“Dom?” Peter looked at the only knight who didn’t appear surprised. “You know what this is, don’t you?”
Domnhall pushed his horse onward and didn’t look at Peter. “That would be one of them.”
“One of who?” Peter asked.
“The citizens of Calmarid.”
Every head turned to stare at him, but he only brought his horse to a stop and held his hand out before him. “Sire, I present to you the Lost Village.”
* * *
The shiver that moved down Peter’s back was so hard it shook his shoulders, and his skin prickled nearly so hard it hurt. What kind of magic was at work here?
A dozen buildings were visible from where they stood, and Peter guessed there to be more behind them. But unlike the village he and Antony had seen three weeks before, these buildings, though surrounded by vegetation, had not been taken by it. The branches and leaves, the vines, even sticks were cleared from the paths that ran between the buildings, the paths worn as well as any in the city that surrounded the castle. The buildings seemed sturdy, not crumbling the way they should have been after being devoured by the forest over twenty-five years before. Gardens full of vegetables were weeded and neat.
And yet there was not a soul to be seen. Despite the well-used streets and tidy buildings, not a man, woman, or child could be glimpsed or even heard. Peter studied the windows to see whether eyes were watching them, but drape cloths hung over each, all as still as death.
“Dom,” Tomas whispered. “Why haven’t we heard this story before?”
“Because the king believed it too dark,” Domnhall whispered back. “The city was marked on the map, and we were never to speak its name again.” He turned wide eyes on Peter. “There is a darkness in this town that cannot be explained away by any sort of myth, no matter how the crown should like to silence it.”
Peter was about to mutter something about his uncle’s foolishness when the earsplitting squeak rang out among the trees again. But this time, it was echoed by another and then a third.
“I suggest we find somewhere a little less exposed,” Tomas said, unsheathing his sword. The others murmured their agreement.
“I think that building over on the right was the town hall,” Domnhall said, pointing to the nearest building. “Perhaps we should begin there.”
They made their way over to the hall and dismounted, but rather than going in, decided to search until they found an enclosed shed of sorts to keep the horses in. Domnhall whispered, as the shrieks were growing louder and more frequent, that it would be unwise to leave their animals in the open. When the horses were finally stowed away safely, the men made sure their weapons and shields were secure on their persons and their helmets safely attached before entering the hall.
“What in wolf’s crat...” Benjamin trailed off as they filed cautiously through the door.
As much as Peter disliked Benjamin’s choice of words in general, he found he couldn’t disagree with the young man this time. The room was filled with dozens of tables and benches. On each table was a mess of bowls, spoons, and cups, and most of them were overturned. There were more dishes on the floor, many of them broken, as though they’d been trampled in a stampede. A vat large enough that Katy might have fit comfortably inside it hung over a large fireplace, though there was no fire to warm it. The tables looked as though they’d once been in a line, but were now crooked. There was hardly enough room to squeeze between some of them.
“The ashes are cold,” Briant called from across the room. He reached down into the vat and then tasted his finger. “The porridge is cold, but not too hard. They must have been here recently.”
Another screech sounded, but this time, from above. Peter’s neck prickled as the sound continued to move in a circle. It was flying right above them.
“Dom?” Peter called out in a low voice, “what did you mean when you said that creature was one of the villagers?”
Before Domnhall could answer, another scream ripped the quiet of the room. But this time, it was a familiar one. Peter whirled around just in time to see Briant disappear up the chimney.
“Armor up!” Peter shouted as he leapt over a table toward the fireplace. The other men met him and collapsed into a circle, their backs together and their shields held up in a tight formation, moving with Peter as he went to the fireplace and peered up into the blackness. At first there was nothing, only the large square of shadow. Before he could pronounce the passage clear, however, a movement caught his eye, and he jumped back as a helmet came tumbling back down.
Peter found himself struggling to breathe.
“Where is he?” Benjamin called over his shoulder, his voice cracking like a youth’s.
“He’s gone,” Peter managed to whisper.
“What do you mean gone?”
“I mean he’s bloody dead!” Peter spun around to glare at the young man. But when he turned, he felt his jaw fall open.
Where moments before, the tall ceiling had boasted wooden chandeliers and bare support beams, every square inch of the ceiling was now covered in bats. With round furry bodies nearly the size of goats, and wings the length of a man’s arms outspread, they were beyond any nightmare Peter had ever dreamed. Saliva dripped from fangs as long as his thumbs. And all of their beady eyes were fixed on his men.
“Benjamin,” Peter said in a low voice as he and his men drew into a tighter circle and raised their shields. “Do you remember the first rule of a shell formation?”
“Don’t let your shield fall?” Benjamin’s voice wavered.
“Do not leave the ring.” Peter tore his gaze away from the creatures to glance at the squire. “For any reason. If you leave the ring, you compromise all of our lives. Is that understood?”
A bat hanging near the fireplace took the first swoop. It dipped low, angling its wide-open snout at Peter’s shoulder. The bat’s teeth glanced off his armor harmlessly as it passed, and Peter felt the satisfying sensation of his sword meeting flesh as the creature tried to turn back up toward the rafters. But there was no time to celebrate. As the bat landed with a thump, bleeding all over the ground, the rest began to converge as though a command had been given.
