by R C Gray
Moving up between the small dunes, they hunkered down between the rows of grass, sitting quietly for several minutes as the waves lapped up on the shore, softly rumbling like distant thunder.
“So... this should be a fun night. Who wants to take the first watch?” Faine said, fluffing up his bag like a pillow.
“I will,” Braig said. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Should one of us look for some firewood?”
“Do you think we should,” Renna said, leaning against a dune. “It might draw attention.”
“We dig a hole and build a fire in it. Stack up a few rocks to help block it from view, and we can at least get some heat. We can’t hide the smoke, but I think the wind should blow it away.”
“Then let’s go while we still have a little light. Skara, you mind gettin’ the pit ready?” Braig said as he brushed the sand off his pants.
“I’ll have it ready.”
Digging a deep hole into the sand, Skara began stacking the rocks that Renna gathered from the beach in rows around the pit. As Faine and Braig carried back a few armloads of wood, Skara crossed one stick over the other as Renna lit the tinder with her fingers. The dried grass and driftwood sparked to life, warming them as the cool breeze from the water blew over the small dunes.
“Here, I picked these up before we left the Banshee,” Skara said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a loaf of bread, two leeks, and a long slice of dried meat. “The bread’s a bit soggy, though.”
“That’s fine with me,” Faine said, tearing off a chunk of meat and bread before passing it around the fire. “I didn’t even think to grab any food. But I did grab a bottle of whiskey if anybody wants some.”
“Do you really think it’s a good idea to be drinking here? You might end up getting shanked by an undead when you stumble off to take a piss.” Braig said.
“Drink or no, that could still happen. And why deny myself a little comfort? Home,” Faine said, raising his eyebrows, “is where you make it. And so far, this seems like a good enough place to be. Just listen. Can you hear the music?”
Braig turned his head, listening to the sounds around him. “What are you on about? Are you drunk already? I only hear the weeds.”
“Exactly,” Faine said. “That sound you’re hearing is called night chords. They grow in clusters, and when the wind blows, the tops rub together and make a nice noise...like soft music.”
Biting down on her last piece of moist bread, Renna stretched out over the sand. “Well, this has been fun, but I’m getting some sleep. I’ll take the next watch if you don’t mind. So that leaves one of you two for the third and fourth,” she said, glancing at Skara and Faine.
“I’ll take the third,” Skara said.
Taking a sip out of his whiskey bottle, Faine put the cork back in and sprawled out next to the fire. “Then wake me up when it’s time to see the sunrise.”
Sitting behind a strip of beach grass, Braig kept his eyes on the dark hills and groves, occasionally throwing another log into the pit. His mind wandered as he listened to the crackling fire behind him and the rhythmic sound of the night chords just over the dunes.
His eyes began to lose focus as images flashed in his mind. Rubbing his palms over his face, he turned his head to look back towards the fire, but the beach was gone. In its place was a large field littered with corpses, the clumps of grass dark and dripping with blood. The tattered banner of House Egara fluttered in the wind, the red and gold lion torn and stained, the shaft broken and protruding upright from a man’s chest.
Screams echoed across the open ground, coming from all directions. Shielding his eyes from the rays of light piercing the clouds, he could feel the ground trembling beneath his feet. Looking up to the top of the hill in the distance, a great army reached the summit, their horses lining the hillside. Above them, a banner flew in the wind, deep red with the image of a snarling black dragon in its center. The man holding the flag looked down on Braig, his smooth black hair blowing over his pale face.
Rising from behind the army of broken knights and fell creatures, a terrible shriek tore into Braig’s mind, forcing him to cover his ears and cower at its sound. Powerful wings stretched out across the sky as a fearsome black dragon rose over the hillside and darted like an arrow towards Braig. The dragon screeched as its jagged teeth glinted in the sun, its gaping maw growing closer, ready to swallow him whole.
