloved hand to sweep away some of the snow, revealing the ice sheet below.
He leaps back in horror.
Just beneath the ice, staring blankly yet smiling blissfully, is a man’s face.
‘K…Klaus!’ he stammers, recognising one of his men.
The commander and the two men he’s brought with him begin to hurriedly brush more of the covering of snow aside.
There are more of their friends there, lying just beneath the ice, their dead bodies encased in a thick, transparent prison. The civilian lies alongside them, his dark, strangely shredded coat floating about him as if caught in a wind that blows only around him.
‘Can anyone hear that?’ one of the men asks the others curiously. ‘Like a mournful singing?’
Even more perplexedly, it seems to be coming from beneath his feet.
Once again, he kneels down, sweeping the covering of snow away from the ice.
This time beneath the ice, there’s another man, this one dressed in the garb and armour of a long past age.
Within his hands, he proudly holds a massive broadsword.
A sword that sings the saddest song ever heard, even in the cold underworld lying beneath the waters.
And high above, a wren flies across the face of a smiling moon.
End
If you enjoyed reading this book, you might also enjoy (or you may know someone else who might enjoy) these other books by Jon Jacks.
The Caught – The Rules – Chapter One – The Changes – Sleeping Ugly
The Barking Detective Agency – The Healing – The Lost Fairy Tale
A Horse for a Kingdom – Charity – The Most Beautiful Things (Now includes The Last Train)
The Dream Swallowers – Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night – Jonah and the Alligator
Glastonbury Sirens – Dr Jekyll’s Maid – The 500-Year Circus – The Desire: Class of 666
P – The Endless Game – DoriaN A – Wyrd Girl – The Wicker Slippers
Heartache High (Vol I) – Heartache High: The Primer (Vol II) – Heartache High: The Wakening (Vol III)
Miss Terry Charm, Merry Kris Mouse & The Silver Egg – The Last Angel
Seecrets – The Cull – Dragonsapien – The Boy in White Linen – Porcelain Princess – Freaking Freak
