The Skeleton Stone

by Troy Osgood

  Another man stepped over, taking the hammer from Sheren. Davey couldn’t see who it was, but this man lifted the heavy sledge and brought it down. A crack echoed through the square, not as loud as Sheren’s first, but still solid. Again, and again, the second man brought the sledge down.

  And still the skeleton moved.

  A third and a fourth man all lifted the hammer and brought it down.

  This continued for over an hour, until finally the skeleton no longer moved because there was nothing left to move.

  The undead were known to the people of Minoda, even if the majority had never encountered one before. But no one had ever heard of one appearing without reason, by some spell or wizard.

  Only two men were hurt during the night. No one knew where the skeleton had come from but it had wandered into the village and surprised Gerald Harickson, the man that Davey had seen lying on the stage as someone had tried to treat his wounds. It had done a good amount of damage to Gerald, who might not make it. It had been Gerald’s screams that had alerted the village. The other man that had been hurt, Terry Nigh, would be okay and would have some new scars to show off.

  The villagers gathered in the square the next morning. They had tried to go back to sleep, but none had. A couple of the men had formed a watch, including Davey’s Da, and had patrolled the village through the night.

  The elders stood on the stage, the villagers gathered around them. Davey and his Ma hung back, with the other women and children. Everyone was scared, talking at once. Dozens of small conversations, the noise so great no single voice could be picked out. Davey wanted to be up front, with his Da, but Mary would have none of it. She clutched him tightly.

  He saw that he wasn’t alone. Other children, those not old enough to be with the men, were all being held tight by their mothers.

  “Quiet,” the voice of Hutch shouted out, louder than others.

  Quickly all conversation stopped and all eyes turned to the stage where Hutch Randallson stood. The village was run by a council, Sheren was one of the six, and Hutch was the seventh, the Lead Councilor. It was a position that the older man had held for as long as Davey could remember. Mary spoke proudly of how everyone thought Sheren would take over for Hutch when the other retired in a year or two. But for now, Hutch was still the Lead Councilor.

  “I know you’re all scared,” Hutch said, his voice loud to carry through the square. “But it was a skeleton, a lesser undead, and it’s destroyed.”

  “That was no normal skeleton,” another voice shouted, louder. Davey tried to look through the crowd to see who it was, but there were too many and he wasn’t high enough.

  “What are you saying Donald,” Hutch asked, identifying the speaker as Donald Jaccob, a relatively newcomer to the village.

  Jaccob was a retired soldier, everyone knew, a former member of the King’s Guard who had to leave due to injury. He could usually be found in the tavern, telling any that would listen and those that would not, all about his time in service.

  “I’ve fought walking skeletons before,” Jaccob said. “And they weren’t like this.” The man paused and Davey could see the crowd parting to let him walk up to the stage so he could be heard.

  Jaccob walked with a limp, favoring his right side. He was middle aged, gray starting to streak his hair. Unlike most of the men in the village, he didn’t wear a beard.

  He climbed up onto the top step, staying one below Hutch, which was the custom. Hutch nodded, indicating he could continue.

  “Back about ten years ago,” he started to say. “Down south of here, on the outskirts of the Duchy, a necromancer started calling up some undead. The King’s Guard was summoned and we rode to the necromancer’s keep. Was nothing but skeletons and zombies. Tough battle,” Jaccob paused, staring off into the distance.

  “Donald,” Hutch said drawing the man’s attention.

  “Sorry,” Jaccob said, continuing. “Lost some good friends that day. Like I said, it was a tough battle, but none of those skeletons took the beating the one last night did. A couple good whacks with a blunt weapon and they went down, shattered to pieces.”

  That got the crowd going, more murmurs and shouting. Hutch raised his hands motioning the crowd to be silent as Jaccob stepped off the stage and melted back into the crowd.

  “What if there’s more,” someone shouted and it was picked up by the rest of the crowd.