Squeaks and shrieks filled the room, and it was all Peter could do to focus on moving his sword fast enough to meet the incoming onslaught of teeth and claws. It wasn’t until he and his men had been fighting for a good five minutes and he was out of breath and his arms no longer felt like parts of his body that he remembered the magic.
Reaching down inside himself as best he could while still fighting, Peter tried to awaken it, those little inklings of premonition and strength he’d sensed for years but hadn’t had a name for. Even now, as he ground his teeth and forced his muscles to move in tandem with his mind, he could sense the darkness at work, particularly in the creatures that surrounded them, dipping and swooping, scratching and trying to bite. But no matter how hard he tried, Peter could not bring the sensation of something otherworldly from inside himself to any sort of physical form. The diamonds lining his sword seemed to undergo no change, and he was left feeling even more exhausted from the effort than before.
“Benjamin, what are you doing?”
In response to Tomas’s shout, Peter turned just in time to see Benjamin leaning forward to fight one of the smaller bats.
“Don’t leave your position!” Peter shouted. “That’s an order!”
But Benjamin’s moves had become slow and jerky, and instead of returning to his position in the tight circle the knights still formed, he took one step forward, then another, leaving a gaping hole in their ring.
“Benjamin!” Peter thundered.
But it was too late. Another bat swooped down behind him and knocked Benjamin forward. The young man fell to his knees. His sword continued to move as he clumsily rolled onto his back, but it would be just seconds before the creatures converged on him all at once.
“Cover me!” Peter called over his shoulder. In response, their circle grew
tighter, giving Peter just enough space to raise his shield, leave his own position, and grasp Benjamin by the ankle. Yanking him back toward them, Peter had almost managed to regain his own footing when he felt a sharp sensation at the back of his neck.
“Sire!” Domnhall yelled, but Peter didn’t need the help. Instead, he whirled his sword upward until it bit fur as the creature tried to fly, disgust coursing through him as the stinking animal fell at his feet.
The rest of the fight was mostly a blur in Peter’s mind. His actions became thoughtless, using the same blocks, parries, and thrusts until he could have done them in his sleep. For unlike human opponents, the bats didn’t learn. They simply continued to come. When the fight was finally over and the last bat body fell from the air, he and his men looked numbly around the room. At least four dozen bats lay scattered and piled about the floor, their thick, sticky blood coating the knights’ skin and armor.
The other men stared at one another without speaking, their breaths coming in ragged bursts, but Peter’s blood boiled. Marching over to Benjamin, he grabbed the young man by the shirt and yanked him up until they were face-to-face.
“What did I say?”
Benjamin said nothing, just gasped for breath like a fish.
Peter pulled him closer. “I said to hold your position!” As he shouted, his stomach began to snarl with nausea, but Peter ignored it. He wasn’t finished. “I expect you to make mistakes, but disobedience like that will get someone killed! Am I understood?”
Benjamin’s look of confusion had turned to resentment, but another shake finally produced a nod. “Yes, sire,” he whispered.
“I can’t hear you!”
“I said yes!”
“Sire?” Domnhall called out tentatively from behind him.
Peter turned. “What?”
Domnhall gestured to the hall’s main doors. Peter made out some sort of movement, but just as the first human occupant walked hesitantly inside, followed by a crowd of others, Peter’s world began to spin.
“Sire!” someone called, though Peter couldn’t be sure which one. “You’ve been bitten!”
But Peter could make no response as he fell to the floor.
40
Generous
Peter’s body jolted to life as it was racked by nauseating pain. A long moment passed before he was able to locate the source. It took even longer before his vision quit spinning, but when he was finally able to focus, he found himself staring up into the worried face of Tomas. The sun’s angle suggested that the day had grown late, and it was nearly evening. How long had he been unconscious?
The previously barren streets of the village were now filled with villagers milling about, but before Peter could focus on what they were doing, pain even worse than the first jarred his entire body.
“Stop moving or I’ll prick the wrong spot again,” a strange woman said, her grip on his shoulder tightening. Only then did Peter realize what she was doing.
“Why are you stitching me up?” He tried not to groan, but he jumped when her needle stabbed him once again. Tomas was immediately at his side, holding him down.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be still, sire,” he said apologetically. “She’s already had to restart twice.”
“You were bitten,” the woman said matter-of-factly, not an ounce of pity in her words. “Their saliva’s poison. Had to wash it out with freamin root or you wouldn’t’ve woke up.”
“But why the stitching?”
“Infection spreads fast. Had to open yours up a good two inches before I found clean flesh. Now if you’ll hold still, I’ll be rid of you in two minutes.”
Tomas was glaring at the woman, and though his head was still a bit foggy, Peter thought he knew why. No one had spoken to him so informally since they’d confronted Odhran back in Downing, where few had known who he really was. But it seemed that this woman knew exactly who he was, and still talked of being rid of him. Not that the lack of a title had ever bothered Peter. But it did give him an uneasy feeling about the kind of reception they were in for. He turned to Tomas.
