Hollow Road

by Dan Fitzgerald

  Sinnie nodded, doing a poorer job of hiding her tears. “I won’t, unless...” She took a long breath before continuing. “When I saw it before, when I looked into its eyes, my body froze, and I couldn’t move. I’ve been afraid before, when we faced the boar, and the Maer, and my instincts took over. But with the Ka-lar, it was...something else. What if it happens again? What if it happens to all of us?” She looked at Carl, then Finn, for answers, but they had none.

  Elder Gummache put a finger in the air, wagged it at Sinnie, then pulled himself up from his chair and walked over to a shelf, where he picked up a leather bottle with a wooden stopper.

  “This just might do the trick.” He placed the bottle in front of Sinnie. “My book says the Barrow Lord’s gaze has some kind of supernatural fear effect. Drink this, one long draught for each of you, just before you go in. It should fortify your spirits for the task ahead. Don’t ask what’s in it, for I shan’t tell you. But trust me, it will work.”

  Sinnie picked up the bottle, examined it for a moment, then tucked it inside her vest.

  “Well, if there isn’t any more business,” Massey said, half rising from his chair, “I have my work cut out for me. And the three of you better get some rest.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Carl woke early to test the sword Massey had repaired. As he had noted before, it was heavier than he was used to, but it had good balance. He did a variety of drills, as he had done in his training for the military, trying to get used to the sword’s weight, length, and balance. Massey watched but said little; Carl thought he might be sleeping on his feet after spending the night with the forge, but his work appeared excellent. Massey had sharpened the blade, and it was as sharp or sharper than Carl’s steel sword. Whoever the Barrow Lords were, whatever civilization they came from, they possessed smithy skills equaling the best of the modern world.

  Sinnie came by early to pick up the arrowheads and spent some time with Massey putting together arrows, which needed a bit longer fletching due to the heavier points. Massey had gotten her some more rigid shafts, on the theory that Sinnie would be shooting from closer range, and penetration would be more important than accuracy at distance. Sinnie practiced a bit shooting into hay bales, and from what Carl could see it didn’t take long for her to adjust to the new arrows. Massey had made twelve arrowheads, so Sinnie would have plenty of ammunition for their encounter with the Ka-lar, assuming there was only one of them. They had just finished packing for what they hoped would be a one-day trip when they heard screaming from somewhere in the village.

  Carl and Sinnie went running, weapons in hand, with Massey lumbering behind them. The screaming seemed to be moving in the direction of the chapel, and they followed it, arriving in time to see a woman gesticulating to Nicolas and Elder Gummache, her face tear-streaked and wild and her hands covered in blood. It was Ms. Bergeron, whose green thumb allowed her to summon impressive quantities of vegetables out of the rocky soil. Her husband, a retired soldier, sometimes helped Massey with the Village Guard. She threw herself across Nicolas’ broad body, whimpering and sobbing as if exhausted from all the screaming.

  “Oh gods what did they do to my Hans? His head was over here and his body was over there and oh gods what did they do? I don’t understand, I don’t understand, how could...what could...” She trailed off into a low moan, still draped over Nicolas, who held her stiffly, trying to look strong, but his eyes told a different story. Elder Gummache made a sweeping motion in the direction of the Bergeron’s cottage, which was on the valley edge not far from where Ms. Stepple had lived. Carl, Sinnie, and Massey walked quickly in that direction, and they were soon joined by Finn, who came running in at top speed, hardly looking out of breath.

  “It sounds like the Ka-lar got Mr. Bergeron last night,” Carl said. Finn’s face darkened, and he joined them in step. Carl would have rather been at the doorstep of the Ka-lar, ready to charge in, than heading to find its gruesome handiwork wrought on a dear family friend.

  When they got to the cottage, they were confused for a moment, as it was empty, but then they remembered that Mr. Bergeron often slept in the workshed, since he snored like a bear and Ms. Bergeron was a light sleeper. They pushed through the back door of the house and made for the shed, whose door was flung open, and Carl could make out a disturbing round object on the floor inside. He held his hand out to stop Sinnie, but she pushed right past him, then froze in the doorway, her arms slightly to the side, her fingers spread wide. Her head drooped, and she took a deep breath. When she turned around, she seemed to look right through him.

