A Cup of Blood

by Troy A Hill

  “I felt the disturbance when I awoke this morning,” her voice was quiet. “A normal animal predator wouldn’t have alerted me. But this…” Her gaze swept across the pasture.

  We made our way across the hillside. Each of the sheep bore wounds like those on the boy. We found one animal not just slashed and killed. Bits of bone and fleece were strewn about. Whatever killed them had feasted on this one.

  The grass might have been short cropped, but it was thick. I doubted we would find any tracks. A score or more of dead animals littered the pasture. They were the only trial I could see across the field. Beyond them, nothing to say where the creature had gone.

  “I’ve never known an animal to be this indiscriminate in when it hunts, only to feast on the last of its kills,” I said. “This appears more like the carnage of a pack, but they didn’t take enough of the animals to feed a pack.”

  We made our way around the outskirts of the scene and came back to the dead shepherd.

  “Are there any farms or villages around here?” I asked.

  Gwen shook her head.

  “The nearest village is several leagues that direction,” she said. “The yeomen and villagers from Mechain rarely travel this far out.” She looked down at the shepherd’s body. “I’ll do what I can, here. Can you make a grave marker for him?”

  “A cross?”

  She nodded, so I headed to a nearby grove and found two large branches fallen from a tree. Already brittle, I broke them across my knee. They were now about as long as my arm. I formed a crude cross with the pieces, then tied them with a creeper vine I pulled off a tree.

  Mother wolf followed me, along with her two younglings.

  “A beast was here,” she sent as we walked back toward Gwen.

  “What kind of beast?” I asked.

  She gave me the wolf's equivalent of a shrug. It was one she wasn't familiar with. But, she was young herself. The two younglings appeared to be her first litter. She led the other two off into the trees again.

  I made the short walk toward the pasture. A white glow wavered where Gwen knelt. By the time I made it back to her, I could see a mound in front of her. Bare soil showed where the shepherd had slept. White light shone out from her hands.

  “I had the land take the young man,” she said, her voice quiet, once the light had faded. “No need for the vermin to feed on him anymore.” I forced the end of the cross into the ground at one end of the grave. She reached out, and I offered my hands to help her stand. She kept her grip on my left hand as we stood over the grave.

  “Is this what your Goddess wants us to fight?” I asked. “Whatever this beast is?”

  “I’m not sure, dearest,” Gwen said as she leaned against me. “The Lady isn’t always quick to share information. I suspect this is only a small part of what we’ll face.”

  We walked back toward the grove where we had emerged. We were right at the edge of the tree line when Mother’s thoughts reached us.

  “More two legs on four legs approach.” Mother wolf’s thought came into my mind.

  Gwen pulled me back into the trees. We watched from the shadows. Mother let me link to her vision again. She saw two men on horseback. They rode slowly as if searching.

  We stayed in the shadows until the riders crested the rise. They reached the site of carnage. I wondered if they were some local lord’s men, come to check on the herd. Off to our side, I noticed the two wolf younglings slide through the underbrush beside us. Mother still watched the men and shared her vision with us.

  The men were on foot now and lead their horses as they moved among the dead animals. Each wore dark leather armour over their tunics. Both had swords on their belts. One them looked down at something in his hand.

  I couldn't hear through the link with Mother, but the man appeared to speak. He pointed off into the distance. I shifted to my own vision. His arm pointed at where we hid.

  I switched back to Mother’s vision. I sensed that Gwen, with her druid ways, shared the connection. We both saw the men turn and mount up. Against their dark leather jerkins, both wore a medallion from a cord around their necks. Witch Hunters.

  I sent Mother a warning to return to us quickly.

  “Time to go,” Gwen whispered.

  23

  The Raven

  We emerged from the great oak by the Lady’s lake. Gwen looked thoughtful as she reached into her magical storage place and pulled out a blanket. I dropped my sling bag and helped her spread the blanket under the tree. The sun had peeked out from the clouds, and she sensed my desire to stay in the shade.

