The Sign of Fear

by R. L. Stine

  Fieran knew the first thing he must do. With quick strides he crossed to the brazier in the center of his dwelling. The heavy iron basket sat on three long legs. Hot coals rested inside. Fieran took a long poker and stirred the fire until tiny flames licked over the surface of the coals.

  Then he picked up the head. He shivered when he felt the cold flesh beneath his fingertips. He wanted to drop the head back on the floor.

  You killed this man, Fieran reminded himself. You cannot be afraid to touch part of his lifeless body.

  But killing in the heat of battle felt much different. Soldiers had to kill or be killed. There was no time to think.

  Fieran stared down at the head. He felt a sharp taste hit the back of his throat, but he forced himself to keep looking. The skin hung loose. The mouth sagged open.

  Strange that such a thing could hold such power. But it did.

  He carried the head over to the fire and positioned it on top of the long metal rod that stuck straight up from the bottom of the kettle of coals. The rod he usually used for cooking meat.

  Then he pulled down on the head, forcing the rod deep inside it. The heat from the fire will start the process, Fieran thought. He knew that the power would not be released from the head until the flesh fell away from the bones.

  Fieran stripped off his bloodstained clothes and washed himself. Then he pulled on clean homespun garments and stretched out on his sleeping pallet.

  He felt exhausted, but his mind kept racing. Jumping from Conn to Brianna to his father to the head.

  He rolled over onto his side and watched the shadows thrown on the wall. One of the shadows appeared darker than the others. It crept across his feet and moved upward. Fieran lost all feeling in his legs.

  The shadow crept across his stomach. And Fieran’s stomach clenched. It felt frozen.

  He tried to force himself to get up. But he felt too tired. He could barely move.

  The shadow flowed across Fieran’s chest. Fieran’s heart began to pound in slow, painful beats.

  I must do something! he thought. I cannot let it reach my head.

  The shadow inched up his throat. Fieran opened his mouth to scream. No sound came out.

  He couldn’t breathe. He clawed at his throat, gasping and choking. The shadow is cutting off my air, he thought. I need air.

  Chapter

  8

  “What is it, Fieran?” a voice cried out.

  Fieran jerked himself upright. He pulled a shaking breath into his lungs.

  “Brianna,” he choked out. “I must have had a nightmare! I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.”

  Brianna knelt on the floor beside him. “Hush, now, Fieran,” she crooned.

  “It was only a dream,” Fieran muttered. He felt silly with Brianna fussing over him. But it was nice, too. Fieran breathed in her sweet scent as she ran a hand across his brow.

  Brianna was the rarest of all things among the Celtic people—a female spell-caster. She also had the ability to interpret dreams and visions.

  “Fieran,” she said now, her voice soft and melodic. “Tell me about your dream.”

  Brianna took his hands between hers. She rubbed them gently. “I can tell you are exhausted,” she said. “Your hands are so cold.”

  “I’ll warm up now that you are here,” Fieran answered. Then he noticed how pale Brianna appeared. He could see deep shadows beneath her eyes. “Brianna, what is it?” he asked anxiously. “What troubles you?”

  Abruptly, Brianna rose to her feet. “It is nothing, Fieran,” she said.

  But he noticed she could not meet his gaze.

  “In fact, I come to bring you joyous news,” Brianna continued. “The Romans are defeated. The day is ours.”

  Why won’t she look at me, Fieran wondered. What is wrong?

  “I knew this when I left the battlefield,” he replied. The words came out sounding harsher than he intended. Before he could apologize, Brianna rushed on.

  “There is more, Fieran. For taking the head of the Roman leader, you are declared a great hero.” She crossed over to the brazier and stared at the grisly head.

  Suddenly, Fieran remembered his vision. All his energy returned. He jumped up from his sleeping pallet. “I had vision when I returned from battle. A wall of flame appeared and . . . ” His voice trailed off.

  Brianna kept her eyes on the head of the Roman leader. With the head stuck on the spit, she could stare directly into the face. She appeared fascinated by it.

