by Harry Piper
in Issue 75, April 2018
The walled town Llew and Rhodri still found themselves in after a fortnight of inaction was a damp, sad little place. Every morning they awoke to great rivers of fog flowing through the streets and a gentle but constant rainfall above their heads. Buildings and people both seemed to sag with it.
There was no work at all. No marauding beasts in the fields, no bandits hiding in the woods and no worried merchants in dire need of an escort; no need at all for a couple of strapping young sellswords.
Half the population seemed to be under arms; the place was more barracks than township. The walls were constantly manned, the watch-fires ever-burning, and patrols through the streets never ceased. Beyond the walls there were no farms or homesteads; civilisation stopped at the gates.
The townsfolk kept to themselves for the most part, but they learned that some years ago there had been a great battle involving a necromancer. The land was still tainted for leagues around.
“That’s magic for you,” Llew grunted to Rhodri one evening as they sat in a tavern, nursing their mead. “Unholy.”
Rhodri shrugged. “Magic gone bad, perhaps. Remember that magician at Gantwick? We’d have been sunk without him.”
Llew muttered something unintelligible and went back to his drink. He disliked argument and confrontation, especially with his brother.
Money was not yet an issue. For their last job, they had helped put down a basilisk for a nobleman in the north and he’d paid generously. Enough to provide them with bed, board and stable for a few weeks longer.
Despite the bleak prospects for employment, Llew and Rhodri had decided to stay a while. Overlooking the weather, the mead wasn’t bad and the food was rather good. Besides, something might turn up – that was how it generally went.
And so, one Sunday after Mass they were approached by an acquaintance they’d made in the city Watch. Apparently, a man of the Church had just arrived in town, requiring an escort, and would they be interested in further details…?
A Church job?
They made an appointment to meet with their prospective employer the very next day. They rose early, combed their hair, washed with slightly more diligence than usual and threw on their finest scarlet cloaks.
Llew had his bow, Rhodri his long-knife and both men had their spears. The sole sword in their possession had, after heated debate, gone to Rhodri; he would be doing the talking and so, as he argued and Llew reluctantly conceded, he needed to strike the more impressive figure.
They left their lodgings and reported to the town’s citadel, where they were ushered into a small damp chamber containing a weak fire, an official sat at a worn desk and a smiling young man in a monk’s cassock.
The official’s expression, physical characteristics and general demeanour put Rhodri in mind of an elderly hunting dog. The monk smiled and nodded in their direction, but did so with an absent quality; his mind seemed elsewhere.
“Are you the mercenaries Llewellyn and Rhodri?” the official said with just the slightest touch of disdain, which Rhodri chose to ignore.
“We are,” said Rhodri proudly, stepping forward and proffering his hand. The official regarded it balefully. After a few moments, Rhodri lowered it.
The official’s eyes flickered over their weaponry without comment. “You have experience?” he asked.
“We do indeed,” replied Rhodri, slightly thrown and trying not to show it. “My brother and I have fought – and triumphed – over enemies both mortal and magical with nary a scratch. From east to west, from north to south, our victories have left-”
“What kinds of enemies?” the official cut in.
“Pardon?”
“What kinds of enemies?”
“Oh. Well, outlaws for the most part. And we took service with a king in Lothia for a season.”
“You said magical enemies,” the official said with a slightly accusatory tone.
“We killed a basilisk a few weeks ago,” said Rhodri, trying to keep the pique out of his voice. “And before that, a troll.”
Rhodri thought that would have impressed anyone. Apparently not.
“Is that all?”
“Killed a magician, once,” ventured Llew. “With my bow.”
“So you and a hundred other men claim, aye,” snapped Rhodri, turning on him. “We couldn’t see more than ten paces in that battle – how do you know yours was the shaft that killed him?”
“A true warrior knows,” said Llew sullenly. “Your jealously blinds you to it.”
“Now look here-”
“That’s enough,” the official said, raising a hand. Llew and Rhodri fell silent. With a deep sigh, he turned to the monk and said – “Will these do?”
The monk, still smiling, replied in what Rhodri thought might have been Latin. The official turned to them once more, sighed again, and said –
“A few days ago I received a letter from the archbishop; a friend of mine. He told me that he would shortly be sending someone along. A priest. Very holy, very wise and quite mad. The archbishop said that this man requires an escort deep into the cursed land this town and this garrison watch over.
“Apparently, this priest is a confessor. He’s very good at it. He says that he knows of a lonely penitent out there in the wilderness desperate to unburden himself of his sins. To make sure this priest makes it more than ten paces, the archbishop says that I must send some of my men with him.
“That I will not do. I respect the archbishop, and I am a God-fearing man. But I see no merit at all in this task; I consider it a waste of time and resources. I will not send my men into danger for such foolishness.
“Instead, I will pay you a not-inconsiderable sum to take the priest where he wants to go; or as close to it as possible.” He paused. “That’s the job.”
Rhodri exchanged a quick glance with Llew. “How dangerous is it out there?”
“I used to send out patrols in the past. No longer.”
“You lost men?”
“A very small number, but the physical threat itself was relatively easy to combat. The deeper problem lay in what the land did to their spirits. The land is…”
The official thought for a few moments.