  I sat under the trees, out of the sunlight. Here I didn't have to pull energy from my blood-demon. Old habits die hard, and I had six hundred years of avoiding the sun ingrained in me. But, I felt as though I could sit in the light, and enjoy the warmth of the sun on my face. Like the wolves. They found a sunny spot to lie down near the logs and fire pit. Petram spun in a circle several times to mat down the grass there, before he lay, with his head on his paws, watching me.

  Why? I didn't understand? Was it something about the land? About Gwen's blood, she had fed me? Perhaps Gwen knew? But she stared toward the lake, her finger pressed against pursed lips.

  “You seem troubled?”

  “That was more than a coincidence,” Gwen said.

  “The Witch Hunter’s arrival?”

  “The object one held…”

  “It appeared to be a cup,” I said.

  “They were not the same ones that found our fire by the stream.” She said. “May I see your bag?”

  I passed it to her, puzzled.

  She took my few belongings out of the bag, one by one. She pulled out my coin pouch, held it a few seconds, then set it aside. The same with my comb. Then she pulled out the wooden chalice, made of olive wood. The cup from my master. She closed her eyes as she held it, then set it aside. Next was an old cloak, somewhat thin, with a brass broach to close it.

  The dark blue wool cloak Gwen had given me was in much better shape, and warmer. My undead nature made me unconcerned about the climate.

  With my cloak in hand, she frowned and ran her fingers over it. She shook her head and unfolded the cloth. After a moment, she uncovered the medallion hidden in its folds. I had forgotten all about it.

  Gwen held the Witch Hunter medallion, a wreath of brambles around two twisted nails in the shape of a cross.

  “The guilder from the hayloft,” I said with a shrug. “He was the Witch Hunter who fell to his death. I didn’t want the farmer to see it when he came to investigate the noise. I thought I might melt it for the silver. I forgot I had it.”

  Gwen ran her finger over it, then smiled.

  “This is how they found you while you ran,” she said. “And found us yesterday and today. There is magic on it. Why would the guild have magic in their symbols? If they are against witches and magic?”

  I shrugged.

  "Their silver weapons," I said. "Silver is too soft to use in weapons. One of my undead brothers guessed they used enchantments of some sort when they forged the metal. He said their zealous faith would too blind the guilders from seeing their hypocrisy."

  “Can they trace us to this place?” I asked and glanced around.

  "Unlikely," Gwen said and closed her eyes. A familiar cawing sound came from above, and a black raven swooped in under the trees and flared his wings to land in front of us. The bird cocked its head at Gwen. She laid the medallion in front of the bird. It pecked at it. Then it hopped forward, grasped it in its talons. With a few beats, the crow was airborne and flapped its way across the lake where it turned west.

  “A messenger from The Lady,” Gwen said. “He will fly to the sea and drop it there.”

  I laughed, relieved that she had found the medallion and its magic.

  “Have you anything else from your captors?” she asked, her face serious again.

  I shook my head and tried to repress a shudder.

  "Only memories," I said, my voice quiet. Gw
en's hand found mine and squeezed it.

  24

  The Game

  A desire for sleep came upon me after we watched the raven fly away. The day was still early. The sun was just past the highest point in its arc.

  I mentioned my need.

  “You don’t yawn?” she asked. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d yawn or stretch when you needed to sleep.”

  I chuckled and shook my head. "There are many mortal functions I no longer worry about. Even my sleep isn't sleeping. I'm dead at those times. Well, I'm dead all the time, but I'm really dead then. No movement, no thoughts."

  She laughed, her voice light and musical in the foggy air by the lake. She pointed toward the earth under the great oak.

  “Is this a good enough bed?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Normally, I have to draw energy from my undead nature to stay active in the sunlight, even when it’s overcast like today.”

  “Our days are grey much of the time,” she said, then shrugged. “Have you had to use your magic today in the light?”

