by Neil Willcox
in Issue 139, August 2023
On top of the hill sat the great gallows, blackened wood, the platform twelve feet from the ground, the upper beams reaching almost as high again. Stark against the sky, they could be seen for miles around, from the merchant’s road that curved down the valley, from the streamside village beyond, right to the edge of the woods. An awesome reminder of the grim justice the lord regent and his officers might hand down to those who broke the laws of the realm.
Julia Intandle looked up the path towards where the empty ropes hung from the heavy wood. “There is talk at court that you are considering marrying.”
Eliza Sky stumbled, laughter exploding from her. “I… at… marry…” She paused and took a breath, laughed again, more controlled. “Do they whisper a name for my intended?”
Julia had stopped to look at her friend, not quite so amused. Shorter than the other woman, her riding boots were already muddy. So were her bright hose and dark tunic. Completing her male attire was a simple black hat, clean of dirt for now.
“There are a dozen eligible maidens at the court of Lord Wild. Modest, dutiful, devoted. All with dowries and inheritances. And not a whiff of scandal amongst them.” It was Julia’s turn to laugh. “Well indeed. Yet they are not the daughter of a landless mercenary from the barbarous Cornlands, one who scandalises the court by pairing a sword with her gown.” Her left hand swung by the hilt, briefly touching the chape of the scabbard. Ready to hold it when she needed to draw. An action as natural as walking after so many years of the blade sitting on her hip.
Julia shook her head, her straight hair grazing her shoulders. “You know as well as I that those maidens are seeking to ensnare one of Lord Wild’s heirs. Once one lordling becomes the leading candidate and chooses, they will vanish with the dawn to seek out another eligible bachelor. No, the lesser lights of the court must seek a bride elsewhere.”
“The heir who marries well might gain the favour of his Lordship; a case of hedgehog and egg indeed.”
“Now I grant you the station of landless. Yet Garton Sky is a favoured captain of Lord Wild, and you his only child. It is not impossible that he might be enfeoffed, or more likely be permitted to purchase land. And a son-in-law to follow.”
Eliza slowed to a stop, gesturing Julia to do the same. She scanned the ground, looking for tracks. This far up, closer to gallows than road, it seemed the turf was unmarked off the path. It had rained last night which would conceal anything from earlier.
“Purchase land would be nice, if he had any money for it.”
Julia shook her head. “Well at least you have a dowry. Rumour has it you got one hundred gold marks for the ransom of Sir Pandor of Aldeburgh.”
“And spent it all and more during the famine winter on supplies for the company.” Eliza tried not to think of the cold, the dirty snow, the starving faces…
“You took a principal share from the surrender of the three monarchs at Bleakford.”
“Bought me a fine Mittelland harness and five horses for the next year’s campaign.”
“Rescued the relics of St Phillipe.”
Eliza was able to grin at this. “And why does the bishop not condemn me from his pulpit for taking the man’s part? Because I have proved my devotion as a true daughter of the church by turning precious holy treasures over to his care.”
“So you do not intend to marry.” Julia sounded pleased. Eliza looked up from her inspection of the ground and gestured for the two of them to continue.
“As the creed tells us, Providence blesses the woman who chooses the role of wife and mother, to make marriage oaths to stand as helpmeet to her husband and raise their children. For some though there is a higher calling. All the world rejoices for the woman who dedicates herself to good deeds, the perfect virgin saint.” Eliza clasped her hands together in a prayerful manner, put on a beatific expression. Then paused to tuck her hair away beneath her modest head scarf.
Julia shook her head, slightly perturbed by this. Eliza had been brought up in the Cornland church, which had subtle differences in doctrine to the one here in Whitland. She continued. “And though the path is hard for one seeking to follow it, there are rewards. How can one stand in the way of one who walks in the footsteps of Providence, no matter how peculiar or unusual for their sex?”
“Ah, I see,” said Julia. “You perform as the prefect devoted child of Providence so you can act as Lord Wild’s officer of investigations.”
Eliza shook her head. “I act as Lord Wild’s inspector because that is a path that Providence has laid before me. My father and the wars put a sword into my hand. It seems to me that it would be foolish to put it down while there is work to be done because the church or the ladies of the court disapprove. So I give them no reason to disapprove. And hence I strive to be what they wish…”
“Perfect virgin saint. And no husband.”
“What about you Julia?”
“Alas, although undoubtedly perfect I am no saint, and certainly no virgin. So I fear I shall have to settle for being a magician’s daughter until someone dares approach my father.”