“Sick,” he decided eventually. “The land is sick. You may have heard of the battle fought against the necromancer? The land has never been the same since. Although it has always been something of an ill-fated place, even before the necromancer – there was even a dragon, centuries back. Centuries back, I said,” he added at Rhodri’s expression. “No need to worry about that, at least.”
“In what ways has the land changed?” Rhodri asked.
“The seasons do not come as they should and the elements do not act as they should. And the dead will not stay buried.” He said it all quite calmly.
“The dead…?”
“Not so dangerous, I hasten to add, for the well-prepared. Just keep your distance and never, under any circumstances, look at them directly. Remember that and you should be quite safe.”
Rhodri, somewhat helplessly, looked at Llew, who seemed just as unnerved as he did. He turned back to the official.
“How long would we be out there?”
“Two days. Three, at the most. That’s what he tells me,” he added with a nod at the priest, still smiling in his vacant way.
“How does he know where he’s going?”
“He has visions.” The official’s bland expression did not change.
Rhodri felt reason’s grip slipping away from him. The only thing for it was to press on.
“…How much are you offering?”
The official told them. Llew swore, and Rhodri felt a pit form in his stomach.
“Paid upon return, of course,” the official added.
It was insanity, and Rhodri knew that the longer they stayed the more certain it was that they would be pulled into the madness. They should have left then and there – but unaccountably, he suddenly found himself incapable of movement.
Instead, Rhodri tried to give voice to that inner voice of his screaming not to take the job.
“But how are we to know when we’ve arrived? And when we can return?”
The official shrugged. “He intended to go alone, if need be – he has made that very clear. All I ask of you is to accompany him for the three days he says he needs. After that time has passed, you can consider your duty fulfilled.”
Oh, Christ, why does he have to sound so reasonable?
“Three men wouldn’t last long out there. Your patrols-”
“A smaller group would be safer than a larger. On the rare occasions when my men encountered danger, they found cold steel more than capable of resolving the problem. Keep your wits about you and you should be fine.”
Rhodri was desperate. “How do you know we won’t just cut his throat when we’re out of sight of the walls, wait three days, come back and claim our reward?”
“Would you cut his throat, wait three days, come back and claim your reward?”
“By God, no, but-”
“There you have it. You will swear an oath not to harm him and to do your duty on a relic, however, just in case.”
It was hopeless. Rhodri turned to Llew.
“It’s a lot of money, Rhodri,” his brother said reluctantly.
And, Christ help them all, he was right. More money for a single job than they would earn for a year full of basilisks, trolls and outlaws. Putting the matter that way, it would be almost foolish not to take the job, surely…?
Composing himself, Rhodri turned back to the official. He cleared his throat.
“Does he have a mount?”
* * *
He did, as it happened. A foul-smelling elderly donkey which regarded Llew and Rhodri’s own fine destriers with a suspicious eye. The priest sat on it comfortably in the stables, beaming at nothing while Llew saddled the horses and Rhodri exchanged some final words with the official.
“He speaks a little of our language,” the official explained, “but he doesn’t speak at all for the most part. Enough to direct you along but little more than that.”
No sermons, thank Christ.
There was little else to discuss. Llew and Rhodri had sworn oaths on the bones of a local saint not to harm the priest and to fulfil their obligations as best they could. There could be no turning back after that – though, truth be told, Llew feared the power of the saints far more than did Rhodri.
But an oath was an oath; a man kept his word or he was nothing.
Just before their little party rode through the gates and out into the wilderness the official pulled Rhodri aside for some quiet final words.
“I don’t envy you this,” he said, with a softened expression and something close to compassion in his voice. “This so-called penitent, likely as not, resides entirely in the priest’s imagination. He’ll probably lead you on a merry chase through the wilderness with naught to show for it.
“But remember, you’ve been asked for three days’ service. Three days and no more. So do what you can and get out. Faith is a fine and noble thing up to a point. Taken too far, it’s nothing but foolishness.”
His words remained in Rhodri’s mind for some time after they left.
* * *
At the start, there were good omens. The mist cleared the further they rode from the city, and the rain ceased along with it. The sky remained grey for the most part but in time the weak sunlight dried their sodden clothing.
They were following the river that threaded past the town. The early spring thaw and constant rainfall had swollen its banks, and the water churned and roared as they rode alongside it.
The priest led them. He communicated through single words and gestures, still smiling beatifically. That was fine by Rhodri, but he did wonder if the priest was under an oath of silence of some kind. That could make things difficult.
Apart from a silent encounter with a mounted patrol from the town, they saw no-one else. At noon, they came to the foot of a hill crowned by a line of silver birches. The river circled past it while their path led straight up.
Midway up it, the priest spoke up.
“Cursed land beyond,” he said. The smile was gone from him. “Valley. You will see.”
At the crest, they stopped for a moment to take in the view – to take a look at this tainted land of evil magic, war and dead men that walked.
Rhodri found himself disappointed.
It was a large valley, enclosed by two high ridges covered with pines. The river they had followed from the city continued past them, cutting a meandering, lazy path through the landscape. In the far distance, it disappeared into a series of rising hills that turned from sparse grassland to bare volcanic rock.
That was the only distinctive feature. The rest of the valley was low and gentle for the most part; no great hills to climb or ridges to avoid on their way through. Rhodri saw two stone bridges that crossed the river – both seemed intact.