Letting out a scream as he felt a hand on his shoulder, Braig opened his eyes to see Renna standing in front of him, shaking him. The air around him was cold, and he could hear the ocean lapping on the shore behind him. The sun glimmered through the trees to the east, and he had to close his eyes to its brightness.
“What are you doing? You were supposed to wake me up,” Renna said, her lips drawn back, exposing more of her tusks.
“I was in a field of corpses. Their armor was ripped and jagged, bodies charred beneath it. The air was alive, screaming at me, clawing at my mind. The flag of Egara was broken along with his army. And I saw it,” Braig said, gripping Renna’s arms. “I saw it on the hillside.”
“Whoa,” Faine said, holding up his hands to try to calm Braig. “Saw what?”
“I saw a man with pale skin and dark hair wielding a crimson banner with a black dragon. Beside him were legions of undead and fell creatures, their faces obscured in shadow. And then there it was, soaring over the hillside—a black dragon with scales like thorns coming to swallow me whole.”
“It was just a dream. It doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. You said that yourself. It’s not always what it seems.” Renna said, glancing up at Faine.
Faine clapped Braig on the shoulder. “That’s right. Look at where you are. A lot of bad shit happened here. It’s no wonder you had a nightmare.”
Braig shook his head. “It felt so real, so vivid. I thought it was over.” Putting his head into his hands, he rubbed his face and looked up at Renna. “I don’t know what’s real or just a dream.”
“It was a dream,” Faine said as he pulled Braig to his feet. “The dragons stay in the mountains or under them. No one’s seen one in a hundred years, especially not the black dragon. He’s dead and frozen in stone.”
Sighing heavily, Braig picked up the remainder of his loaf of bread. “You’re right. It has to be this place.” Taking a bite, he thought about his dream at the temple before they were attacked by the myrrow. That dream had been just as vivid—just as real. What were they trying to tell him? Could finding the stone be a way to keep his visions from happening, or will it help bring them to pass? Kicking sand over the firepit, he grabbed his bag and trudged along towards the forest, a sinking feeling forming in his gut.
Hours passed as they walked over the hills and fields, fertile soil beneath their feet.
“Why isn’t anyone here farming?” Faine said, sifting the soil through his fingers.
“Aenwyn said something to me about a curse. People came to farm here, but the crops just withered and died. After a while, they just gave up and stopped coming.”
Wiping his hands on his pants, Faine looked around at the leafless trees. “Makes sense. But where’d the people go?”
“What do you mean?” Renna said as she started walking.
“I mean, where did the farmers go after they left? Did they just head to a town somewhere?”
Renna scratched her head with a small stick. “I don’t know. I would think they moved inland after nothing would grow. How long can you go without food?”
Stopping at the edge of a small grove that bordered a barren field, Braig motioned for them to get down. “By the stone! Maybe they never left at all,” he said, pointing towards the remnants of a stone well near the end of the clearing.
Staggering out from behind the crumbling stones, a single denmol ambled over to a loose patch of dirt and crouched down, its bony fingers digging frantically until it pulled up a fat, writhing worm. The creature stared hollowly, its broken teeth grinding together as it gave the nightcrawler a viol
ent shake and bit it in half. The worm struggled, falling from its grip only to be scooped up in a handful of dirt and shoved back into the denmol’s gnashing jaws.
The darkened, leathery skin hung in flaps from the creature's naked body, bits of dried organs still clinging to shards of jagged bone. Thick, matted hair sat in a crusted heap on its head as its mouth chewed, the dirt and pieces of mashed worm falling through the nearly empty torso and back onto the ground.
Skara swallowed hard as he watched the creature shamble away, lifting rocks and eating whatever crawled underneath. “If it’s already dead, how are we supposed to kill it?”
Renna paused, thinking about what Aenwyn had told her and stories she had heard traveling around with a caravan when she was younger. “They’re held together by magic, so just cutting them apart won’t work. You have to take the head or break the skull.”
“How is that any different than cutting them up?” Faine said.