  “Brianna?” Fieran said softly.

  She shook her head and turned to face him. “What did you see?”

  “I saw you,” Fieran answered.

  “You saw me?” she exclaimed. “Only me?”

  Fieran shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I also saw myself and Conn.” He paused for a moment, trying to remember his exact vision.

  “I saw myself first,” he continued. “Then I saw Conn. He grew to monstrous size. But then you appeared, and Conn vanished.”

  “You saw Conn?”

  “Yes,” he answered. Why did she seem so distracted? “He almost overwhelmed me. His face covered mine for a moment. But I beat him. His face completely disappeared. There is only one thing it can mean. I’m sure of it.”

  “You think it means you are destined to become the new chief,” Brianna said. Her voice was emotionless.

  “Well, of course I do,” Fieran said. He stared down into Brianna’s face. What he saw chilled him. Her expression was solemn. Her eyes filled with tears.

  Brianna is an expert in interpreting dreams and visions, he thought. What could have upset her so in his? “Tell me, Brianna,” Fieran urged her. “Am I wrong?”

  Brianna threw her arms around him. She buried her face against his chest. “I am not certain, Fieran.”

  Slowly, Fieran drew her head back. He wiped the tears from her cheeks. He kissed her tenderly.

  “It is all right, Brianna. I am certain,” he said. “I am certain enough for both of us.”

  Brianna pressed her face against his neck. “Oh, Fieran, I pray you will take care. Too often, visions only show us our own desires. We see only what we wish to see.”

  “Not this time,” Fieran vowed, holding her closer. “Not this time. You will see. Being the chief of our people is my fate, Brianna.”

  “You are wrong!” a deep voice boomed.

  Fieran and Brianna sprang apart. Conn stood a few feet away from them, his arms folded across his chest. “You are never going to be chief, Fieran!”

  Chapter

  9

  “I am,” said Conn. “I am going to be the new chief.”

  Rage rose up in Fieran. He didn’t even try to beat it down. “Never!” he cried out. “I will stop you if it takes everything I have.”

  “It might,” Conn replied. He stepped up to Fieran, so close their chests almost touched. “It might—and that still won’t be enough to stop me.”

  “Stop this bickering at once!” Brianna cried suddenly.

  Conn stared at her with his cold blue eyes. Then he returned his gaze to Fieran. “Which of us do you think Brianna wants to win?”

  “What do you want here, Conn?” she demanded, her green eyes bright with anger.

  “I came to congratulate Fieran on his great victory,” Conn replied innocently.

  Fieran glared at Conn. A victory you wanted for yourself, he thought. You would have happily killed me to have the head and its power.

  He knew Brianna didn’t want them to fight. “What do you want here, Conn?” Fieran asked quietly.

  “The chief is mortally wounded,” Conn said. “He has decided to hold the ceremony tonight. Tonight we will discover which of us is to be the new chief. You are summoned to the sacred glade.”

  It has come at last! Fieran thought. The moment I’ve been waiting for.

  “I thought my news would interest you,” Conn said. “Don’t linger here with Brianna too long, Fieran. It would be a shame for you to miss the ceremony and moment w
hen I am declared chief.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Fieran and Brianna entered the sacred glade. The trees surrounding the glade grew so close together that no sunlight ever penetrated their branches. The glade was dark and silent, even at midday.

  And now it was night. Many of the people held large torches. The light flickered over the faces carved into the trunks of the trees. Faces of past chiefs.

  They almost appear alive, Fieran thought. He shivered.

  Someday my face will be carved here, Fieran told himself. He felt Brianna touch his arm.

  “Look, Fieran,” she said. She pointed to a huge wicker figure in the center of the clearing. Its torso had been lined with wooden bars to form a cage. Pieces of wood had been piled all around it.

  The wicker man, Fieran thought. He did not like to think about that part of the ceremony. The part of the ceremony where the old chief would die, so that his spirit could enter the new chief.