  Carl and Massey stepped up to look over her shoulder, and Massey gasped. Carl had to swallow hard and steel his jaw to avoid being sick. Mr. Bergeron’s head lay on the floor, and his mangled body lay in a heap against the corner of the shed. Massey pushed past Sinnie, scooped up the head, and placed it carefully with the body, then threw a dusty tarp over it. Everyone was silent for a few seconds before exhaling at almost the exact same moment. Massey looked up at them, his face stony and grim. He nodded, closing his eyes, in response to the question no one needed to ask.

  Sinnie stepped back out of the shed, running her hands over her face and breathing deeply. “Mr. Bergeron is the one who saw it before,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Massey? When he was on patrol, after what Ms. Stepple saw.” Massey nodded, an almost guilty look on his face. “So she saw it, and then it got her. And he saw it, and now it got him. And from what I can gather, the Maer saw it, and I think it got at least one of them too. That leaves me.” Her voice became small, even as her jaw clenched. When she looked up again, her eyes burned with a dark fire.

  “We leave now,” she said to Carl and Finn, turning and walking off without a second look. “Meet me at Massey’s as soon as you can,” she called over her shoulder, then took off running.

  CARL WATCHED SINNIE trying to escape her mother’s embrace as her father stood by watching and chewing his lip. Finn’s parents watched from across the road, their faces frozen in tearful smiles. Elder Gummache said some words for the benefit of the dozen or so townspeople who had gathered to see them off. Carl spotted Nicolas standing off to the side, watching wistfully. He strode over to the youth, reached up, and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I know you wish to join us, but this is not your fight. That will come, in its time, but now we have a greater need of you here. I trust you, and only you, to stand up for the Maer, to speak up for them. You must play Sinnie’s role while we are gone, for when we return, we intend to take them back into the mountains, or wherever they came from. You will never have their trust, but you must do what you can to right the wrong you have done. Do I have your word?”

  Nicolas looked down at Carl, his eyes swirling with shame and pride, and grabbed Carl’s bicep.

  “I swear it. No more harm shall come to them, as long as I stand on two legs.”

  Carl nodded and let go. He accepted a hug from Massey and a gentle nod from Gummache, then stood with Rolf as Sinnie and Finn waved a last goodbye before turning their backs on Brocland and setting off down Hollow Road once again.

  NO ONE SPOKE MUCH AT first, which suited Carl exceedingly well. He was trying to steel himself for the battle ahead, and there was much clutter in his mind that needed to be cleared away. The Ka-lar had the strength of many men, judging by what it had done to its victims. If any of them let it get too close, they were doomed. Sinnie’s description of how it had frozen her in fear was more than disconcerting. She had shown a steady hand when faced with the Maer, which he was sure would have thrown some of his military comrades off their training. She wasn’t weak and she didn’t scare easily, so it might well have been something beyond the fear of seeing a man hundreds of years dead dancing in the moonlight that had frozen her in her tracks. He hoped Gummache’s mystery potion was more than just graveyard apple brandy.

  They stopped for a bite and a breather when they reached Holden’s Glen. Rolf told them it was less than an hour’s walk down to the
tomb, which would make it a logical place for the Maer to have stayed when they first arrived, assuming they had already planned to cause the rockslide in that particular spot. Rolf had never been inside, nor, he made it clear, would he ever, but he said he had heard tell of a man who entered one such tomb, and he described it as being a great room with an alcove in the back containing the remains of the creature. According to the story, the man raided the tomb, sold the goods, and was dead within a fortnight.

  “If this tomb is anything like the one from the story, there would be plenty of room for the Maer, and they might well have left the alcove undisturbed for a time, until one of them got too curious.”

  “And what about the seals?” Carl asked.

  “I know there are seals on the outside, since I have seen them. From the story I heard, there was a seal on the alcove as well, but the tale was third-hand, so who knows? My guess is they broke the outer seal, stayed there for a while, then broke the inner seal.”

  “That would explain why they moved,” Sinnie said. “The cave where we found them was a good three hours from Holden’s Glen. It wouldn’t make sense for them to stay there while the roadblock was active, unless they had no other choice.”