It seemed unlikely that she would offer a more serious answer so Eliza continued up to the gallows.
“Old Nine Tails they call it,” said Eliza. “The Black Tree. Built on this hill where three parishes meet. Or don’t meet, as none of them draw it within their boundaries. A no man’s land, given up to death.” She halted again. Here, close to the gallows the ground was torn up from the crowd at the last hanging. And the hanging before that and so forth. She walked a little further. “The reeves wait until they have nine found guilty of capital crimes before they declare a day for it, and hang them all at once.”
“Sounds like it will cause trouble to me. Desperate men imprisoned for weeks and months in the village lockup, their friends and families with time to plan an escape…”
Eliza walked further round, the hill, no tracks that told a tale to be seen. She pointed to the far side where the brooding forest came further up the slope, almost to the top. “And so the outlaws in the deepwood, desperate men who can be slain by any who come across them.”
“With bandits and killers on the loose Lord Wild must maintain a standing force. Such as you and your father and the company.” Julia looked down thoughtfully. “And as an economical man he sends you out to investigate mysterious goings on rather than sit around at the castle. I cannot help but think he might make some changes to the situation.”
“It is tradition from time out of mind. This is the site of the Black Tree where King Ælfwine hung nine rebels. His father-in-law, three of his brothers, a son, two nephews. Two others, brothers-in-law or sons-in-law, the sources differ. When at last the tree died they built a gallows on the spot. Some of the wood comes from that very tree.” Eliza looked up at it. The sun vanished behind the clouds and a chill wind moved in. She looked back to where they had left the horses and the rest of the party. They were out of sight here. Well enough, she would manage without her coat for now.
“Read me the report Julia.” She put a touch of command into her voice, the clear, carrying sound that could be heard above stamping hooves or clattering gear.
“On St Fallow’s Day, three days past, nine men were hanged at the Black Tree Gallows.” Julia stopped, her voice cracking. She peered at the wooden shingle she had scribbled notes on. “Though in fact it turns out they were seven men, one woman, and one whose sex is unrecorded.”
“Oh?” Eliza turned at this.
“Mopery of Hamstadt, convicted strangler.”
“Hamstadt is in the Mittelands, though I never passed through it. Mopery is not much like a name from the continent. More as though someone had picked some sounds that might be Cornlander. Or Whitlander.”
“And strangulation offers no clues. It is not a characteristic crime for men, women or any other possible sex.”
Eliza looked at her gloved hands. “Get a good grip around the neck and anyone might be able to kill. Go on with the list.”
“John Cutnose, murderer of his wife and her lover. With an axe. Vagabond Will, horsetheft. William of Oldelm, murderer, doesn’t say of whom. Thomas son of Thomas Stonemason, poisoned his neighbour. Finder and Farrow, brothers of the village of Millriver, arson. Alice, wife of Roger Hurleye, drowned her husband.”
“And you wonder why I am not inclined to marriage.” Eliza inspected the nearest post. Thick, heavy and black, stained and weathered. She peered under the platform, gloomy now, dark and musty smelling, just beaten earth. “Alice was a washerwoman in the train when we campaigned on the continent. And Finder and Farrow, I have heard their names, I think they might have been soldiers. John Cutnose, he fought for Lord Wild when we put down the May King’s rebellion. So many who served their lord in war, and failed to find peace at home. I make that eight.”
“Just so.” Eliza knew what was coming, but she listened anyway. Looking for the way up. Weren’t there steps? She seemed to recall steps.
“Walter of Aberness, convicted of sorcery, calling down a curse of rot upon the livestock and people of Oldelm.”
There was a ladder – pulled up onto the platform. She shook her head. “And so it is you and I are sent to investigate. You for your knowledge as the daughter of a magician, and I for my experience of the uncanny at your side.”
“And not depending on the church. The Lord Regent maintains his secular privileges jealously and Lord Wild follows his lead.”
The wind was cooler and she though she could see something, some structure around one of the supporting pillars. On the far side of course. She led the way. “All hanged I take it.”
“All hanged before the parish reeves, Lord Wild’s Sherriff and the Regency Coroner, the judge having already progressed upon his circuit. Witnessed by twelve men and women of good standing from each parish, who made their mark on the coroner’s writ. According to local tradition and the law of the land they would remain hanging for seven days, after which they could be claimed by their kin or buried in an unmarked grave.”
The graves, the graves. They were here somewhere. On the hill. No mans land. But not right by the gallows where people might interfere or accidently trample the mud so that bones came up. The site was grim enough already.