  “Fieran, look,” Brianna said again. This time she pointed at someone next to the wicker man.

  Conn. Conn had chosen a spot so close to the wicker figure he could have touched it.

  He must be very confident that he will be chosen, to stand so close, Fieran thought.

  “Wherever Conn is, you should be also,” Brianna murmured.

  Fieran took her by the arm and strode over to Conn. The low, eerie sound of a wooden pipe filled the air. Announcing the arrival of the chief.

  Fieran’s heart pumped faster as he watched the chief enter the clearing. His long robes trailed along the mossy ground.

  The man held himself perfectly straight. But his steps were slow and painful. A whisper ran around the clearing. “The chief. The chief has come.”

  The chief paused before the wicker figure. Then he climbed inside the cage in the torso. Fieran knew what would happen next. He knew it was a great gift from the chief. He knew the chief was ill, and near death.

  But a feeling of dread settled over him.

  The chief planned to give up his life that night. To pass his spirit on to his successor.

  “Hear me, my people,” the chief called out from inside the wicker man. “Witness as I give my body to the flames.”

  “We witness,” everyone repeated after him, their voices low.

  As he spoke the words, Fieran’s throat felt tight. Only the bravest of the chiefs passed their spirits on in this way. Fieran wondered if he would ever be brave enough.

  “Witness,” the chief went on. “Watch and wait. Wait for the sign of the one who will come after.”

  “We will wait,” the people in the circle promised. “We will wait for the sign of the chief.”

  “There will be one among you who can bear the fire. One who will walk unharmed among the flames. He is the one who carries my spirit within him. He must be your new chief.”

  All around the clearing, the people bowed their heads. Fieran felt his blood race through his veins. It will be me. I saw the flames in my vision.

  Fieran lifted his head. The chief gave a signal. Two men with torches stepped forward. They stopped in front of the wicker man.

  The chief gazed out. His eyes moved around the clearing. They rested on Conn. They rested on Fieran.

  Then the chief raised his arms above his head. The men hurled their torches at the wicker man. With a hungry roar, the dry wood flared up.

  Fieran heard Brianna give a low moan deep in her throat. He grabbed her hand and held it tight.

  The flames roared, higher and higher. Almost as high as the tops of the trees. Within seconds, they consumed the wicker man.

  The fire scorched Fieran’s face. It took all his will not to step away.

  The chief gave a great shout. “I choose! I choose my successor. Let him walk through the flames!”

  Fieran felt his heart explode within his chest. Power surged along his every limb.

  The sensation was too intense. His knees buckled. He fell to the ground.

  It has happened, he thought. It has truly happened. I have been chosen. I am the new chief.

  He knew he had to offer proof, or the others would never believe him. “My people,” he cried, struggling to his feet. “I am chosen. Come here to me.”

  But his cry was drowned out by a sudden babble of voices. Through the confusion, Fieran heard Conn. “I feel the power. I am the chosen one.”

  No, Fieran thought. No. I felt it. I felt the chiefs spirit enter me. I am chosen!

  “Who is it? Who is chosen?” the people asked one another.

  “It is Conn!” a high-pitched voice called out.

  “No! No!” Fieran yelled. He stepped closer to the flames. “If Conn says he is chosen, then he is lying. The spirit of the chief is alive within me.”

  The people in the clearing fell silent. They stared at Conn and Fieran. They stood together, next to the wicker figure. Brianna stood between them.

  “Proof,” someone called. “We must have proof.”

  Fieran tried to speak. But Conn was too quick for him.

  “I will offer proof,” Conn declared.

  Conn shot his hand out and grabbed Brianna. He pulled her from Fieran’s side. “The power of the chief is strong within me,” Conn shouted. “So strong that I can shield another from the fire.”

  Before Fieran could stop him, Conn turned toward the burning wicker figure. He pulled Brianna with him into the towering flames.

  Chapter

  10

  “Brianna!” Fieran screamed out. “Brianna! No!”