“Think of the skull like a closed chest or a reliquary. The energy swirls in the enclosed space, and when it’s broken or severed from the body, it drains out. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway. But I’ve never seen one that hasn’t been brought back by a caster before.”
“Then there’s only one way to find out,” Braig said, looking around the field to make sure there were no more roaming close by.
Tossing a stone to get the creature’s attention, Braig stepped out from behind the trees and strapped his shield tighter to his arm. The denmol’s eyeless gaze turned in his direction, a low gurgling hiss rising from its throat as it plodded closer. “What happens if it bites me?”
“I don’t know,” Renna said, grabbing her axe as she moved next to Braig. “So don’t let it bite you.”
Braig’s lips tightened as the creature crossed the field, moving slowly on creaking bones, hands outstretched as its fingers gripped and clawed at the air. Charging forward, he slashed down, severing the denmol’s arm, followed by the other. The creature pushed forward, broken teeth clicking together, inching its rotting jaws closer.
Crouching down, Braig used the creature’s momentum against his shield to lift it over his head, flipping it onto the ground behind him. The denmol let out another hiss as it smashed headfirst into the dirt, cracking several ribs as it fell. Its rigid body jerked and trembled as it rolled from side to side, legs digging into the soil as it pushed itself towards Braig.
“Now watch,” Renna said as she raised her axe.
Cleaving the creature’s skull in half, a dark, shimmering vapor poured out of the split, dissipating as it blew away in the wind.
“Easy enough,” Faine said, wiping a raindrop off his face. “We should really get moving though—looks like this weather is about to turn. How close are we?”
Thunder rumbled as Braig looked across the field towards the well. “My guts feel like they’re in a knot, so we must be getting close. I think it could be just over the next hill. Looks like there’s an overgrown road through the trees over there we can take. Might make passage a bit easier.”
The rain grew harder as they made their way up the overgrown path, turning the hill to mud as the water pooled around their feet. Sinking up to their ankles on the wet road, they trudged to the top of the hillside, clothes soaked through as they looked down over the ruined village below.
Rotting wooden houses stood, some nearly collapsed, in the valley below. Barns and shops made from smooth stone and broken planks covered in green-grey lichen sat empty in the rain, doors and windows thrown open wide. Near the center of the village, black vines weaved themselves between the stone walls leading down into the stepwell, cracking the mortar as they tangled upwards. From its center, a slight mist rose from the stairway down into the caverns, drifting out silently over the rain-soaked village.
Skara wiped the water from his eyes and put his hand over his mouth. The air felt heavy, and the pouring rain made him feel like he was drowning. “We can’t stay out here,” he said over a rumble of thunder.
“No, we can’t. But this is it. The stone is down there in one of the buildings,” Braig said, setting his bag against a tree. “Take only what you need down there. We don’t know what we’ll find...and we may have to run.”
“Wait,” Skara said, rummaging through his bag. “Take these.”
Pulling out three antler necklaces attached to leather cords, he handed one to each of them. Carved into the front were several runes and symbols, filled in with dark green paint. “I made these on our way here. The runes are for protection. It’s worked for me—so far anyway,” Skara said as he rubbed his chest near his heart.
Sliding the amulet over his head, Faine looked down at Skara. “I feel better already.”
Braig and Renna agreed as they tied the cord around their necks. Taking only what they would need, they piled their bags of clothing against the trunk of a tree and crept down the hill, watching for any movement in the ruins of Q’Bath.
Drawing their weapons, they opened the door to the first house in a line of buildings that ran past the well and up to the stables near the barn. The door squeaked and broke from its rusty hinges, falling hard onto the wooden floors, echoing through the village. Stopping, they each held their breath, peering around the corner up the street, squinting through the rain to look for any movement.
“I don’t see anything,” Braig said as he stepped into the house.
The walls were bare, and the hay mattresses that were crumpled on the dilapidated beds were wet and covered in mold. Broken shards of glass littered the floor beneath the window, crunching as they stepped closer to a small dresser pushed into the corner.