  “What puzzles me,” Finn said, “is how they knew the dagger might be effective against the Ka-lar, or why they thought it would.” He held a finger in the air, then lowered it, his brow furrowed. “Carl, let me see that map again.”

  Carl produced the map, unrolled it, and laid it on a rock. Rolf leaned in to take a look, tracing his fingers here and there, finally landing on the small red dot they had noticed before, which they had presumed was the location of the cave the Maer had been staying in.

  “If I read this map correctly, this dot would be the location of the tomb?” He looked up at Rolf, who studied the map and nodded. “And this line here would be Holden’s Glen, and this here is the river. So whoever made the map was aware of the tomb. You said the map was probably made from an ancient cylinder of some kind?” He looked at Finn, who nodded.

  “I think so,” Finn said. “See the tiny indentations along the painted lines here? We learned about these in study, though all I ever heard about was scrolls with ancient incantations on them. But the way it’s made, I’m sure it’s from the same source. I’ve never seen anything else like it.”

  “How would the Maer know about this area?” Rolf wondered aloud. “According to legend, the Maer have never lived north of the Silver Hills.”

  “Maybe the legends are wrong,” Sinnie said. “Maybe the Maer were here before we were. Maybe—” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. We’re wasting time. We need to get down there while the sun is still up.”

  “Indeed,” Carl agreed. “Tales depict the living dead as more active at night, and everything we have heard of the Ka-lar supports this. Let us hope it is enough.” He tried to sound like he believed what he was saying, but he had a hard time convincing himself, let alone the others. Still, they had little choice. As Sinnie had noted, the creature had visited each of its victims before returning to kill them, and Sinnie was the last one to have seen it. They must face it today, without delay, or run far away and leave the village to be terrorized and slaughtered, which was no choice at all.

  The sun shone brightly, piercing the leafy canopy in dazzling shafts that lit up the forest floor. Even the brown of the roots and the gray of the stones seemed to glow as fluid discs of light chased the shadows, dancing and twisting in dappled waves. The ground beneath their feet was soft, almost spongy, and the roots were slick with the remnants of morning dew. Ferns and moss sprawled across the rocky glen, whose trickle of a stream meandered down the hill, with pools here and there covered in flocks of water striders. Carl felt the childish impulse to run over to the edge of the pool to look for minnows and turn over every rock in search of salamanders, hellgrammites, and crayfish, as he used to do with the other boys in the Village Guard whenever their training forays took them near water. As they neared the valley floor, Rolf gestured to a small crevice in the side of the glen, which wound out of sight behind a sycamore tree.

  “There.” He held his finger rigid long after everyone was already looking in that direction.

  “Wait, is that...” Sinnie squinted, pointing in the same direction, only lower.

  “Bones,” Finn murmured.

  “Horse bones,” Rolf added. “Those must be the ones that were sent from Kelsey but never arrived.”

  “So the Maer were here,” Carl said.

  “And then they left,” Sinnie added.

  They all stood staring at the bones, and nobody moved for a very long moment.

  ROLF EXAMINED THE BONES, which were charred on the ends and chewed clean. He tossed a bone back on the pile, looking up at the group. “It looks like the Maer had a royal feast. I’d say...” he pointed at various bones, as if counting. “Three horses.”

  “That fits with what we heard from Kelsey,” Carl agreed.

  “No human bones?” Sinnie asked.

  Rolf shook his head. “None that I can see. Wait, over there—” He pointed to a hollow tree, then picked his way over the damp rocks. “Yes. One, two, three skulls. Burned clean, and kind of...arranged.” His eyes were wet but steely. “Samuel and August, and the livery boy from Kelsey, I have no doubt. They were cremated, not eaten.”

  “Small comfort.” Finn’s face was pale and beaded with sweat, despite the cool air emanating from the rocks.

  Rolf pointed to a large rock higher up in the crevice, making eye contact with Carl. “Just beyond that is the tomb. And this is as far as I go. I’d be of no use to you in there.” He stood, stepped to Sinnie, and took her face in his hands, touching her forehead with his.

  “Go, father,” she said. “We will return by nightfall. If we don’t...”

  Rolf pulled her face into his chest. “You will,” he whispered into her hair. “You will.” He released her, gave Finn and Carl a grim nod, then pointed up the glen. “I will wait there, just around that bend. Go with the gods.” He turned, hopping down the rocks with a lightness that belied his age. He did not look back. Sinnie turned to Carl, her eyes strangely calm.

