“Yes,” said Brea, coming around the edge of the cairn to look.
“No, this is a different letter. I don’t recognize it.”
“Did you feel something?” Brea asked. She lifted the stone from its resting place, turning it in her left hand by tossing it gently. There was something greasy about the stone. It was mental and not physical. She just felt unclean from handling it.
Brea lifted her blade and laid it against the stone.
“Blessed Mother, cleanse this stone of the curse which binds it.” She shivered, a cold feeling running down her spine. She shook herself and cast the stone into the dark.
Piju crawled away from the bush and lay on the edge of the firelight. His skin felt like it was burning, but he lacked the energy to crawl further. The Shadow separated easily from the fire-blackened bush, moving toward him at an easy walk. Piju hadn’t accomplished anything.
How do you fight a ghost? Piju thought for a moment, realizing as he did that these might well be the last moments of his life. He managed to lift his small obsidian knife. It might hurt the monster, before it killed him.
I just wish I knew how to kill this thing. Not much for last thoughts, but he realized that they were more than last thoughts. He wanted to learn how to kill this thing. If he survived tonight, that was a decision he would have to live with.
Piju was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He raised his knife, realizing it was still coated with his blood.
“Father, help me,” he said, desperately.
There was a sensation like rain, like standing in mist of the shore, and the burning drain was washed away. He gasped, suddenly able to breathe again. His skin cooled and he felt the strength returning to his limbs.
There was a second shadow, standing in the clearing. It wasn’t as clear, but it seemed to have a head. It was a wispy, watery figure, holding a boat gaff in both hands.
Get away from me, foolish revenant. Piju heard the words in his mind. You haven’t enough power to swat a fly.
The second shadow swung his hooked pole at the Shadow Man, and the monster stepped back. Piju had a moment of hope. Father? The clearing suddenly blazed with light and then, only one shadow remained. Piju looked up and caught a glimpse of his figure, and the beautiful stars. With a jerk, he forced himself to stare at the ground.
“Father!” Piju called, pushing himself to his knees. His knife was ice cold in his hand. The black blade looked white in the dim light, covered in a thin rime of frost. Piju felt the Shadow Man standing over him, but he stared at the shadow on the ground.
The shadow froze and turned, as if it looked at something in the distance. Blue howled and was closer than Piju remembered, only a dozen paces or so away. Piju pushed himself to his feet and braced himself to fight.
The fire on the tree trunk went out. The clearing was in complete darkness. Piju searched the darkness for the glimmer of lights, his knife slicing the darkness to the left and the right, finding no purchase.
Blue struck his rump and the back of his knees, and he nearly fell over.
“Blue, here?” He grabbed her collar to steady himself. Blue jumped up to lick his face. “If my baby here isn’t afraid, then the ghost is gone.” She might not be a great hero yet, but she had saved him.
Piju tucked the knife away and felt in his pouch for the very hot coal box. The lamp had been discarded on the ground, but luckily it wasn’t broken, and had some oil remaining. He flipped the box lid open with his thumb, blew the coal alight, and touched the wick. With the oil lamp burning, he tucked the coal box back into his pouch and grabbed Blue’s collar, dragging her over to where the boys had stood.
“Come on Blue, I need you to find these boys.” He pushed her nose where they had knelt, one then the other. Piju couldn’t remember the words, his mind was complete mush.
“Got it?” he asked her.
Blue gave the same “whuf” that she did when Keynan got her started.
“Find the boys, Ni Chose.”
Blue turned, gave him a questioning look, and took off into the dark woods. Piju jogged quickly behind, trying to keep Blue in sight and the lamp lit.
“Shh,” Oren said, the sensation in the darkness had changed. “It’s coming.”
Brea stood and looked in each direction, staring around at the circle of light, at the circle of death.
Oren moved his arm fluidly, like a snake, and a knife appeared between his fingers. His arm snapped forward, and there was a thud, a sound a mortal could hear, and the knife stopped, dead in the air. Then there was a sound that they couldn’t hear, a roar in the darkness that seemed to come from somewhere behind their eyes. The knife fell to the ground.