The valley was heavily forested but the old roads, though themselves long abandoned, still cut clear pathways through the trees. A large caravan might have trouble, but for three lone horsemen it was a blessing.
To the southwest in the valley he could even see a cluster of buildings. It was too far to make out any great detail. Not a city nor quite a town. No smoke above it – abandoned, most likely.
The priest, following his gaze, confirmed it. “Ah, yes. Battle. Necromancer.”
Rhodri felt a slight chill at his words, but little else. It was all thoroughly unremarkable. That was encouraging.
“Right,” he said to the priest, “Where do we go from here?”
In a stream of foreign babble mixed with the common tongue, Rhodri managed to make out a warning about the necessity of making camp…at a bridge…before night fell.
The first of the two bridges was not so far away. He pointed it out to the priest. “That one?” he asked, and was rewarded by a series of vigorous nods.
They could make it by evening quite easily. Perhaps the priest did have some idea of what he was about. He asked Llew if he had any objections.
“None,” his brother said slowly. There was some uneasiness in his voice but no real fear. It was an unspoken rule between them that while Rhodri might be in charge Llew held the power of veto if a course of action disagreed with him.
They rode down the hill and onto the old road that led straight into the valley. That was when it began.
The skies went from a dull grey to a shockingly clear blue. The horses kicked up clouds of dust as they went and there was a faint haze lying just above the surface of the road.
They had ridden from early spring into summer. All around them the trees were bursting into glorious life. Bluebells and snowdrops covered the earth around them like a carpet of pearls and sapphires.
But it was cold – the heat and the sunlight did not touch them, and the further into the valley they travelled the colder it became, until the breath of all three men billowed out like smoke. There were no birds singing in the forest nor any on the branches. No rabbits in the undergrowth, either.
The only other living thing they saw that day was an abomination. A thing with the head of a wolf but the limbs and body of a man – only cut off at the waist. When it crawled out of the undergrowth ahead of them its emergence made the horses rear and scream in alarm and Rhodri and Llew clutch at their weapons.
Somehow the thing still lived. Its entrails slithered along behind it through the dust of the trail as it pulled itself to the other side of the road, inch by painful inch.
As they stared in frozen horror the thing’s head turned to snap and growl at them, yellow eyes narrowed and suspicious.
“Jesus Christ,” Llew said, very low. “Jesus Christ.”
Only when they were sure it was gone did they dare move on; even the priest looked dumbstruck. After that Llew and Rhodri kept their eyes on the trees.
But they came to the bridge without suffering an attack or another encounter.
It was a stout, ugly thing of coarse grey stone. Weeds had struggled into life among the cracks in the rough stone bricks, and long tendrils of ivy trailed their fingers in the placid waters of the river below.
By then it was evening, and time to set up camp. They chose a spot next to the river, as far from the foreboding darkness of the trees as was possible. The waters ran deep and wide – at least thirty paces – and with any luck would prevent an attack from the other side.
The skies were turning to purple and gold as the sun fell behind the walls of the valley. It was a gorgeous sight, but the cold was still with them and Rhodri had difficulty in removing the face of the wolf-thing from his mind.
They built a strong fire for the night to come and ate in silence. Rhodri was surprised that the priest did not offer to say a prayer. When the time came he wordlessly laid himself down in his bedroll and within moments was asleep.
Rhodri felt a little insulted. Llew grunted and said – “Didn’t waste time, did he?”
“Aye. Could have spared a word of thanks or two.”
“Maybe he was tired.”
“Maybe.”
They sat in silence for a while longer. Llew was stringing his bow while Rhodri drank in the sight of the stars – the land was sick, but the skies were clear and beautiful.
Eventually Llew said –
“You want me to take the first watch?”
“No, I’ll take it.”
“You’ll be all right?”
“Don’t worry, brother.”
Soon enough he could hear him snoring. Rhodri had to smile. He sat with his back to the fire, keeping an eye on the trees.
Well, that was one day finished. And to his surprise, Rhodri felt his horror at the day’s events slowly dissipate.
For had it been so very terrible? The creature had been unsettling, true, but nothing had come of it. The same could be said for the strange cold; something to prey upon the mind, perhaps, but could it compare to even a single man armed with cold iron and bloody intent?
The priest was mildly irritating, but he had not got in the way. He had not preached at them. And, who knew? Perhaps his presence would ward off some of the evil of the place.
Rhodri made himself comfortable, and for a time his watch passed without incident. The night was quiet. No crickets in the grass or owls on the branches. In fact, if it had not been for the hushed silence he probably would never have heard it –
A sound from the river.
A series of faint wet impacts, as if someone were tossing pebbles into the water. He became aware of it only slowly, and it made him increasingly uneasy.
The pattern was the thing – he could tell it was no wading bird or insect. Rhodri stared into the darkness towards the river. He felt almost as if he were being taunted.
Finally, it became too much. He made a torch from the fire and went to investigate.
As he paced towards the river bank Rhodri belatedly realised that he should have woken Llew; but it was only a sound, after all. Let him sleep.
He came to the edge of the river, where the water lapped quietly at his feet. The dark waters and the shadows of the night seemed to join in a sinister confederacy, creating a vast wall of shadows that threatened to swallow him and his weak circle of torchlight.
The sound had not stopped. The source of it was out there somewhere; his hands shook even as he admonished his nerves for falling apart in the face of a mere sound.