  “Where did it come from,” another added and the two questions were repeated over and over.

  “Quiet, please,” Hutch shouted but the crowd didn’t hear.

  Davey watched as his father climbed onto the stage. He and Hutch talked for a minute, but nothing could be heard over the sounds of the villagers. Finally Sheren turned to the crowd.

  “ENOUGH,” he shouted, his voice deep and loud and instantly quieting the crowd.

  He stepped back from the stage edge, giving it back to Hutch.

  “At this point we don’t know anything,” Hutch said and the crowd starting to talk again. Sheren moved forward and everyone quieted at the look he gave the crowd. “But we will learn.” He stepped back and motioned Sheren forward.

  “We’ll start at the cemetery,” Sheren said pointing to the eastern road that wrapped around the mountain, leading to the village’s graveyard.

  The road out of town was barely a single cart wide, rough and winding as it led east along the mountain to a wide plateau overlooking a valley. The dirt road, really just a wide path, ended at an open and grassy plateau where the early villagers had first buried their dead.

  “What if there are more,” someone shouted.

  “It’s day,” Sheren said. “The risk is low and I’ll go alone if I have to.”

  He stepped off the stage and made his way through the crowd as Hutch dispersed them, saying they’d come together again later after Sheren returned from the cemetery. Davey’s father walked up to them, his mother reaching out and clutching at him.

  “There there Mary,” he said putting his large and calloused hand over her much smaller one. “It’ll be all right.”

  “I want to go with you,” Davey said looking up at his Da, who was still a foot or more taller.

  “Davey, no,” Mary said, holding onto him tighter.

  “Your Ma is right,” Sheren said with a smile at her. “Not this time.”

  In the end only two others had volunteered to go with him.

  The three set out at noon, dressed as they normally would as none owned armor of any kind, and carrying two shovels and a sledge hammer.

  Sheren Tobiason stared out over the cemetery. He and the two others were at the edge, where the path cut through a stand of trees, hiding in the shadows of the branches. The cemetery spread out before them, gravestones neatly laid out for a good distance. The field was longer then it was wide, hugging the side of the mountain, with a drop to the valley below on one side. There was more space still given to grass and a couple more stands of trees then there was to graves.

  The people of Minoda, as practical as could be, had laid out the stones in a pattern equally distant in all directions to minimize the area taken up as well as provide ease of use in the future. Death was a part of life, there was no point in denying it and someone that was dead didn’t want to be a burden on the living anymore then they had to. There were no altars or crypts in the field, those were built out of the mountainside and there were only a half dozen of those, decorated doors and arches carved into the mountain itself. The field was just graves, shallow ones, but still graves.

  But as far as Sheren could see, none of the graves had been disturbed.

  And he was very thankful that his wife had prevented Davey from coming.

  There were skeletons walking through the field before them. The sun was out, bright light shining down cleanly and clearly onto the field, as there was nothing to block the rays. The skeletons did not care. No more than a half dozen, the creatures so much like the one the night before, wandered aimlessly and slowly through the gravesto
nes.

  “Gods above,” Timon Mackel quietly cursed.

  Sheren glanced at the younger man, not one of the original families, but a good man nonetheless. Tall, strong, and blond haired, Timon and his family had moved to Minoda a half dozen years ago. Part of an increase in the mining force directed by one of the merchants that owned the mines, and essentially the village. The other man with them was older, gray hair with streaks of brown in his beard and long hair. Age was starting to get to Mattias Donalson, but that was okay as he was now a foreman of the mines, long past having to swing a hammer or pick.

  Sheren knew both men to be dependable. But how brave were they?

  “We need to check the graves,” Sheren said quietly, crouching down with the other two as if that would somehow hide them more. It might, he thought. He had no idea how the magical creatures saw as they had no eyes, just the hollow sockets in the skulls where eyes used to be.

  “Are ya mad?,” Timon said, surprise and fear on his face. “We can see none have been disturbed.”