Rifling through the drawers, Braig pulled out shreds of old clothing, throwing them to the floor as he searched. “There’s nothing in here.”
“I didn’t see anything in the other rooms, either,” Faine said, clenching his hands to keep the blood flowing through his cold fingers. “Let’s check the next one.”
Peeking around the corner, they scurried up the street to check the next house, trying to keep low and quiet, despite their feet making a sucking sound as they sank into the mud.
“Nothing here either,” Braig said, pulling at his beard as he walked out the door and up the street. “By the stone, it’s here somewhere! I can feel-”
“What is it?” Renna said, seeing Braig stop, his mouth hanging open.
“This is the house,” he said, breathing hard. “The stone is in there.”
Walking cautiously through the open door, they closed it behind them as they looked around the large room. Shelves stacked with water-soaked books hung on the splintered wooden walls with wide cracks that opened up to the cold air outside. Above them, rain poured through the sunken roof, dripping down onto the rotted floorboards that partially covered the mud below.
Breaking off into the room in the back corner, Skara pushed open the door and walked softly across the broken planks. A cold wind rushed in through the gaps in the walls as he climbed on a small, semi-sturdy table and began pulling books off a shelf. Noticing that some of the books were fairly dry, he flipped through the pages, catching a glimpse of something darting past one of the cracks in the wall outside.
Dropping the book, he jumped off the table and crept towards the wall, looking out into the small copse of trees behind the house.
“Denmol!” Braig shouted as they ran into the back room with Skara, shutting the door and barring it with the table and the shelves off the wall. “They’re coming out of the well!”
Dashing to the window, Skara watched the horde of undead gathering in droves on the streets, their grotesque bodies stumbling through the copse of trees outside. The flesh and organs remaining on their bodies were bloated from the water deep in the well. Skeletal arms with sagging tissue in various stages of decay scratched and clawed at the broken wood of the bedroom, pushing the planks inward as they howled and bellowed, rough gurgles coming from mutilated throats.
“They’re inside,” Faine said, pushing himself aga
inst the small table blocking the door, struggling to keep it closed as rotting arms squeezed through the narrow opening.
The walls around them shook and groaned with the weight of the bodies pressed against them. Striking out at the arms worming through the cracks, Skara looked around the room, searching desperately for a way out. A wave of fear welled up in his throat as the door bent and shattered, falling to pieces as the undead pushed their way inside, limbs flailing and jaws clacking.
Braig, Renna, and Faine stood in front of the broken door, slashing and hacking as they tried to keep the horde from swarming the room as more undead scurried up the stairs from the well, flooding the streets around them.
Seeing a hole in the floorboards near the wall, Skara dove to his stomach and stuck his head into the gap, peering through the darkness for a way out. Turning his head towards the wall, he could see something sharp and black half-buried in the mud, the water dripping from above making its glassy surface shine. Eyes going wide, Skara plunged his hand into the wet ground, closing his fingers tightly around the stone.
“I found it, I found the sto-” Skara said, his voice cut short as a rusted shard of metal cut through his back, tearing through his chest and stabbing into the wood beneath him.
A muffled moan escaped his lips as he watched his dark blood pooling beneath him as it drained from his mouth and chest.
“Oh, gods...Skara,” Renna said, dropping her axe and rushing to his side.
Turning him over carefully, she held him in her arms as her fingers scraped against the jagged metal protruding from his chest. Tears welled up in her eyes as she tore open his shirt to see the wound. His skin was scarred with runes that spanned his torso, the ragged metal cutting through the same symbol he had carved onto their amulets.
Ren...Renna...” Skara said, dark blood spurting from his mouth as he coughed, unable to swallow. “Don’t...don’t let me go. I’m not ready,” he said, his grip tightening on the stone, its knife-like edge cutting deep into his fingers. “I’m scared.”