  “It’s time,” Carl said. “Bring out Elder Gummache’s draught.”

  Sinnie produced the leather bottle, uncorked it and took a swig, her face contorting with disgust as a thick, brown liquid ran from the corner of her mouth. She passed it to Finn, who took a long drink, then handed it to Carl. He drained the foul brew, which tasted of fire and smoke, with a sickly sweetness that brought stars to his eyes. He eyed his companions, whose eyes shone, their faces flushed, their lips full and wet.

  “Seekers of the South,” Finn whispered.

  “Go forth,” Sinnie said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sinnie watched Finn as he stood still, holding his staff straight up, his eyes closed, his breath deep and steady. She had never seen him do his little ritual up close, but she closed her eyes and tried to breathe along with him. Gummache’s potion had left her with a clear mind, chasing away the images that had been haunting her since her encounter with the Ka-lar. Now, when she pictured the creature, she was able to visualize it as a target. In her mind, she saw its armor in greater detail than she had been aware of before. There was an elaborate design of metal scales covering the mail on the chest, which was torn in one place just below its left collarbone, as if by a weapon strike. There, or its eyes, would be her targets, if she could get a clear, steady shot. She opened her eyes and held her hand out flat in front of her. It was steady as a rock, and her arm felt strong and sure.

  Finn opened his eyes with one last breath and nodded. Carl adjusted his shield and his mail coif, hefted his sword, and began moving slowly up the crevice, which was just wide enough for one person to pass. Finn followed him, and Sinnie came up behind, holding her bow at half-pull with one of the bronze-tipped arrows nocked. Once he passed the large boulder, Carl stopped, turned to them, and nodded. Finn moved up next to him, and Sinnie got
as close as she could without crowding them.

  The entrance to the tomb was a narrow, rectangular opening cut out of the rock. On the ground lay a stone rectangle cracked into three pieces. Above the entrance was a faded symbol carved into the rock face, its shape and meaning erased by weather and time. Beyond the opening was a narrow passage into darkness.

  “The lantern,” Carl whispered. Finn pulled the lantern from his belt and sparked it into life. Carl eyed them both, his face stern. “Like we discussed. And if things go south...” He shrugged his shoulders. “You’ll know what to do.” Sinnie was pretty sure none of them would, but she nodded. “One more thing.” Carl touched a pouch on his belt with the hilt of his sword. “In this bag is a jar of medic’s balm. Put it on any wound, as quickly as possible. It is powerful medicine, and there’s no telling what the Ka-lar’s touch may do to a person.” Sinnie’s eyes went wide; she had heard of medic’s balm, which was said to cost a fortune, but she did not ask how it had come into Carl’s possession.

  “Let me hold it,” Finn said. “I’m most likely to have my hands free.” Carl nodded, untied the bag, and handed it to Finn, who tucked it into a pocket of his vest.

  Carl eyed Finn and Sinnie once more, then stepped through the entrance into the darkness of the tomb.

  CARL’S SHADOW LOOMED large on the wall opposite the entrance, moving to the left wall as Finn stepped to his right with the lantern. Sinnie drew her bow full, aiming around the room, but saw nothing moving. The room was about twenty feet by twenty, carved into the rock, and the walls bore the remains of some ancient frescoes, dulled by time to the point of being unrecognizable. A tarnished and broken chandelier lay on the floor in the center of the room next to a corroded chain, and a length of similar chain hung from the ceiling. A neat stack of wood was lined up against one wall, along with a rusty hatchet and an old battered saw with half of its teeth missing. A figure lay in the shadows behind the woodpile, the half-eaten corpse of a Maer, its face contorted in an eternal scream of terror. Opposite the entrance was another rectangular opening in the wall, with a large slab of stone sticking out at an angle, a door that been pried halfway open. Sinnie crept over behind the woodpile, aiming her arrow at the opening. Finn set the lantern down and stood about five feet behind the stone door, his face tensed in concentration. Carl approached the door from the other side, and as he got close, Sinnie heard a faint clinking sound, then a footstep, and the Ka-lar emerged from the darkness.