“Yesterday the watchman from Oldelm came up to relieve the one from Millriver. He discovered all the hanged bodies were gone, and the watchman too. He ran back down and the village elders came up to see. They sent messages to the other parishes, asking if any knew, and they all came up to see.” Julia looked around. “So not much chance of finding a track or clue. The missing tenth, the living man was Roger Stone, a solid and serious man, not like to run off without cause. As might be hoped for the nightwatchman of a gallows.”
“Better to do the job properly,” said Eliza and frowned at the next pillar. A greasy clay hand mark could be seen on it. When she raised her arm it was out of her reach, and she was tall for a woman. “And to conclude?”
“The elders having conferred they sent a message to the parish reeves. Each reeve, in turn, considered this and sent a report to Lord Wild of varying quality and completeness. In the time between our being summoned and departing I read each of the three reports, compiled all the salient facts then rode out with you until you ordered us to dismount at the foot of the hill.”
“There was water for the horses,” said Eliza distractedly. Here were the steps, in both construction and colour much lighter than the main structure. “And so. What can we observe now we have arrived?”
Julia looked upwards. “Many witnesses saw the bodies hanged. Now the bodies are gone. That much is obvious. We have walked around the gallows and seen no sign of how they might have been taken away.” Eliza scraped the mud from her boots on the first step. “The nooses are still tied, the ropes in place.”
“Good strong hemp, worth something to a thief.”
Julia bounced up the steps, flicking mud in all directions. “Cursed, surely, hangman’s rope. Though worth all the more in that case I would warrant. Very illegal to sell.” She looked about. “Of course so is taking a body, might as well be hanged for a hind as a hare.”
“Friends or family might take one to bury decently, rather than leave them on shameful display. Or two for the brothers; indeed friends might commiserate and egg each other on to take down more than one. Yet two are strangers and the others from all three parishes.” Eliza looked about. It seemed the hangman had taken away all his gear, ropes and stools and ladders and poles and so forth. They must bring them up here every time. Perhaps in the same cart as the condemned, the oxen struggling under the great load. Part of the spectacle, for if it were simple and easy how then to exhibit the majesty of justice?
She shivered slightly, though the wind had dropped. It felt as though it might come on to rain, against the predictions of the weatherwatchers back at the castle.
“A mystery,” said Julia.
“Is there anything untoward? Uncanny? Has any spell been cast, a curse laid?”
Julia snorted. “A gallows, on a hill. Where a king killed his family. Where the unhallowed dead are laid to rest.”
Eliza gave her a thin grin. “Be more surprising if it were un-cursed, that I grant you. Yet a sorcerer was hanged here three days ago.”
“I shall need some implements, and to consult a text. Pass me your scarf, I will wave down to call the others up.”
Eliza sighed. “Brak will not heed your artless signals. I had better… oh.”
While they had been talking thick mist had rolled in, and clouds lowered themselves all around. The land below had been covered in grey, and the forest was a menacing fence of black obscured by the haze.
“Do you still need to consult a text?” asked Eliza, looking about.
“More than ever.”
Eliza walked back towards the steps. She adjusted her belt to bring her sword to hand, then spent a moment re-arranging her skirts so they were not bunched, would not impede her movements. She shook her head, tightened her headscarf.
Her boots were strong, the outer gown heavy wool. Underskirt and shirt a little lighter. She wished she had her harness with her. Her shield, a squire to put it on, a file of guards.
“Brak! Brak!” Julia was yelling into the deadening blankness that swirled around them, her cracked voice vanishing. It would not carry even under better circumstances.
She was answered by a loud cry. For a moment Eliza thought that Brak had brought the party up to meet them, despite her order to let the horses rest. But the muffled sound was human feet, not hooves, the gasps and moan not those of horses.
The first figure seemed to be swathed in mist. Then she understood that their skin was grey, like clay or someone who had been dead. Dead for three days. Dead and all the blood drained from their face to their feet.
“Greetings,” she called out. It never hurt to be polite, even if you ended up cutting someone down. Their head wobbled slightly as it lifted, dull eyes unblinkingly staring from under lank hair.
Another appeared behind them and Eliza’s breath stuttered. Another man, plainly dressed, unhealthily pale. The nose badly broken, so much that their jaw hung open to let them breath.