  “Sheren is right,” Mattias said. “Could be that this handful rose from the further graves.”

  “We need to know,” Sheren said and pointed towards the mountain side. “We can’t see the crypts from here either.”

  Timon just shook his head, muttering to himself.

  “I can’t do it,” he finally said looking out over the field and the walking skeletons. He gripped the handle of the shovel he held tighter, planting the end firmly in the ground.

  “You stay here lad,” Mattias said standing up. “I’ll take the mountain side,” he said starting to move in that direction.

  “No,” Sheren said, reaching out a hand to clasp Mattias’ shoulder. The mountain side was the more exposed face as bushes and small trees grew along the cliff edge. “I’ll take that side.”

  Mattias made as if to argue, but the relief was obvious in his eyes. The older man nodded and moved past Timon and Sheren, quietly moving through the tree stand towards the cliff edge.

  Clapping Timon on the shoulder, Sheren made his way to the rock face. He felt along the surface, taking some comfort in the feel and solidity of the stone. He had worked this mountain his whole life. He knew the granite and iron of the stone.

  Holding the sledge hammer in his right hand, he started walking slowly out into the field. He was exposed, the sun beating down on him but it wasn’t the heat that was making him sweat. There was no cover as he inched his way along the mountain face, keeping his back to it and one hand along it at all times. The skeletons wandered; no rhyme or reason.

  He looked out towards the cliff edge and could see Mattias, the old man crouched as low as he could get and moving slowly from brush to hedge to tree. Looking back, Timon was barely visible under the shadows of the trees.

  Inching his way slowly across the field, Sheren kept one eye on the skeletons. He crouched as low as he could, hoping to hide in the shadows. One foot in front of the other, he walked.

  He paused as the nearest skeleton looked as if it was going to turn his way. He adjusted his stance, ready to run if needed, but the creature continued walking the bones scraping against each other.

  Letting out the breath he didn’t know he had taken, Sheren continued.

  He came upon the first crypt. He could feel the worked stone of the arch. It was pitted with age but still smoother than the natural stone of the mountain. He couldn’t remember which family it belonged to. There were six crypts along the mountain face. Nothing more than worked arches and stone doors. Sheren had never been inside one, never had the need, and had no idea how deep into the mountains they went.

  Three of the six, the families didn’t even exist anymore. At least there were not any living in Minoda.

  The mountainside had a curve to it, the crypts built just after the slight change in angle. That was why he couldn’t see them from the road, but should be able to see all six now. But that meant stepping away from the wall, getting far enough out into the field to see down the mountains length.

  He surveyed the field and could see that none of the graves this far out had been disturbed.

  That left the crypts. The skeletons had to have come from the crypts.

  Somehow.

  He watched the six skeletons all further away; more importantly not looking or coming his way. He couldn’t see Mattias anymore and just barely make out Timon hiding in the shadows of the trees. Now or never, he thought stepping away from the mountain.

  Sheren walked out, ten, fifteen feet. Never taking his eyes off the skeletons; hardly breathing. When he judged he had a good angle he turned back towards the mountain, turning his back on the skeletons. He looked the length of the mountainside, studying each of the six crypts. None of them appeared to be open from where he was. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed.

  He kept looking, looking for any sign. Anything at all.

  It felt as if someone was staring at him, watching him. He felt exposed, out in the open. He took a quick glance, seeing that the Skeletons had all paused, but still none looking his way.

  Studying the crypts, he was satisfied that the first five had not changed. No doors had been opened or broken. They looked the same as they always had. But the angle was wrong on the sixth and the last crypt wasn’t fully visible.

  He rotated, putting his back to the mountain, watching the skeletons. Some just stood there, others moved randomly. He watched them, hearing the bones scraping and the endless clacking of the jaws. The sounds unnerved him. He feared he would forever hear it in his dreams.