  “Strange, I haven’t needed to pull any today.”

  "Perhaps the magic of the land helps you," Gwen said. She rose as I rolled to my side, off the blanket. I wrapped the cloak tightly around me. I pulled the hood over my head before I lay down on the bare earth.

  “Where will you be?” I asked.

  “Close by. I will know when you awaken.” She leaned in and kissed my forehead. The memory of her touch stayed with me as I let my magic draw me under the earth away from the sun. I drifted off, in the soil's embrace, and of the great oak above me. Its roots wrapped around my body as I shut out the world and drifted off.

  This sleep brought not my undead slumber, but dreams, again. I drifted through the white mist. Some other force guided my awareness. We observed peasants who tended their crops. They were shadows in the mists, and also real at the same time. The planting seasons was upon the land, and farmers sewed and tended their crops. Shepherds grazed their livestock.

  The entire time I drifted in this dream state, I sensed the white light from before, softer and less intense. The light comforted me as I drifted in its embrace. As we sailed, I became more aware of myself. I sensed my body, still in the dream world. I hovered, like an insect, but without wings. A gap in the mists beckoned me, and I floated toward it. My hair fluttered behind me as I descended.

  I floated downward, through the mist opening until I hovered above a table. Below me, I observed two figures lean over a game board. Instead of semi-solid shadows, these figures seemed real. I sensed that this was important.

  The game board itself was a regal sight. It was a sizeable chequered grid made of gold. Alternating squares, at least a dozen wide, by just as many long, were deep gold or light gold. Radiant figures stood in the centre. Silver pawns surrounded and protected a brilliant silver-white queen. Each piece glowed with an inner light which matched the player behind them. The pieces were all the same. Pawns were nondescript men at arms. Only the queen in the centre was different. She wore a long robe and circular golden torc for a crown. Even she, however, was of indistinguishable features.

  The player, off to one side of the table, wore a similar golden gown of beautiful silk that sparkled in the subdued light of the mists. An embroidered dragon wound up her sleeves. The red coils of the dragons culminated in a head with sharp teeth, mouth open at her shoulders. Her cloak hung behind her. A cowl hid her face. Silver blonde hair, similar to Gwen's, spilt out from under the hood. A single black raven sat on her shoulder. The bird watched the game with her.

  Across from her sat a figure clad in a dark and dirty robe. I assumed he was male, but wasn't sure. The player's face hid in the shadows of his cowl. That player's game pieces surrounded the silver pieces in the centre. They blocked the access for the silver queen to escape. Nondescript pawns – more men at arms – and several even larger fighters stood around the outer edge of the board. Their goal was to advance to surround and capture the queen. These golden pieces glowed with a reddish hue.

  The mysterious player's robe was mouldy brown. The stench of old must wafted toward me. Two red dots shone through the shadows where his eyes would be. From the mists came the clack of claws. A creature paced, unseen off the board.

  The brown-robed player moved a pawn forward. His hand encased in a thin leather glove. The reddish hue of the golden piece faded to a muted brown, the colour of disease as he touched. He slid it forward a square. When his hand pulled back, the brown faded, and the golden gilding glinted in the mists. The piece threatened a bright silver pawn on the other side. He had laid a trap. If the woman took that pawn, she'd open one of her queen's flanks up. The gold pieces lay in wait to push the queen into an unprotected area.

  The squares on the board shifted colours. Wherever one of the reddish pieces moved, the golden square it stepped across became drab, almost lifeless. It became dross, slightly better than unpolished brass. Yet, the squares under the mysterious lady's silver pieces remained vibrant and rich in colour.

  She saw the trap and seemed hesitant to take his piece. Instead, she reached out an elegant hand, with a single ring on the index finger, and moved her silver-white queen to capture a different piece, and open a way out of the centre.

  The jewellery on her hand caught my eye. A brilliant white stone with a glint of red within. The red shifted, and I saw a brief glimpse of a red dragon that twisted and swam within the gem. At the sight of the dragon, I realised I would remember. I wasn't sure why, but this was important. The lady at the board wanted me aware of this situation, her game with the shadowy figure.