The darkness moved forward into the circle of light, a shapeless shadow filled with more than a dozen tiny stars. They moved slowly within the shadow, a dance of light within the darkness. They stared, frozen by the beauty of the dance of stars, watching the outline of the mysterious headless ghost.
Suddenly, the shadow was filled with light. The shape of a man in a great robe appeared, and the stars were points of dark on a white robe that shone brighter than the torches. There was no head upon the robe, but the robe was not empty. Fingers like scythes slid from the sleeve and cut toward Oren.
Seth moved, a blur of action as he ran past the spirit, drawing as he moved, cutting as he drew.
The creature howled in rage. Seth flipped the tip of his blade from cut to guard, but the ghost struck faster. It struck Seth as though his guard did not exist, tumbling him to the ground.
In going after Seth, it had ignored Brea. That was a mistake. She struck, and the evil creature wailed. She stepped forward and struck again, but it was gone. The circle was empty.
“Seth’s hurt, but not badly,” Oren knelt over the young soldier priest. “The armor took the brunt of it.”
Keynan stood at her back and struck against something only he could see. He turned, struck again. He was suddenly in the air, spinning to get his feet under him, as he struck the rocks of the cairn. His hard felt leggings tore from his hip to his knee, blood flowing freely. His eyes were glazed, but he kept his grip on his blade.
Oren swung his left arm into the darkness. A dagger again appeared within his fingers. He released it with a snap and again it thumped into a solid target.
“I hit it. It is here,” he cried out, but in a flash he was clutching the left side of his face, where the hidden claw had nearly removed his eye.
It was quiet for a moment. The Judge stood guard over her people.
“Tape your eye, Oren.”
“Yes, mistress,” he said.
She walked slowly to the cairn, grabbed the thick wool collar of Keynan’s tunic, and dragged him down the stones to lay next to the others.
Oren wound a bandage around his face, wishing he had worn a helmet. Keynan still wore his woodsman’s hard felt and Seth had worn full armor. Although they didn’t seem to be able to kill the beast, at least they had taken only minor injuries.
Keynan wrapped the bandage tape around his thigh, which burned horribly. He had fought, in practice and in war, but this time was different. The enemy was no simple soldier, the same as himself. This was no child-sized Bolg, who he’d regret killing every night for the rest of his life. This enemy was a monster. Some spirit creature that could vanish and re-appear out of the darkness itself.
He did not want to be a warrior or a priest. He knew those skills but had never wanted to use them. He’d never feared the men he fought, but he didn’t know how to fight this thing. His nightmares of the Bolg war had faded with time, but he feared he would fail his people again. Or worse, he’d fail the one person who’d given him a second chance and given him a place where he could find peace, Brea.
Am I a coward? He wondered, and his hands shook.
Brea turned, cutting into thin air, but shadows swirled. She moved and cut again. Seth watched her and wondered at how slow she moved, when he had seen her fight much faster.
This is her p
ractice speed, he realized suddenly. She dares not go berserk without someone to guard her back.
Seth grabbed Oren’s arm and pulled himself roughly to his feet. He was shaken, but he stiffened himself mentally and moved to stand at Brea’s back. This was what he was trained to do.
“I will keep your back safe,” he said.
“Thank you, Seth.” She took a deep breath and her voice hoarsened. “If we don’t survive this, at least we went down as warriors!”
Brea howled; the dogs distantly howled in reply, and the shadows took shape before them. Brea stood tall.
“Show yourself, monster!”
There was a sound in their heads like laughter, and words formed in their minds.
I cannot die, fragile ones, but you will not see the sunrise.
It moved toward her, and she shifted, striking its arm. It vanished but Seth struck to the right, where it appeared. The bronze blade bit into its shoulder, and it vanished again. Seth watched the wound slide shut as his blade pulled free, but the arm Brea had struck looked tattered, damaged.