  Across the field he could see Mattias. The older man stood up and waved. He pointed back towards the trees and the road. Sheren waved his hand and pointed the other way, indicating he was going to go further down the field. He pointed at Mattias and then back towards the trees, telling the older man to head back. He saw the nod and wave of acknowledgement.

  He turned around, facing the skeletons, and walked backwards until he felt the solidness of the mountain behind him and started to inch his way towards the furthest crypts. He watched Mattias, the man staying crouched but moving faster.

  Faster then he should be.

  Slow down, careful, Sheren thought, stopping and watching the older man.

  But Mattias did not, eager to get back to the relative safety of the trees and the village beyond.

  Sheren watched as the man came to a spot where there was a gap in coverage. Only about ten feet long, the grass of the plateau open to the cliff’s below. Mattias paused, watching the skeletons, and took a chance.

  He moved too soon. As Mattias stood up and started moving across the gap, one of the skeletons turned and the motion caught its attention. With a clacking and scraping, the creature moved towards Mattias who saw it and froze.

  The old man stood there, exposed, caught in between cover as now two skeletons walked his way. He could have run, should have run, but he did not.

  “Mattias, run!,” Sheren shouted forgetting where he was.

  Mattias either did not hear or could not move, frozen by fear.

  But the noise attracted the attention of another skeleton, which turned and started moving towards Sheren.

  He could still see Mattias beyond as the two skeletons descended on the old man. He could hear the screams as the creatures tore into Mattias. But he could not see it. All he could see was the skeleton coming after him.

  Sheren felt the cold stone of the mountain at his back. There was nowhere else to go. He held the sledge hammer in both hands, feeling the familiar weight of the tool. He knew the length and the heft, the weight and the balance, as well as he knew his own arms. This was a tool that he used every day for decades now.

  The skeleton came closer, arms reaching for Sheren.

  The man turned away from the mountain back into the field, taking a step back from the undead creature. It turned as well, continuing without stopping, without pausing.

  Grabbing the sledge with both hands, Sheren swung.

  It was an ext
ension of his own arms; this tool that he had used for so long and had such a familiarity with. He knew how much force to swing to break rock and used all that force now.

  He swung and felt it connect with the creature’s skull.

  Sheren was a strong man, a miner for his whole life, and the swing had his full power behind it. It was a blow that would have cracked a man’s skull in half.

  He watched as the skeleton staggered backwards under the force of the hit. The creature, off balance, toppled to the ground. Amazingly it started to get back up and the skull was undamaged.

  “Loki’s Eyes,” Sheren cursed, invoking the trickster god. Like the previous night’s skeleton, this one was tougher then it looked.

  The skeleton’s skull should be cracked, it should be damaged somehow. But there was nothing. No marks. No indication that it had even been hit at all.

  “Run,” Timon yelled out, snapping Sheren back into focus.

  And run he did.

  He pushed out with the sledge, one handed, just meaning to push the skeleton away. The creature stumbled, off balance, and fell against the mountainside.

  Sheren ran, not caring if the other skeletons saw or heard. Mattias was dead and he did not want to join the man. He could see Timon standing up at the road’s edge, no longer hiding in the shadows of the trees.

  He ran and ran, losing track of where the skeletons were. One behind; two where Mattias had died. That left three. He had forgotten where they were. Further out in the field? The middle? Closer to the road? Where?

  He ran as fast as he could, looking ahead and at the ground, watching where his feet landed. The ground was uneven, rough. He took a straight line, running between the gravestones. The distance seemed greater than it had been.

  But he could see Timon now, so close, the younger man gesturing wildly.

  He heard the noise before he felt the pressure. The jaw clacking, the scraping of bones. He felt the fingers grabbing at his jacket, trying to catch. He passed the last line of gravestones, a clear twenty feet of space between him and the trees. But there was a skeleton behind him, he knew it, he could feel it. The noise was so close and he could see from Timon’s expression that it was that close.