  Her opponent reached out his hand. The odour of death and decay assaulted me. If the dragon-robed lady smelled it, she gave no indication. The black bird on her shoulder cocked its head as the opponent moved his pawn to tap her pawn. I expected her to remove the silver pawn. Instead, it glowed reddish-brown, then faded to gold instead of silver. It was his piece now. I again heard the tap of claws. A growl sounded in the mists. Some unseen beast.

  Part of the hooded player's strategy appeared to be the conversion of the lady's pieces, to overwhelm her with numbers. The other part was a sneaky trap that waited off to the side. I wasn't sure of the rules of the game, but another larger piece had just moved onto the board. It brought along even more pawns and blocked the path off the board.

  The bird on the white lady's shoulder squawked once at the new arrivals. The players remained silent. No one called the other out; the pieces moved again, and again. Slowly the net closed on the silver queen.

  A hand reached out from above the board. A third player, unseen behind me, deposited a black piece — a queen of dark polished obsidian caught the silver piece's light — into an empty square next to the silver queen. The third player's hand receded and disappeared into the mists again. I blinked.

  I no longer observed the game from above. Instead, I was on the board. I was the black queen. I faced the rogue fighter and its pawns. From the board, the pieces had no more features than what I could see above. Down here, though, I could see weapons. Pawns with spear or staff, larger fighters with sword and shield.

  A few gold squares stood between myself and the new game pieces. The tarnished metal veneer on the golden pawns flaked off, revealing a rusty dull core under the red hue. Decay had set into those pieces. I glanced at the pawn who had changed earlier. Even his facade had dimmed. The first bit of rust peeked out from under its golden robe.

  I felt the weight of two swords in my hands. Swords? I didn't want to fight, especially not in someone else's game. But, I appeared to have no choice. At least I had weapons this time.

  As I weighed the blades in my hands, I smiled. I had gone far too long without the feel of steel in my grip. Not a small knife. But two swords. Both finely balanced. They'd work well together. With two swords and my preternatural abilities, I felt like I could hold back a small army.

  I spun the blades to get a feel for them. Cold, hard steel, comfortable in my grip. I drop
ped into a ready stance, one blade high, horizontal above my head ready to strike. The shorter one in front of me, ready to defend or to strike.

  Down here, I could no longer see the players above the board. Only the pieces around me and the golden squares existed. A voice hissed from high above. It was only a whisper and uttered words that were both a challenge and a warning.

  “So be it.”

  The piece opposite me had its featureless face toward me. Mists enveloped the area and swallowed the surrounding board. They thickened around me as the fighter stepped forward. I heard the growl of a great beast nearby, and the rattle of chains. I waited. The large warrior stepped another square toward me, as more mists rolled in around us. Whatever this fight was, it would be interesting.

  One thought crept into my mind as the mists closed around me again: Why was I in this fight?

  25

  We Will Run

  The soil and the tree released me. The sun hung low in the sky. Its light sizzled against the horizon in its final few moments of life above the horizon. The tree next to me rippled and swayed, despite its massive girth. The red rip appeared in its bark. Gwen stepped out of the tree.

  "Food first, then questions," she said and held out a hand. The touch of her hand on mine sent a tingle along my skin. I knew I shouldn't be attracted to her this deeply.

  I held her hand on the short walk down to our spot on the shore. The sun dropped below the mountains, and the yellow sky caught flame with a deep red. By the time I had the fire roused, the sky had turned twilight blue

  Gwen brought her bowl of berries to where I sat. She sat near me, close enough that she could rest her legs across mine. Even through the layers of fabric from our dresses, I enjoyed her touch.

  “Do you thirst?” she asked. Her thin hand reached into the basket and pulled out a berry between two delicate fingers. She raised it to her mouth, her eyes on my face.