She had seen the face before, standing guard in camp. Captain Garton Sky had taken the company out to forage supplies, a step up from common looting. They had come across a party of the May King’s troops on the same errand and fallen upon them. Garton had sent her and her coverman back to make report on the skirmish, and John Cutnose had taken her horse as she climbed heavily down in her armour to enter Lord Wild’s pavilion.
“My name is Eliza Sky, officer extraordinary to Lord Wild. I am on his Lordship’s business. Attend me and announce yourselves.” More of them appeared, seven, eight, all looking unwell. On the point of death. Further. “John Cutnose, I see you. You have served Lord Wild, aye. Report to me.”
He raised his stave at the sound of his name, otherwise simply continued. The one in the lead stood at the bottom, lifted his head up. It wobbled again. Raised the stave. Took the first step.
She reached across her body, took an easy hold of the hilt, other hand below the chape of the scabbard, out of the way of the blade. Drew, coming into a low guard position, suitable for being approached from below. “Halt there,” she said, voice steady, firm. Commanding.
They came on.
“I think they’re dead Eliza. Mistress Sky.” Julia’s voice calmed, becoming more formal. “They have risen from the grave.”
Not quite right. Beyond the eight at the bottom of the steps came others, brown, rotted, empty eyesockets in liquifying faces. These had come from the grave; the ones in front had been taken from the nooses unburied.
She had no armour or shield, her only defence to keep them at a distance. So as the leading one came in reach she stepped to the edge and made a cut, half speed, to encourage him to back off.
Her sword was blocked by the black stave, bouncing off. It must be hard as iron, perhaps buried in waterlogged ground. Bog oak.
He raised his foot and she cut with intention this time. As expected he blocked, but was left off balance and slipped back.
“I have no wish to hurt any of you,” said Eliza, though Providence knew if the dead could be hurt. Hardly she thought. Yet when Cutnose came forward she cut at him.
This time at his hand, though he was quick enough to avoid that, the staff slipping sideways, the other end swinging at her. No ferrule, just plain wood she noted as she ducked, then stabbed with the point into his arm.
No blood, no cry, barely even checked him.
Three quick cuts, two blocked on the stave, the other on the shoulder, that stopped him, made him step back down, then losing balance and tumbling. But two more had come up. The stairs were wide, wide enough for a condemned man and two flankers to walk up. To march up, to keep the prisoner under control and not fall off if pushed in a struggle.
Slightly too wide for one woman to defend with a sword.
If she could not intimidate them with a blade then she would kill them. Or maim them, leaving the difficult problem of killing a dead man for later. She swung lazily and the staff of the leader came to block. But he was no more skilled than any lout in a village, so she looped past and cut his arm, the backslash cutting deep between neck and shoulder, letting out a cry. The flesh was solid, her sword was sharp. The arm dropped, the staff turning and she cut on the other side, dislocating that shoulder. Both arms disabled she cut at the neck, head wobbling, like to drop.
And while she had been dismantling one opponent two more had gained the top steps and were closing from the side. She had to give ground, block one staff, then kick him down, head over heels, a rib or two broken, the torso strangely empty feeling. Then turn to the other.
She held now, the last place where she could block the steps. Letting them come, close, too close to each other, interfering with each other’s attacks. Using the final three inches of the blade to push them together, so they stumbled and could not strike, light cuts that would slowly cripple the living, making little or no effect on these walking revenants.
She had to give ground or take a blow and so a staff jabbed up and hit her thigh, numbing, then another at her ankle which she blocked only for the next to hit her wrist. For an instant she thought she had lost the sword, but she brought it up, her offhand joining, awkwardly grasping it as though it were a two-hander.
What she would give for a shield.
“Eliza!” Julia was calling. The other woman was not trained to arms, had no weapon, just her belt knife. Eliza was forced back a step. “Eliza!” Julia would be no help, only a hinderance. Eliza cut, cautiously, turned, cut again, neither blow doing damage. Then another step back.
“Eliza!”
“Not now!” There was something odd about her voice. Somehow the shorter woman was above her. She risked a look.
Well then. She surged forward, screaming, cutting left, inside the arc of the staff, shoulder dipping under. The dead man would not let go, his grip firm, so when she stood up, it lifted and she hit him full in the chest, knocking him into those behind the stairs. She turned away as they crashed and fell like skittles, into the one to the left, cutting again. Then before any at her back could come at her she ran.
The sword was a problem. She needed both hands and one was still numb. If she had time to sheathe it…
She would just have to try her best. Letting one hand loose, and three fingers from the other, she raised her arms. She could hear the thump of feet on the wood behind her. So she leaped.