  With a burst of bright white flame, the wicker man exploded. Huge, fiery embers shot straight up into the air.

  As sparks rained down, Fieran saw two people standing in the wreckage. Brianna and Conn.

  Relief flooded through Fieran. Brianna! She is alive!

  And Conn has proven himself chief, Fieran realized.

  What happened? Fieran was so sure he felt the old chief’s spirit enter his body. The force of it knocked him down. Left him breathless. How could Conn have proven he is the chosen one—when I know he is not?

  Fieran uttered a roar of fury and anguish. He ran into the red-hot coals. “Here is my proof,” he shouted. “Proof that Conn is a liar and a fraud.”

  “You see?” Conn countered. “You see how great my power is? I extend protection even to those who don’t believe me.” He stepped out of the ring of fire, holding Brianna close at his side.

  Everyone rushed up and surrounded him. The others have accepted Conn as their leader, Fieran thought. Now they will protect him with their own lives.

  It’s not fair! He doesn’t deserve it! Fieran rushed from the smoldering remains of the wicker figure. Straight to Brianna and Conn, pushing the others out of his way. “Brianna,” he pleaded. “You are skilled in reading the signs. Tell them that they are making a mistake. Tell them about my vision of fire. Tell them the chief has chosen me!”

  Brianna’s lips parted. But any words she might have spoken were drowned out by the others. “Seize him,” one cried out. “Seize Fieran. He has offered false proof. He has tried to destroy our holy ritual.”

  “Seize him!”

  “Kill him!”

  “Fieran must die!”

  “No!” Conn called out in a loud, deep voice. Instantly, the glade fell silent.

  “You must not harm him. Fieran must not die. Can’t you see what has happened? Seeing his dreams of power destroyed has been too much for him. Fieran has lost his mind. We must show him mercy.”

  The people shook their heads in agreement and dismay. “What a terrible thing to happen. Brave Fieran has gone mad,” one woman cried.

  “Listen to me!” Fieran screamed out. “I am not mad! I stood in the embers of the fire. I came out unharmed. The spirit of the old chief moves within me. You have chosen the wrong man!”

  “That’s enough!” Conn cried in a terrible voice. “I pity you, Fieran. I know why you make these false accusations. But I cannot allow them to go on. From this day forth, you are no longer one of our
people. You are no longer one of us. I banish you, Fieran. I banish you forever.”

  “Banished,” the people echoed. “Fieran is banished. He is no longer one of us.”

  Chapter

  11

  Banished! How can I be banished?

  Only today I risked my life for my people in battle. Today I had the chance to kill Conn. I did not, because I believed my people needed him alive.

  I must get away from this clearing. I must get away from Conn. When I’m far away, I’ll be able to think clearly. I’ll be able to think of how to defeat Conn and take my rightful place.

  Fieran dashed out of the clearing. Away! he thought. I have to get away.

  His vision had lied. He hadn’t won. He had been defeated. And now banished.

  Everything had been taken from him. There was absolutely nothing left for him. My life is over! Conn is chief!

  Fieran stumbled through the forest, his long ceremonial robe slowing him down. He kept running. Running from the image of Conn and Brianna standing in the embers. Running from the image of Conn being declared chief.

  But no matter how far or how fast Fieran ran, the images refused to leave him. They were burned into his memory. They would last until the end of time.

  Exhausted, Fieran stopped and gazed around him. With a shock, he realized where he was. The entrance of his own cave.

  Home! he thought. He pushed aside the hanging vines and walked in. His cave was cool and dark inside.

  Fieran felt grateful for the darkness. He could hide here, away from everyone. He could try to forget about Conn.

  The Roman head still sat upon its spit. The orange coals in the brazier reflected off its eyes. Fieran moved toward it, staring into those glowing eyes.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Fieran.”

  Fieran choked back a cry of terror. The head spoke! he thought.

  Then he heard a laugh behind him. He whirled around. At the entrance to his cave a figure waited. Even in the dim light, Fieran could see the hatred in its eyes.