Brea charged, striking into the air, turned, and struck backwards so suddenly that her blade nearly cleft Seth’s skull. He dodged right. She stepped left and he was behind her again. Seth wore his full armor, and it had saved him from the ghost before, but it wouldn’t save him from Answerer. He’d seen Brea strike the legs off a giant, a thin plate of bronze wouldn’t keep him alive.
Seth had trained with berserkers and knew what he was supposed to do, but he had few visual cues to rely on in this darkness. He could only anticipate his mistress. He found himself in a meditative state, where his own sword strokes meant nothing. Against this monster, my strikes do mean nothing. He had to be free to guard himself from Brea’s strikes as well as the monster’s.
The Judge fought like a wild thing, running between the torches, striking at every shadow. Watching the ground, the stars, anything for a clue of where it would be next. Seth moved with her, keeping pace with her back, evading when her blows came at him. He found it hardest to block the creature’s attacks; it moved with such speed he could barely keep up. He could only defend Brea’s back; she defended her front by striking first and hardest.
She clipped the creature’s other arm, and then its chest. Shadows bled from the wounds, leaving trails of mist across the circle of torches. It moved more slowly, hesitated on its attacks, but Brea became more fierce with every blow, driving it backward.
The creature goaded her, mocking her fragility while it moved in a constant retreating circle. Brea leapt, leaving Seth flat-footed, but she caught it with a rising strike that would have disemboweled a giant. It vanished before her blade could touch it, reappearing a dozen paces away.
You cannot beat me, the spirit’s words echoed in their minds. Worship my power! I will spare the first to fall on his knees before me!
“I will catch you next time, monster.” Brea snarled. “Give me one good swing and I will send you to the Dragon’s Lair.” She tensed, waiting for some hint of where he would appear.
It suddenly stood between Brea and Seth. She whirled and cut downward, Answerer singing through the air as it crossed the night. The monster vanished as quickly as it appeared, and her sword passed through insubstantial shadows into Seth’s guard. Seth blocked, now effortlessly, with his blade, but Answerer shattered it.
Brea stood there, dazed for a second from her rage. Her blade split the bronze crown of his helmet but she held the stroke from his skin. Seth panted, the blade should have split his skull. The blade pulled back and the two halves of his mask fell to the ground. She wavered, seeking her center again. Seth looked past the tip of her blade, past Brea herself, at the glowing red eyes of the monster.
“Behind you!” he shouted.
She turned and it caught her, hands like claws clasped each shoulder, and his baleful red eyes stared deep into hers. For a moment, their wills met. He strove to drive his mind into hers, but she would not yield. There were no gaps in the armor of her faith. She brought to her mind a perfect image of the Blessed Mother and held to it while her body weakened, energy slowly failing, under the force of his gaze.
With a shout of primal rage, the ghost flung her from him, and she spun, bouncing and rolling across the dark heather. Seth flung himself down the hill and dropped across her back, saving her life with his body.
The shadow man’s struck downward, his claws raked across Seth’s back, tearing the thick cloth and ripping the brass plates of his armor from him, but he would not look up, protecting Brea with the shell of his body if nothing else. She stirred under him, dazed but not dead, down but not unconscious. The words rang in their minds like the clash of swords on shield.
None of you are as strong as me. I am immortal, I cannot die!
Keynan had calmed himself; the wound in his leg wasn’t bad. He rose from beside Orin and circled away from the combat, watching Aunt Brea fight. Time passed as he watched the fight, and he hoped that he would not have to join in. He watched the ghost appear and disappear. It was slowing, but it wasn’t clear if it was badly wounded. He climbed to the top of the cairn and watched Seth guard his Aunt’s back, knowing that he would replace Seth should he fall. She fell instead.
Rage consumed him, and the calm fell away. The fear and the cowardice burned away like leaves in bonfire. With a roar unmatched in the night, he launched from the top of the cairn, his sword striking down at the monster’s head. Keynan had never trained in the arts of battle rage, but now the fury drove him with super-human effort.