Grasped the rope above the noose, the sword falling from her hands. “Damnation and Bloody Saints,” she swore as she swung out over the air, then back, pulling herself up.
One boot in the noose, one hand held up and then Julia pulled her up onto the wide black beam, ten feet above the platform.
She got her boots under her, took several heavy breaths. Her gown was torn at knee and forearm, she had lost her sword. She carefully detached the scabbard from her belt, holding it in her hand. Better there than trying to trip her up on the wood.
Though a finished beam it was not polished and despite the mist it was not damp. Footing secure she took stock of what was below.
Four people, each with a straight staff stood watching. Behind were rotted corpses, bones held together by mud and sinew, the dead called forth.
“What do you want,” said Julia loudly as the bodies parted. A man came forwards, hooded, hands hidden under long sleeves. Something dangled from them, hidden by his coat from above.
“Do you not know?” His voice effortlessly cut through the deadening mist, the shuffling feet, the sigh from the throats of the dead.
“Walter of Aberness,” said Julia firmly. Her hand touched her jerkin where Eliza could an outline of the tablets on which she had taken notes.
There was a great moan at the name and the figure raised his hand, carefully. In it he grasped a hank of red hair. Hanging from it was a head. Eliza did not recognise the features.
“It was his death that fuelled his curse. And so to this conclusion. Yet not his spell, that was directed by me.”
“Mopery of Hamstadt?” Eliza knew it was wrong, even as she spoke. There was something familiar about the man, something she ought to know. She breathed in and out, letting herself calm. The urge to act – to leap down and attack – began to fade.
One of the dead people focussed on her at her words, their face covered by their long hair, a bent branch in hand.
“No,” said Julia. “It had to be nine deaths. Nine unjust deaths to make the ritual.”
“Unjust?” Eliza snorted. “I grant you the courts are lazy, slow, corrupt and unfair. Yet to hang nine without cause seems improbable.”
“Do you not know? Do you not see? How can you have forgotten? How we stood against the Chitinous Legion. Hungered in the ruins of the Leaden City. Put down the May King.”
“You were a soldier,” said Julia, and the man lowered the head, his coat opening. Under it a stained and many times repaired tabard which might just resemble the livery of Lord Wild.
“Mistress, you recall the ones I knew, it was from on campaign. They all served Lord Wild, or the Lord Regent. They all fought for them. They fought in their name.” Eliza shook her head. “And then they broke their laws and were hanged for it.”
“Unjust!” The man hissed. “Just as I was called outlaw! Heretic! Necromancer! When I should have been honoured as a loyal servant.”
Eliza thought about this, discarding retorts. Necromancer, yes, and attacking an officer of Lord Wild on her business was grounds for outlawing. Julia had brought out her tablet and was looking at her notes.
“They swore an oath to their Lord. To serve them. And their Lord swore in return to give them justice and protection. And these oaths bind them, even after death.”
“They do not,” said Eliza shaking her head. “Death pays all debts, ends all allegiance. After a woman has died the only obligations left are between her and Providence. To suggest otherwise would be…” She trailed off. Yes, there was the other accusation. Heresy.
“Evidence suggests otherwise.”
“You will pay for your broken oaths,” said the man below. “The dead will take what is owing. They do not sleep, they do not rest.”
Eliza looked down. She had crippled two that were lying on the floor, unable to rise. The ones who had been buried did not look like they could stand more than a blow or two. Their revenge would not go far.
Far enough to kill her and Julia perhaps, which would be unfortunate. Unjust. It was not she who had broken the promises between lord and vassal, commander and soldier, explicit or implicit.
The man below continued to heap ignominy on the women standing atop the gallows. He paused and indicated to the dead soldiers that they should advance. Pairs moved towards the great wooden masts that held up the corners of the platform. Eliza pondered this. She might hold one with boots and dagger. Could Julia contain another? And if so, what of the third point of the triangle, where they might climb and attack from the same level while others reached from below.
As a fortress the gallows field had some important flaws.
“Mistress Eliza, you were commissioned by Lord Wild to deal with this situation, were you not?” Julia was staring into space, the grey tendrils of mist reaching down to caress her. She did not look to be preparing to fight.
“It might be said so mistress. Though you might choose to defend your pillar rather than consider the legalities.”
“The magic that animates our enemies is fuelled by those very legalities mistress.” Julia was being exquisitely polite. She understood the urgency of the situation. She walked carefully away to the far end of the crossbeam they stood upon. Looked down on the enemy below. “It seems to me that if I were to attempt to dispel their corporality, then it would be made efficacious by someone with the authority to put things right.”