Rhodri meant to call out a bold challenge, but it came out as a weak croak –
“Who goes there?”
The sound stopped instantly. Silence deafened him.
Then, slowly, it resumed, but with a difference; it was coming closer.
“Hello?” he whispered, raising the torch. “Who goes there?”
He could see it now, out in the dark – a pale figure walking on the very surface of the water, slowly pacing toward him.
It was a woman. Very shapely and very beautiful, with long, dark hair that fell all the way to her waist, full red lips and white skin pale as fresh sea foam. She was quite naked.
But she wore an expression of such loneliness and pure, aching need that any erotic impulse he might have had was simply smothered by the desire to reach out and comfort her. She stood alone in the dark, and as he watched she raised her arms to him.
Lingering shock held him in his place; if not for that, he would have stepped onto the surface of the water to go to her without a moment’s hesitation.
She came closer and closer until she was just out of reach, where she halted. Her silent stare bore into him before drifting down to his torch. She regarded it with sadness.
It took him a moment and even when he understood, he was reluctant to do what she wanted. A very small part of him still held back.
But she took a step closer, right into the circle of light, and the expression of sudden pain on her face was too much for him to bear. He allowed the torch to fall from his fingers, and the instant it hit the water – the moment the flames were extinguished – she leapt at him and changed.
The sudden darkness had half-blinded him, but even so he could see her shape shift and expand within the briefest of moments into something no longer recognisable as human. He had no time to react; no time to recoil or even to cry out before the creature was upon him.
In its embrace, he found not soft skin and hair but coarse sand and lank moist weeds that stank of corruption. The weight of it pushed him to the ground and held him there. It filled his mouth and nostrils; Rhodri tried to fight back, but the thing was too heavy and there was simply too much of it.
There was a howling wind in his ears, and darkness in his vision – death overcoming him like a vast and crushing wave. He could not think; could not even pray.
Then the thing on him recoiled and screamed; there was a sudden blazing light and heat. A strong hand grabbed his collar and roughly pulled his body up the riverbank.
Someone was yelling. It Rhodri a few moments to gather his wits and realise it was his brother.
“Back, you damned thing!” he was screaming, a blazing torch clutched in one hand. He waved it wildly in the creature’s direction. “Get away!”
He was pulling Rhodri away from the water as fast he was able. Rhodri’s vision was still blurry, but he could see a writhing mass that remained at the water’s edge. It shrieked, and, as he watched, a distorted, screaming face began forming in the midst of it.
Rhodri clumsily rose to his feet with Llew’s help, then leaned on his brother as they hobbled back towards the fire. The creature remained at the water’s edge, unable or unwilling to pursue them.
Llew dropped his brother close to the flames. “Are you alright?” he panted. He sounded close to tears. “Are you alright, Rhodri?”
Rhodri barely heard him. The priest was awake, and staring wide-eyed at the pair of them. His mouth was open. Rhodri rose unsteadily to his feet and spat at his feet.
“Where the hell were you, then?” he demanded, voice rising with every word as the priest looked at him with dismay. “Where were your visions when I needed them, eh? I nearly died out there for nothing!”
The priest had no reply.
* * *
The creature did not come after them. Even so, they moved camp and kept a steady watch, moving on as soon as there was light enough to do so. As they crossed the bridge they kept their eyes on the water. Rhodri saw a few ripples but nothing else.
He had not told Llew exactly what had happened, and his brother had not asked.
Two days, he reminded himself. You’ve never run from a job before and you won’t start now. He’d sworn an oath. The power of the saints bound him to it – though the saints felt rather far away that cold morning.
The priest rode in front, leading them. Silent as a stone, and Rhodri hoped it would stay that way. He was alive solely because his brother was a light sleeper; all the priest’s holiness had counted for naught.
He had faced death before and expected to do so again; but God in heaven, never like that. The cruelty and madness of it – to die while his brother slumbered peacefully just a few feet away, crushed under the weight of a nameless nothing in pursuit of a madman’s fantasy.
But he had given his oath. He despised himself for doing so almost as much as he despised the priest for bringing them.
The brightness of the day was almost blinding but the cold had not lifted. No birds, still.
The path was growing wilder, and here and there Rhodri could see faint remnants of the old battle; a cracked helmet lying amidst the grass, a bundle of spear shafts leaning against a tree, arrowheads in the dirt – strange to see it all strewn so far and wide. No ordinary battle, he supposed.
“Keep us away from the village,” he told the priest.
“Far away,” the priest agreed, nodding his head eagerly. “We follow trail to meadow, then second bridge. No village.”
Rhodri didn’t reply. He didn’t want to give the man a single word more than what was absolutely necessary.
Llew, sensing his mood, had stayed quiet. Rhodri had not thanked him; no words seemed adequate to it.
The river was never too far away; Rhodri could see it through the trees, its surface glinting like polished bronze. He wondered if anything else lurked in its depths – and what other dark secrets the valley held.
Around them the unnatural summer was giving way to winter. The trees were losing their leaves and the grass was becoming threadbare and sparse.
Rhodri welcomed it; the world was making a little more sense. However, the sun shone just as brightly as before and the sky was just as clear – not a cloud in sight. For that he was decidedly ungrateful; the light made his head hurt and it cast strange shadows from the trees.
