A Ritual of Bone

by Lee C Conley

  Bjorn walked back in amongst the houses, following the tracks until they were lost in the trampled markings of the villagers.

  There were some other tracks, a single set of prints here and there, leading off into the woods, perhaps fleeing to safety. But each one he followed, all ended abruptly in the woods and disappeared with no trace. Were they attacked?

  Bjorn made his way back to the buildings and checked inside each hut for anything of value, finding just tools and belongings scattered about at random. Things seemed to have just been dropped and the houses searched and ransacked. He led his horse out and away from the eerie darkened doorways of the huts. It was quiet. This place was dead.

  He returned to the mass of tracks that seemed to also lead away from the village where they arrived. He followed them east beneath the trees. The tracks were clear now. He had them.

  He followed the trail deeper into the trees, leading his horse by the reins. Some of the signs in the disturbed leaves of the forest floor were easy to follow. It looked like some were dragging their feet as they stumbled through the undergrowth. Prisoners perhaps?

  Bjorn smiled. Not a beast after all then, but men. Perhaps a war chief amongst the border clans needed slaves. He must find the truth and bring the high lord an answer.

  He tracked them over three days through a silent pine forest. The lack of sound was eerie, perforated only by the occasional startled bird and the soft crunch of last year’s pine needles beneath his feet.

  He followed cautiously. He found their campsites, the fires cold but fresh. He tracked them from hearth to hearth, moving only in daylight as to not miss sign of their trail. They were close.

  As the sun lowered behind him Bjorn found himself heading up into high ground. The trees thinned away as he got higher giving way to grassy scrub and rocky gullies. The trail became harder to follow amongst the rocks and seemed to disappear altogether in parts, but he hoped to pick up more signs as he moved further east. He could not afford to lose them now, he had come so far.

  He tethered his horse amongst a copse of trees and took a steep rocky slope up to the top of a ridge. He found the summit covered in low twisted trees and small bushes, clawing out an existence in the thin soil. The climb was a hard effort. As the tracker caught his breath, he looked east to get the lay of the land he was venturing into.

  He saw the great mountains to the east. He looked to be moving into a bleak rocky pass heading up through high cliffs and up towards the hills that marked the foot of the distant mountains. There were patches of woods on the slopes of the pass ahead. Thickets of small twisted trees and bushes grew amongst the rocky heathland of the pass. He was hopeful he could pick up the trail amongst the undergrowth. He searched for signs of movement in the dying light or the glow of a fire somewhere ahead, but the pass looked deserted.

  He noticed he seemed to be getting steadily closer each day to the great snow-capped peaks that dominated the eastern sky, The Spine of the World. The great mountain range ran from the furthest known peaks of the far north and ran down hundreds of leagues to The Great Sea in the south, a vast immeasurable barrier of mountains and stone which cleaved through the lands of men.

  He would have to stop soon and make camp for the night but stayed up on the ridge until the sun had set. Still no signs of a fire in the darkening pass ahead. When it was too dark to make out anymore from the ridge, Bjorn carefully made his way back down the dark slope. He tended his horse and made a small camp amongst the bushes. He would sleep on the ground and could not risk a fire, not with his mysterious quarry possibly so close.

  The huntsman took a rolled-up bundle from his horse’s saddle and unfurled the skin onto the fallen leaves and soft damp mosses that grew on the floor beneath the trees. He unrolled a woollen blanket and pulled it over himself as he lay on the soft fur of the skin. It was surprisingly comfortable. He probably slept outside more than in a bed these days, he mused. He looked up into the dark branches spread out above him. He lay listening to the familiar sounds of the wilderness and to the wind in the trees until he drifted off into an easy sleep.

  He awoke with the sunrise. The light streamed down through the trees, the green leaves giving way to the reds and oranges of autumn. The huntsman made ready to continue his pursuit. As he made his way around the ridge and into the pass, Bjorn was hopeful he would pick up the trail again in the pleasant morning light.