“Did we ever find—”
“Not directly.” Tomas shook his head and looked at the ground. “But something we think may have been...” His voice trailed off.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we found one of the bats that was far too...” He closed his eyes. “Far too bloated for any other kind of meal.”
Peter’s blood went cold and his stomach flipped. Knights were lost to danger every so often. Antony had warned Peter as much when he’d been given authority over the king’s special band. They knew when they swore to guard their king and isle that such dangers existed. But Briant was still the first man Peter had lost, and the gruesome details of the scene were almost more than Peter’s weak stomach could bear.
Even worse, how would he tell Briant’s widow?
Peter scrunched his eyes shut and forced himself to try and think past the death of his knight. They still had a purpose in this wretched town, and his friend’s death would be in vain if they didn’t continue.
When he opened his eyes again, he studied the goings-on that surrounded them. Carey had taken the horses from the shed and was grooming them just outside the town. His hands worked in quick, agitated bursts as they combed out the horses’ manes. It was the most emotion Peter had ever seen from the man. Domnhall and Benjamin stood and watched as the people around them went in and out of the main hall, carrying and dragging the dead bodies of bats into lines on the ground.
“Are they weeping, Tomas?” Peter tried to lean forward to see better, but he only got another prick in his neck for his efforts.
“I’m afraid they are, sire.”
“What for?”
“Trying to identify them,” the woman said. Then, after one last tug, she stood and began gathering her things, stopping only to catch Peter’s hand when he reached back to touch his neck. “Don’t touch it.” Then she nodded back at the villagers. “Most can’t tell one body from another, but sometimes you find one that didn’t finish all the changes, or has a piece of jewelry or something still attached.”
Peter stood slowly, but Tomas kept a hand on his arm until he was steady. “Identify them?” he asked the woman as he turned to face her.
The woman’s face matched her voice, rough and red, with stringy gray hair sticking out from beneath her cap. “Their loved ones.”
Peter stared at her incredulously.
“The bats.” She looked at him as though he were dim. “They’re our people. Anyone who’s broken the treaty with the olc suffers the curse. It’s our penance for being allowed to stay in the forest.”
“You made a treaty with the olc?” Peter glanced at Tomas, but Tomas had evidently already heard this. He just kept shaking his head and muttering to himself. Peter turned back to the woman and tried not to appear as shocked as he felt.
“Mind you,” she said, “this was back when there were several olcs. But even when they left, the treaty stayed.”
“And what did this treaty entail?”
“It’s simple.” She shrugged, pushing a wisp of graying hair out of her eyes. “Our people didn’t want to leave the forest. So before all your knights came,” she studied Peter’s men for a moment, “though it was a different fellow leading them then. Anyhow, before your knights came, our people chose to remain in the woods. And when the olcs came to claim our village with the forest as well, we asked them what we might do to stay.”
Peter stared at her, disgust and morbid curiosity warring in his gut. “And?”
“They decided that if we produced enough food to send them a weekly contribution, they would allow us to stay. But to ensure our loyalty, they placed a curse on our people.”
“I’m sensing it has something to do with these bats.” Tomas crossed his arms.
“Aye. Any who try and cross the town threshold are turned.”
Peter looked back at the villagers, who were still lining up the dead carcasses.
Their faces were solemn but not surprised, and their methodical work was flawless. How often did they have these days, the kind where they lined up their lost and tried to locate some trace of familiarity in the piles of beasts?
“And your people agreed to it?” he asked, unable to tear his eyes from the scene.
“We did.” She stuck her chin out defiantly. “Still not sure we’d make a different choice today, either. We love this land. It’s the place of our ancestors, and our blood runs through it.”
“And all over it, apparently.” Tomas shook his head.
“Where is your governor?” Peter asked before his disgust could make him do something he regretted.
She pointed to a man in a brown robe. “Over there. Niall’s his name.”
“Thank you for your attendance to my neck. And your story. It was…enlightening.” Peter looked at Tomas. “Ready?”
“If you are, sire.”
“Good.” They left the woman at her rock and made their way toward the governor, but before they reached him, Peter leaned over and whispered. “Once we are done with the governor, I want Benjamin all to myself. He is going to train with me until his arms fall off.”
The slight tightening of Tomas’s eyes was the only sign of his discomfort. “As you wish, sire.”
Peter stopped and faced his friend. “You’ve been a good mentor to him, as have the others. I’m not blaming you. But his disobedience...” he let the words die on his tongue.
Benjamin’s disobedience during the fight had nearly cost Peter his life. And with it, Katy’s hope and the kingdom’s future.
“I agree, sire.”
“Good.”
They finished making their way to the governor, where he stood giving directions. He was a stocky man who looked to be in his late fifth decade. He at least had the grace to bow, which was more than Peter could say for the other villagers standing around him, but there was silent resentment in his face, and it was reflected in the unwelcoming stares of those around them. What was wrong with these people?
The Autumn Fairy (The Autumn Fairy Trilogy Book 1) Page 28