In time, the trail led them to a large meadow. It was an ugly thing; muddy ground with a fistful of lifeless grass surrounded by a shadowy forest of twisted, blackened wood.
It looked as if there had been a great fire sometime in the past. The trees still lived and grew, but like creatures untimely born they struggled for life; so misshapen were they that Rhodri could not tell oak from birch nor one from another.
Ever the keen-eyed marksman, it was Llew who first spotted them. About halfway across the meadow he murmured to Rhodri –
“They’re in the trees.”
“What?”
“They’re in the trees. Don’t look at them.”
Confused and alarmed, Rhodri swung his head around for a few brief moments to scan the treeline before turning back to his brother. “There’s nothing there.”
Llew swore quietly. “Take another look. Carefully, mind.”
Rhodri did so. Perhaps because of the light blazing down from above or his own exhaustion from the night before, it took him some time to spot the inconsistencies – branches too thin to be branches, moss more akin to hair and whitish bark that, on closer inspection, looked more like bone…
When he finally realised what stood amongst the trees, silently watching their passage, it took all his strength to move his gaze back to his brother without either crying out or digging his spurs deep into the side of his mount.
“How many do you count?” Rhodri said as calmly as he could.
“Two-dozen,” Llew replied.
Rhodri nodded. Perhaps as many as thirty. Maybe more.
“What do we do, brother?” Llew’s voice was starting to crack.
And truth be told, Rhodri hadn’t the faintest idea. Unreasoning terror threatened to overwhelm him. He tried to think back to the town and the official; he had spoken about them, hadn’t he?
Keep your distance and never, under any circumstances, look at them directly.
That was all he could recall. Poor help indeed.
“Brother?”
They had kept their distance. If they were going to attack, they would have done so already. Or were they just waiting for the right moment? The horses and even the donkey were as calm as before, still plodding along; a good sign?
“Just keep your eyes off them,” he whispered hoarsely. “Stay calm and don’t look. That’s all we can do.”
“What about the priest?”
Oh, Christ. Rhodri turned to look at him.
He was looking up at the sky, a faint smile on his lips. The stupid bastard hadn’t seen them! But what if his gaze drifted? Should he be warned?
The priest seemed to sense something was wrong. Lowering his gaze, he looked at Rhodri and Llew with confusion. “Tell him, Rhodri,” Llew hissed.
There was nothing else for it. “Don’t look at the trees,” Rhodri whispered, staring intently into the priest’s eyes whilst silently willing him to understand and obey. “Keep your eyes on the ground.”
The priest frowned. “Don’t look at the trees,” Rhodri urged him, struggling to keep his voice low. “You God-damned fool, keep your eyes on the ground.”
But with an exaggerated slowness, ignoring all of Rhodri’s entreaties and threats, the priest turned in his saddle to stare into the forest. Even with his terror, Rhodri felt capable of murder.
For a few moments, however, it seemed as if fortune were with them, for nothing happened. The priest looked puzzled as he scanned the treeline. Nothing seemed to grab his attention.
They were nearing the far side of the meadow. Just a few more yards, Rhodri prayed. We’re so close.
But then the priest frowned, narrowed his eyes and peered intently at something. The passage of time seemed to pause for a moment as Rhodri saw the priest’s eyes suddenly widen before his mouth opened to emit a hoarse gasp…
It awoke them.
With nothing more than a rustle of undergrowth and the snap of dry branches, they poured out from the trees. Dozens of the undead.
Little remained of their clothing or even skin – a combination of dirt and rotten flesh had made a gruesome shroud for their bodies. Gender was nearly impossible to determine. Some, he could tell, were children. Most ran while others scrabbled across the ground on all fours. Not one of them made a sound as they did so.
If his mule hadn’t panicked and sprang into a gallop of its own accord the priest likely would have perished at that very moment; he seemed too stunned to take thought for himself or anything else. Rhodri and Llew’s horses needed no spurs to follow suit – they screamed in alarm as they ran.
They cleared the meadow swiftly but the dead did not slow in their pursuit. Some stumbled and fell and Rhodri, looking back over his shoulder, saw brittle limbs snap like twigs. Others remained upright as they ran, but their arms stayed rigid; a surreal touch in the midst of the nightmare.
As their party thundered along the trail most of their pursuers quickly fell behind, but there were a handful that did not – the ones that moved like wolves on the hunt, moving swiftly on all fours with their heads close to the ground.
Rhodri didn’t understand how they were able to follow – eyes, ears and noses appeared to have long-since rotted away; their faces were hideous grinning masks.
Every time they rounded a bend in the trail or crested a small rise Rhodri’s heart would fill with hope as their hunters passed out of sight, only to fall back into despair as the grotesque creatures inevitably reappeared.
The dead had no need of rest. Weariness and pain could not touch them. No hope, then, of simply outrunning them. Another course of action was needed.
The fact of it stared him in the face and would not be dismissed. When they paused for a few moments atop a hillock bordered by the river, the second bridge in sight not too far ahead, he told Llew.
“It’s no good running,” he said wearily. “We’ll have to put them down.”
Llew swore. “What, all of them?”
“The swiftest first. We can cut them all up piece by piece, if need be.”
His brother gritted his teeth, frowned and nodded. “Alright. Where do we do it?”
“The bridge. You pick a handful off at a distance, then we finish the rest up close.”