  As he rode around a small grassy hillock, Bjorn noticed something in the grass. He reined in his horse and rode back to look again. The grass seemed to catch the light differently and seemed a slightly different colour. The hunter dismounted to look closer. The grass was indeed bent and flattened, and as he moved back and forth, he noticed from a certain angle a definite trail could be seen heading off into the trees. He found no footprints. Perhaps a game trail, but with no other tracks, he once again followed the trail into the trees.

  Bjorn searched carefully for any signs of someone having passed this way. Then he stopped as his eyes fell onto something that made him smile. There was no print, but to Bjorn, the sign was obvious. A broken twig lay in the trail. It had been broken twice perhaps a hand’s span apart. Bjorn recognised the sign, breaks most likely made by a man’s foot.

  Bjorn followed the trail up towards a cluster of large rocks. It looked as though in some time past the rocks had crashed down the slopes from the cliffs above and now lay huddled together where they finally came to rest, overgrown and covered in moss. What he found there amongst the rocks would later haunt his dreams in the dark hours of the night.

  He was no stranger to blood, skinning and carving a kill was part of his trade, but what he found there chilled his heart. It looked like it had once been a man. He had been mutilated and dismembered, his arms and legs cut off. The torso lay on a large flat stone which was thick with sticky congealing blood. The chest had been cut open and the heart torn out.

  Bjorn walked amongst the blood splattered rocks, the scene of some ritual sacrifice he thought. There were strange markings daubed in blood on the surrounding rocks. Perhaps one of the rumoured forbidden cults had done this? He had heard of such, those who fled across the border to perform their dark rites in the lawless wilds of the north.

  The man’s head had been flayed, sliced along the scalp and the hair torn away. His mouth gaped open, tongue cut out. His eyes had been pecked out by the carrion birds, and the bloody sockets stared blankly up off into the sky. Despite this, Bjorn didn’t think he had been here long. The birds were always swift to feast on the fallen dead.

  The sudden force of a blow threw Bjorn against the rocks. A piercing pain shot through his shoulder. Something had struck him hard from behind. The pain was intense.

  An arrow thumped into ground beside him. Then another clattered off a nearby rock splintering as it struck the hard stone. Bjorn peered from between the rocks before ducking back as a hail of rocks and arrows whistled overhead and crashed around him. There was a flicker of movement amongst the trees.

  Bjorn was dismayed. How could he let this happen? Now, it appeared he was the one being hunted. He cursed as he broke from cover and ran.

  His horse, it was still tethered by the rocks. There was no time. He plunged into the trees and turned to look. There was movement now amongst the rocks. He ran on into the depths of the trees.

  His shoulder burned with a hot pain that seemed to spread down his arms. He stopped and leant against a tree, resting his head on his arm. It was hard to breathe and his vision was blurring. He reached around his back and felt the wooden shaft of an arrow buried deep in his shoulder. Bjorn grimaced from the stab of pain as he snapped the shaft, leaving its buried point and part of the short, splintered arrow protruding from his back.

  He could hear the sounds of pursuit drawing closer through the undergrowth. There was no time. Bjorn tried to run on but his limbs felt heavy, he stumbled. Bjorn crashed against another tree and fell.

  The hunter lay sprawled face down in the fallen autumn leaves. He coul
d smell the earthy fragrance of the forest floor. His head was spinning. As his vision faded out into dark unconsciousness, he became aware of someone standing over him.

  CHAPTER Three

  A Scholar of Ruins

  As he awoke, the pain returned to his ankle. The sunlight beamed in through the top of the marquee. The apprentice swung his legs out from the furs he slept under. The splints were cumbersome, and a sharp pain shot up his leg as he tried to move it.

  Seeing the apprentice stir, the hound got up and padded over to greet him. As he sat and idly scratched the great dog’s head, Master Logan ducked into the tent.

  ‘Morning, lad. We let you sleep. It’s been a while since sunrise.’ He laughed, always quick to laugh.