Put things right. Beyond the power of any woman, no matter how esteemed, let alone Eliza Sky, daughter of a foreign mercenary. Putting right any injustice under the heavens would tax even the powers of Providence herself. Still, it was worth a try. “Mistress Intandle, if you would let me know when you are ready I shall do my best.”
She took the opportunity to plant herself at the corner and prepare to defend it. Below, the dead soldiers briefly paused, mournfully considering how they might best lift each other up to attack her. She hoped they might take a very long time in their appraisal. She was disappointed.
Julia began to chant something, half the words sounding like High Ferrin, others another dialect. Without her texts she must be improvising. She stamped three times which Eliza took as her cue.
“Let all folk hear. I am Eliza Sky of Humbledown, daughter of Garton Sky, deputised by Lord Wild on behalf of the Regent of the Crown of Whitland. Attend me now, aye!”
Her voice sang out, a battlefield sound to be heard even above the clash of arms.
“You have served and served well. And now is the time for your reward. I release you from all your duties, all you owe considered paid. No more must you toil on your lord’s behalf.”
That did not seem to satisfy them. The man below tried to interrupt but Eliza did not pay him attention. The revenants chose one amongst them and hoisted him, raising his staff vertically.
“Released from your duty, I absolve you of all wrongdoing. Let your crimes be forgotten. Let your dues be forgiven. And this I swear. Your bodies shall be decently buried on hallowed ground, with marker stones. Your families and dependents taken care of. Your crimes stricken from the record, to be replaced with your service to lord and country. A memorial to be said for you by the priests in the parish churches. So do I swear, Eliza Sky, before you all, before the Black Tree Gallows, before Providence.”
“So witnessed!” cried Julia.
For an instant the revenants froze, the man below urging them on, reminding them of what had been done. That they had fought for their lord and been rewarded with a hanging. That there was no justice to be had.
It was more than an instant. And then the first let go the one he was holding, who slithered down. A body that was little more than bones held by sinew and magic collapsed in on itself.
Enough, thought Eliza and leapt down, surprising the man, dropkicking him to the floor. The dead responded variously, turning slowly, or not at all, or falling over.
Best to do this properly. “I arrest you, whoever you are, for interfering with the dead, and for breaching the Lord Regent’s peace.”
“Do you still not know me?” The man gurgled as she knelt on his back, pulling his arms up with one hand.
“Will this help mistress?” Julia arrived with rope to tie him. Eliza looped it around his wrists then paused, realising where it had some from. Well enough she thought. Rope was rope. She looped it around his ankles as well. “Do you know him?” Julia asked.
Eliza reached around and lowered his hood. Turned his head and looked into his face. She shrugged. “Perhaps in the Wyrdshire volunteers? I do not recall.” He snarled and tried to bite at her so she banged his head on the black wood, once, twice. “Enough of that my lad or I will be forced to gag you.”
Slowly and without fuss the dead returned to stillness, slowly sinking about them. Julia sighed. “All is well that ends well.”
Eliza shook her head. “Oh no mistress, I do not think so. These are honoured dead from the late wars. We must have them identified, recorded and buried in the parish churchyards. Priests engaged to say prayers. Their dependents discovered and supported. It seems to me that you will be clerking for some time. I only hope that Lord Wild will pay for all the expenses that have been incurred. For I dare not welch on them less a revenant come to collect.”
Julia sighed. “Or perhaps you will have to marry after all, your husband to pay the debts.”
“I have made enough oaths this day to last a lifetime. Julia, if you wish to be of use, then go down the hill and collect Brak and the others. If they have not been eaten by the mist have them send messengers to each of the three parishes. We shall need carts to carry the remains.”
“Indeed.” Julia paused for a moment. “And whether it was my cantrip or your promises that broke the spell, I cannot but hope that we have done a good deed here. I shall write a history of this day. Eliza Sky And The Act Of Grace.”
“All of grace is in the hands of Providence Julia.”
“And we but her humble servants, my perfect virgin saint.” Julia turned to the steps as the man made an attempt to escape and Eliza banged his head on the black wood one more time.
©August 2023, Neil Willcox
Neil Willcox lives in South East England where he has worked on a fruit farm, in local schools and in the back office of insurance companies. He has previously appeared in Bear Creek Gazette, The Sirens Call, and Swords & Sorcery. He can be found online at nightofthehats.blogspot.com.