“Any ideas on how we kill a dead man?”
“Start with the head. Move on to the heart. If there’s anything left, we build a bonfire.”
Llew managed a weak smile. “Fair enough. But what about the priest?”
“Keep him behind us and pray he doesn’t get in the way.”
The priest was pale with a stricken expression on his face. He seemed incapable of thought, let alone independent action, and thank Christ for that.
By that time, the skies were beginning to darken as the sun fell behind the walls of the valley; night was swiftly approaching. Rhodri had no desire to go hand-to-hand with the walking abominations, but better to do it willingly in the light than unwillingly in the dark.
At the second bridge their pursuers had passed out of sight, but Rhodri knew that the dead men would close on them rapidly.
This bridge was disquietingly different from the previous one. That had been an ugly but unremarkable specimen. This was a narrow and steep construction of black stone that rose to an unnatural height in a curving arc over the river.
Something jutted out from its keystone – the carved head of a creature Rhodri did not recognise. The shape of it was vaguely serpent-like, but time had worn the finer features away to nothing.
They put the horses on the other side, along with the priest and his donkey. “Stay here,” Rhodri told him, and got a blank stare in response.
The bridge was wide enough for four men standing abreast. Llew and Rhodri would make their initial stand in front of it before (if it were necessary) gradually withdrawing across it, taking to the horses once again if they were forced to.
Llew had retrieved his longbow. Stringing it, he placed his arrows in a quiver attached to his belt. He had fifteen shafts of good ash with long, piercing iron heads. There were about ten of the swifter dead men behind them, with their stumbling brethren further back; though Rhodri did not think them of much account.
Ten targets, then, moving swiftly and low to the ground. Llew was a fine shot, Rhodri knew, but not so good as to make every arrow count.
The ground in front of the bridge was clear of forestry and brush for the most part. Rhodri and Llew were silent as they waited for their pursuers to appear.
It didn’t take long. The first one appeared around a bend in the trail, tearing up the near-frozen soil with its fingers as it rushed towards them.
Llew set his feet apart, notched an arrow and slowly pulled back the string, his arm trembling with the effort. “Hail Mary, full of grace,” Rhodri heard him murmur beneath his breath.
He loosed when the creature was about thirty paces away. The arrow rose high and fell swiftly, plunging into the creature’s breast. Bones shattered and splintered as the creature simply fell apart under the impact of the blow. Rhodri thought he saw something thin and silvery rise from the carcass before disappearing.
“Good start,” he remarked as Llew strung another arrow. His brother grunted in response.
Three came next, two leading with one behind. At fifty paces Llew’s arrow went between the first two and struck the third in the arm, which broke apart. The creature fell before awkwardly righting itself, moving slowly but still coming.
Llew ignored it. He missed with his second arrow, cursing in the midst of his prayers, but the third arrow struck one of the lead creatures directly in the head; it collapsed into a heap of lifeless bones.
The one unwounded creature was bearing down on them. With his sword clutched in his hand Rhodri rushed forward to meet it. The creature leapt at him and Rhodri swung at its head; the blow slashed open a bloodless wound on its skull as it barrelled into him.
They went to the ground. It grasped for his throat as he struggled to push it off. Fetid breath made him gag as Rhodri fought desperately to escape its grasp.
Llew came to his rescue. He kicked the thing in the ribs and it rolled off him, and before it could rise Llew drove his spear into its heart. It fell apart with a sound like a sigh, and again Rhodri saw that strange silvery substance rise from the corpse before disappearing.
Rhodri killed the last by cutting off its head when it came close enough. He took up position next to Llew once more with a smile on his face.
“Four down,” he said. “We’ve half-won already.”
“Hmm.”
“How many arrows are left?”
“Eleven.”
“Good. More than enough.”
But it was not to be so easy. There were four in the next wave, and three of them were children.
The rot and decomposition so apparent on the others lay only lightly on them. Much of the clothing and flesh remained, and even a little hair – two boys and a girl, none of whom could have been younger than seven or six.
Rhodri felt the battle-strength draining out of him. They’re nothing more than corpses, he told himself sternly. Walking abominations. Putting them down is a mercy. It didn’t help.
Llew was faring little better. He held his bow slackly in one hand and an arrow in the other. His mouth was slightly open.
Rhodri gave him a shove. “Come on brother. Arrow to string.”
“It’s too much,” Llew mumbled. “Isn’t right.”
They were coming closer. Ninety paces, eighty, seventy – he could hear their fingers scraping through the dirt. Rhodri slapped his brother. It did no good.
Rhodri made a decision. Taking his spear and sheathing his sword, he went forward to engage them. They were some distance from one another; it could be done, but it had to be done quickly.
The girl (corpse) was first. He held the spear with both hands as she approached him. She leapt and he sidestepped – he caught a glance of a few strands of whitish-blonde hair and brown eyes; there was no malice in them. There was nothing at all.
He brought the strong, heavy shaft down on her head. There was a harsh crack which made him shudder and want to retch as she fell to the ground and became still. He turned to the others.
The lone adult had risen to its feet. Sprinting at Rhodri, it dodged the thrust of the spear and landed a raking blow with its claw-like fingers across his cheek. Rhodri screamed but didn’t drop his weapon.