  Master Logan was a big man, broad and tall, not the average academic physique. His long black hair tied behind his head and with a gruff bushy beard, both streaked with the silver of years past. He wore the long loose hooded robe currently in fashion with the scholars of the College. Master Logan’s robes were not frayed and dirty like his own, but were of a fine looking dark green weave and intricately embroidered with gold and bronze knot patterns around the hems and sleeves.

  ‘You’ll not be going far, but I have something for you.’ He went and fetched a short walking staff. ‘For all the walking about in the wilderness, good to have a firm stick to walk with, you know.’ He paused and studied the stick before handing it down to the apprentice. ‘I got it from a place I know near the College. Consider it a loan. Should do you fine to get about if you really have need. But I would stay off that leg if you can.’

  The apprentice took the stick gratefully. It was about five foot long, slender and sturdy. A fine walking staff. Far too fine for a young apprentice such as himself.

  ‘Thank you, Master,’ said the apprentice, smiling through the pain. The master nodded and turned to leave, then paused. ‘Don’t be going far. You had best rest that leg. You broke it you know. I think Old Eld has some tasks for you though. The sitting type, of course, but tasks nonetheless.’

  ‘Yes, Master,’ replied the apprentice. Logan left and went about his own tasks. The great grey hound followed, trailing along at his heels.

  The apprentice managed to painfully get to his feet, using Logan’s staff to lean on, and laboriously made his way to a bench by the fire. The entrance to the marquee had been pulled wide open and spilled in the morning light. He was seated at the large table where they ate, or often read and worked. The apprentice could see out to the track through the crumbling wall and to the ruins and trees beyond. The daylight brought colours to the old stone and illuminated the shadowy tree line. The twisted old trees could be seen clearly amongst the rocks. The apprentice could see far into the wooded tree line, which eventually sunk into shadows some distance in. Not at all as menacing in the daylight.

  There was a low mist hanging over the place. Not much grew except the thin grass and the mosses that hung from the trees and clung to the ancient stones. The grey rocks and stonework were mottled in the yellows and greens of lichens and worn smooth by the years and elements. These ruins, left by a people now long forgotten, the only legacy of an untold age.

  His master, Eldrick, approached him. ‘Good morning, my boy.’ The apprentice turned. His master was an elderly man, he was balding with age and what was left of his hair had long lost its colour, faded into a silver white. His face had many lines and his eyes were wise and stern.

  Master Eldrick was wearing the old worn cloak he often wore, perhaps once black but like his hair, had faded and was now a dirty grey. He had it wrapped tightly around him. He had often grumbled at the cold since their arrival.

  ‘I hope your leg is not in too much pain, it did not look pleasant. It will be some weeks before it is healed, at least a moon’s passing. The next will be waning before you will be walking unaided. Such a shame.’

  ‘I am sorry Master, it was foolish.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The master looked sternly upon his apprentice. ‘I have given it much thought, and spoken with Master Logan upon the matter’. He paused before continuing. ‘I have decided to send for someone to take you back,’ he said finally.

  ‘Back?’ the apprentice gasped.

  ‘Indeed, my boy, back to the College. It will give you time to recover and allow you to continue your studies. There is also much to report. The council will want to hear our findings.’

  ‘But, Master, there is still much I can do here, still much to learn.’

  Master Eldrick frowned. ‘Alas, I fear you will be of little use to me up here in such condition. Indeed, a shame. There will be more you can’t do than can. I feel you will serve me better back at the College. But take comfort in the knowledge that I plan not to remain here much longer as we have nearly completed our work. You will be missed, but your reports and continued work back in the scriptorium will be of much use to me.’

  ‘But, Master…’ pleaded the apprentice.

  Eldrick cut him short. ‘It has been decided, I will hear not another word on it.’

  The apprentice didn't quite know what to say, torn between the hurt of being sent from his studies with the shame of injury. On the other hand, he would be glad to leave this cold haunted old ruin and return to a warm bed and rest his foot. He could feel the pain throbbing even now.