Brea shook herself, slowly opening her eyes. Seth helped her sit up and placed Answerer in her hands. Her eyes were rage blind, but in this darkness they seemed even more acute. She watched with amazement as Keynan held the creature at bay with a dazzling set of strikes, every bit as fast as she had ever been, with a reach far greater than hers, or this monster’s.
Keynan never looked to meet the creature’s gaze but stared at the rippling shadows upon the ground, the movement of his darkness against the stars. He sought clues in the fading and brightening of the torches, but he never met its glowing red eyes.
The Hound Master dove forward in a flurry of strikes, then back-rolled as the beast struck out at him. He rolled to his feet, his gaze sweeping left and right, seeing nothing but faintly shifting shadows. He leapt to the right, his sword striking even as the shadows gathered, then leapt away as the bone white claws struck for his face. Never slowing, he struck at a flicker of the torch. His blow landed, striking hard into the uncertain surface of ghostly flesh, but the evil creature’s claws struck him as well. A gash opened on his forehead, and he wiped at it with his padded sleeve as the blood poured into his eyes. His arm was coated with blood, but he did not take the time to pause.
The sky changed faintly, a lightening that was only detectable in the faint shine of the highest clouds. The breeze rose, and Brea knew that the time was at hand. She levered herself to her feet. Seth shrugged off the tatters of his armor and stood behind her, blood streaming down his back. Oren moved to her side, his twin daggers again free in his hands. They moved as a team to back Keynan. He did not acknowledge them, but he focused to the front, Brea guarded his left, Oren his right and Seth watched the rear. As a team they moved forward and Keynan spun his sword, daring the creature to meet his bronze for a second engagement.
The shadow man hung in the air, thoughtful for a moment. He hated the intruders. He would kill them all, but touching the strange iron sword and facing its mistress had drained him. The sword was one with the earth, and it drew him down toward the endless sleep. He had to fight the draw of its bright blade.
A headless ghost could not die, while its master held its skull. The ghost was weakened; however, and wanted to eat. It had hoarded its power against the day it would break into Ard, killing all inside its walls. Now it felt as weak as when he’d started. These souls were great and might return him to full strength, but eating these warriors had become more work than their souls were worth.
/>
If only there was the sweet, tender soul of a child on which to feed, the creature who had once been a man thought to itself. The time for feeding was running out, but one of the warriors coming towards him was weakening, near dying from his wounds. If I’m careful, I can have a warrior among my shadows by dawn.
If he failed to feed tonight, he would be trapped in his grave all day, forced to sustain his form from the lives stored in the cloak. He touched the cloak and was momentarily filled with the cries of his victims. They were in no torment, but most had no hint of their own demise and begged for him to release them. Their words were infuriating and pointless, but their existence was his strength. He drew upon their souls to infuse his spirit and then closed the cloak again.
He moved toward the group, throwing shadows about them to distract them from his goal. The warrior was in the rear, he could reach him easily enough if he convinced their leader to charge him. His form faded into existence at the edge of the torches.
Suddenly, a small child stepped into the clearing. It was confused, and seemed lost. It was tired, as if it had been running in the woods. The ghost had no use for colors or other simple contours of life. In his focus on gaining power, he had lost almost all other senses. But the presence of an innocent soul was as clear to him as the smell of a meal to a starving man. Breaking from the cover of the forest into the clearing, the small creature appeared to be frightened and alone, easy prey.
The headless ghost vanished from the bog mound. His shadows slid down the hillside to the edge of the wood where the child stood. The night was quiet, and light was just beginning to break in the east. He wished that he had time to frighten the child before he ate it, as he savored frightening the Ruad children, but he didn’t really have the time. In a short while, the warriors on the mound would be safe from him, and he would hate to let all those hard-fought souls slip away.
The Broken Man Page 30