It seemed his pain had awoken Llew. He came up running with a hatchet in one hand and his spear in the other. With a shout he hurled the hatchet at the creature that had wounded his brother. It struck it in the face, the axe-head lodging deep in the thing’s forehead.
That staggered but did not stop it. Llew charged with his spear and thrust it into the thing’s stomach, bearing it to the ground and impaling it there.
No time to finish it off. The two children were on them, one going for Llew’s throat and the other wrapping itself around Rhodri’s leg, biting and clawing at his calves.
The pain barely registered even as he felt the hot flow of blood run down his legs and start to fill his boots. He clumsily struggled with the creature, trying to keep hold of his weapon and his balance. He brought the hilt of his sword down on the creature’s head once, twice – glancing, useless blows.
He managed to steady himself for the third blow. His sword was an inelegant but heavy thing of iron, and when he struck the creature’s skull dead centre flesh and bone crumbled beneath it. Cold, moist brain matter clung to his fist as he kicked the body away.
Llew had the last by the throat with both hands, holding it at arm’s length. The thing struggled fruitlessly to get at him as Llew regarded it with a mixture of horror and pity, even as blood poured from the scratches on his neck and face.
“Finish it, brother,” Rhodri said, his breathing laboured. “Quickly, now.”
With a look of profound reluctance and weariness Llew’s hands tightened around the creature’s throat. Rhodri turned away, hearing the spine snap as he went to the one with the spear in its belly.
Rhodri planted his feet on both sides of it and plunged his sword into its neck, severing the head with only a little effort. Then it was over.
The silence that followed their combat did not seem any different from the one that had preceded it; it gave him the uneasy feeling of a fight left unfinished.
“Brother?” Llew’s voice brought him back to the present moment. His brother sounded tired but lucid. “We needn’t wait for the others. I think we can make enough distance with the horses to leave them far behind.”
“Aye. Aye, that’s what we’ll do.”
They washed their wounds and bound them as best they could before heading back over the bridge to mount up once again. The priest was sat on the ground next to the donkey. He wore a dull, empty expression.
Rhodri kicked some dirt into his face. “Wake up. It’s done, no thanks to you.”
The priest mounted up without complaint or recrimination. It only served to stoke the flames of Rhodri’s resentment.
“Where are you taking us? Do you even know?”
The priest pointed in the direction of the hills. “Penitent up there.”
“Is he, now?” The hills were bare of vegetation – there was barely any soil, let alone grass or trees. A snake or a lizard might thrive up there, but no man. “And he lives in a palace made of gold, I’m sure.”
“Rhodri,” Llew said warningly, but Rhodri didn’t listen.
“What’s difference between your brand of holiness and insanity, eh?” he demanded. “I’ve known madmen who starved themselves half to death and talked of visions, but no-one demanded we respect them for it.”
The priest could barely meet his gaze. “Rhodri,” Llew said again, and this time Rhodri snapped.
“Why should I be silent?” he snapped at Llew. “Afraid I’ll be struck down by a pillar of heavenly fire?” This was dangerous talk now, he knew, but Llew didn’t reply. Emboldened, Rhodri turned back to the priest and let all his rage and frustration spill out in a violent torrent of words.
“You’re a useless bloody coward,” he snarled. “So full of assurance at the start, yet you fall apart the moment the blood starts flowing. Just like a bloody priest, too – can’t farm, can’t fight and can’t even lie with a woman. What do you give us? What the hell are you for?”
Llew’s hand caught him on the shoulder and spun him around. “That’s enough!”
Almost but not quite before he knew what he was doing Rhodri drew back his arm and threw a punch that struck his brother on the jaw.
Llew staggered back a step, then paused for a moment – before lurching forward with a sudden blazing fury in his eyes. He caught Rhodri by the collar and thrust his face close; Rhodri was too stunned to react.
“We gave our oath in the sight of God,” Llew said in a low, trembling voice. Rhodri thought Llew might hit him or start weeping – he wasn’t sure which would be worse. “One more day and it’ll be done. You can keep your blasphemies to yourself until then.”
His brother turned away. Rhodri tried to find the proper words to apologise but shame silenced him.
They mounted up in silence with the priest at their head. By nightfall they had left the forest and the river behind. They made camp in the shadow of a great jutting rock. Their fire struggled weakly against a cutting wind.
“How far?” Llew asked the priest, raising his voice.
“Make it by noon,” he replied. “Tomorrow.” That was all.
* * *
They moved off just after dawn – a miserable sunrise choked by a heavy fog that clung stubbornly to the ground and would not go even as the long morning wore on.
But it was not cold. There was a heat rising from the black ground beneath them that grew stronger the further they travelled up the long, featureless slope. Wet enough to make clothing sodden and hot enough to wring sweat from one’s brow – a dreadful combination.
The horses were misbehaving. Slow to respond to command, rearing every now and then – even biting at one another. Probably just the heat. But perhaps something else, too.
Rhodri thought that they were drawing close to something.
His heart was beating just a little faster and his mouth becoming drier with every new step. Nearby sounds seemed to echo from a distance, and it was becoming difficult to concentrate.
These were the signs, he knew, of a hidden presence he did not yet understand. Man or beast, living or dead he could not say – but he could feel it. Somewhere ahead of them, it lay in wait.
The behaviour of the priest only served to heighten his anxiety. Whenever they passed some completely unremarkable sight – a pile of stones, a lonely withered tree or shrub – the little man would cry out in delight and nod vigorously.