  Eldrick continued, ‘Still, it will take a day to summon the wagon to take you back. Logan has gone to send one of those hired rogues off to acquire another wagon from the town to the east, but it is some miles, a good day’s ride. Hopefully he should arrive sometime after dark and be back before sunset the next day or maybe even morning if he comes straight back. But I doubt he would, not with the ale houses and lure of a warm bed.’

  The master did not hold their hirelings in high regard. Master Logan mostly dealt with them; he had experience with their type.

  ‘Anyway, I still have need of you for the time being. There is much to do before I conduct the final rites we have been preparing.’

  A shiver ran through the apprentice. If they were again successful, he did not dare to think of the sights he would witness before its end. He had already seen so much, things to haunt his sleep for years to come, things that had chilled his heart. Even now he wondered if it had not just all been a terrible dream, yet so incredible. He could not help his curiosity in another glimpse. Had they unlocked some dark eldritch secret? He had to know.

  The master gave him his instructions. It turned out he intended to try variations of the ritual over the next several nights. Eldrick had only been awaiting the return of Truda, the apprentice of Master Logan, before continuing.

  The apprentice had the task of preparing not only his final notes in his grimoire, but also the various reports and findings of their venture. He had to prepare all which was to be taken back to the College for proper recording in the Great Histories – a task that would take some time upon his return. The master brought him his writing tools and many books and scrolls including his own great book from which the apprentice could add his own writings to.

  Before turning to leave Eldrick suddenly turned to the apprentice, ‘You should have been more careful, boy,’ snapped Eldrick, ‘but this place is watchful, it almost…whispers.’ The master now seemed distant as he spoke. ‘We have delved in many places and disturbed many bones, performed the rites and rituals of many gods and we noted and recorded all we found as best we could, but who knows what evils may have noticed us?’ He paused, ‘Are now watching us.’

  His tone softened and his gaze fell upon the apprentice once more. ‘I do not blame you wholly for last night, lad. Fear comes easy here after dark.’ Then he turned and went to his work saying nothing more.

  The master had seemed strange of late, despite many successful studies in this place. Perhaps it was just the creeping, watching nights and the guilt on some imbedded beliefs that they had disturbed old spirits and performed deeds, although in pursuit of knowledge and truth, still dark and chilling to behold. The fear of them having
meddled in something that has indeed taken notice of them had been in the back of the apprentice’s mind, and seemingly, also his master’s. He tried to put it out of his thoughts and get to his work. So, he got to work preparing the many reports and hastily recorded much in his own grimoire.

  Every member of the College generally kept a great book of all research and study, an accumulation of their collected knowledge. Areas of study and expertise could make up large volumes in a grimoire, some of the masters had amassed several tomes.

  The apprentice had been given his by the master, shortly before they had set off to this place, a deserved gift given on the anniversary of three long year’s servitude in the master’s service. It was an honour for an apprentice, to then be permitted to begin his own studies under the guidance of his master.

  He had been busy since, filling its pages with the studies and findings of his past few years. He desired to transcribe much from his master’s writings into his own before he left and now had little time. So, he busied himself, first organising the master’s reports and findings from the venture at hand.

  Master Logan had been conducting a survey of the ruins to ascertain its origins or anything of interest. He had delved into many mounds and made many excavations from which he had amassed a large collection of historical finds and surveys of the land and rocks here about. There were also studies on the local wildlife and plants, his eyes passed across the pictures and diagrams of anatomy from the many specimens of the beasts they had caught roaming these parts.

  There were also, of course, Master Eldrick’s reports. He looked over the many new drawings and diagrams from his master’s studies. The study of the anatomy of man, a taboo study his master had been conducting. Some of this work however, although no doubt brilliant, was at times gruesome. He shuddered at the drawings of organs and body parts. The apprentice had no taste for blood but he had his duties to perform and each one of the gory specimens depicted brought back the memories of the blood and entrails. He had done his best but the master soon realised his apprentice had no stomach for the more practical examinations, and with Master Logan’s apprentice, Truda, seeming far more willing, the apprentice had gladly stepped aside to just watch and document.