“Not far,” he said happily, again and again. “Not far.”
Their journey ended at a vast cave entrance that sloped sharply downwards. Jagged rocks like broken teeth lined it, and the fog that had so consistently accompanied them poured out from the darkness – only this was not fog, Rhodri realised; it was steam.
An image of a thing of monstrous terror and power blazed up in his mind. He banished it but the damage was done; his nerves were gone.
Not so for the priest – after tying his clearly terrified donkey to one of the tall, jagged rocks he got down on his knees and prayed aloud in his own language, head tilted to the sky with tears running down his cheeks and a great smile on his face.
Then without another word he darted into the cave.
Rhodri was taken aback. Had they been dismissed? Did he expect them to follow?
It appeared Llew had made up his own mind. He was dismounting, tying the horse to one of the tall rocks as the priest had done.
“What are you doing?” Rhodri said, aghast.
“We swore to protect him, didn’t we?” Llew replied, with a small shrug. “We’re not finished.”
“You don’t know what’s down there!”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Llew paused for a moment. Then he leaned over and vomited. When finished, he straightened as if nothing had happened. “Got to finish it, Rhodri,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth. “Gave our oath.” He headed towards the cave entrance.
Rhodri dismounted as quickly as he could, cursing as his foot got caught in the stirrups. By the time he had freed himself Llew was already gone.
He hesitated only for a moment before following.
* * *
The ground was slick beneath his feet. Inside the cave it was pitch-black and the heat was intense. Everything smelt of hot sulphur, and tears were streaming from his eyes.
“Brother?” he called out. A muffled reply came from back from further down – he could not make out the words or speaker.
He slipped and struggled deeper into the black. As his eyes became more accustomed to the darkness, he began to realise how vast the dimensions of the tunnel were. A tall man with a long pike would not have been able to scratch the roof of it, and it was wide enough to comfortably accommodate a whole company marching abreast.
Something vast was gleaming dully below. He thought he saw the shadow of a man in front of it. Llew? He called out once more, but received no reply. Something was wrong.
Starting to panic, he tried to move more swiftly and was rewarded by losing his footing and falling. Rhodri painfully tumbled down the tunnel before his fall was arrested by a pile of small, hard objects that clinked as he fell onto them.
He rose quickly, coins of gold and silver scattering in every direction. There were heaps of treasure everywhere. Rhodri took no notice of it – Llew was in front of him, standing stock still with his back to him.
“Brother?”
Llew was staring into the far end of the cave. Rhodri followed his gaze – and there was the priest. He appeared to be addressing a gigantic heap of shadows that lay coiled on a vast hoard of gold.
Later, Rhodri was not sure whether it was because he didn’t want to believe it or he had never seen such a creature in the flesh, but it took more than a few moments for his mind to truly register the fact that he was staring at a dragon –
Black as midnight with eyes that that seemed to blaze out of their sockets like burning stars.
Wings that could shadow a whole town folded up against a back with a ridge of spines that rose up like a mountain range.
Great claws that could crush an oak as easily as a man might tear a blade of grass, with teeth that looked capable of consuming kingdoms.
Horror and awe of a very primal kind held him in his place. If instructed to fall to his knees and begin worshipping, Rhodri might well have done it.
But if the dragon noticed the presence of either him or his brother it showed no sign of caring. Its eyes were on the priest.
Rhodri could catch only a handful of words, and those were of a foreign tongue – the priest was speaking in a low, almost conspiratorial voice. And he could have sworn he saw the dragon actually nod its great head a handful of times in response.
As their bizarre exchange wore on Rhodri’s awe and fear did not lessen, but they were attended by another, very incongruous, sensation – that of awkwardness. He felt that he and Llew were intruding into something that did not concern them.
The priest seemed to pause for a moment and cast a look back at them. With a few apologetic-sounding words to the dragon, he made his way over to them, slipping occasionally on the vast sea of wealth under his feet.
“He is sincere,” the priest said. He seemed tired but happy. “He will make a full confession.”
“Who?” asked Rhodri, despite knowing full well.
“The penitent,” the priest said, indicating the dragon. It looked on placidly.
“But now,” the priest continued, “I must ask you to leave. And please – do not be tempted by the treasure. The penitent wishes to give it away as alms for the poor; a most charitable act.”
“Leave?” The priest’s brusque dismissal sparked Rhodri’s outrage and even made the presence of the dragon recede into the background somewhat. “After all we’ve done? Now see here-”
“You have performed your duties admirably, but your business here is done.” There was a sudden strength and intelligence in the priest’s voice that had not been there before – Rhodri was taken aback. “You shall be recompensed for your actions in full, have no fear. But now we require privacy, and so you must leave.”
He stared at him in silence for a few moments. “Your business here is done,” he said again, “but mine is just beginning.”
Rhodri did not know how to react. Anger, bewilderment and astonishment fought together within him. Finally, he laughed – it seemed the most appropriate thing to do.
And so Llew and Rhodri left the cave, leaving the penitent to confess in peace. The last thing Rhodri saw of the priest before he began the long walk up into daylight was the man raise his hand and, in Latin, begin to recite the words of absolution.
©April 2018, Harry Piper
Harry Piper lives in Wales. He has been writing for many years but has never published before.