by Troy Osgood
“Ye fool,” Culann shouted, angrily, striding forward and getting into the face of Jaspers who was pushing himself up. “I had ta waste the last charge on ye.”
He didn’t apologize but Jaspers at least looked sheepish before standing at his full height, staring Culann down. Trying to regain some of his lost standing and authority. The soldier looked back at Jemas and Sheren, back at Culann.
“What are we waiting for,” Jaspers said pushing past Culann, heading towards the cemetery.
“You’ve seen a skeleton,” Sheren said. “You’ve seen how different it is.”
The soldier just kept walking. Poor Private Jemas looked from the other two to the Sergeant. He started taking a couple steps after Jaspers.
“He’s right in a way,” Culann said, and it was obvious he wasn’t happy about it. “We should see the rest.” Shaking his head he followed after the soldier.
As they neared the trees, Culann moved ahead of the soldier. Jaspers shot him a look but slowed down, letting the Far Rider take the lead. Culann heard nothing, saw nothing except a trail of small pieces of leaves and branches. More evidence that the skeleton had managed to work itself free of the tangling undergrowth.
He held up his hand, telling the others to stop. They all listened, not moving. They had been told how the skeletons had been during the night when Culann had been out here. Two of the undead, trapped, left there by Sheren. Now possibly one.
Culann adjusted his grip on the hand axes and took a step closer to the trees. The sun was over the peak, starting to set to the West, and cast the small grouping deeper into shadow. He thought about throwing a rock, trying to draw the skeleton out, but that could cause others to come.
He took a couple more steps along the road, watching the trees and undergrowth for signs of any movement. Pausing he studied the deeper shadows around the trees. Were any oblong or oddly shaped?
Seeing nothing, sensing nothing, he stepped into the shadows of the trees.
Slowly he moved, stopping every couple steps and listening.
Nothing.
He stopped about midway through. This would be where he was the other night, when heard and saw the two skeletons. He could see the broken branches and undergrowth, on the right, where one had broken free. The other was nowhere to be seen. The trees on both sides of the road showed signs of abuse, of where the trapped skeletons had clawed at the trunks or pushed against them in the struggle to free themselves. Great gashes were ripped into the trunks.
He moved to the left of the road and could see where the skeleton had been. A path of torn undergrowth led back towards the cemetery.
That answered the question of where it had gone, but where was it now?
And there were four more in the area.
Hearing a noise behind him, he turned and saw Jaspers stepping into the corpse of trees. The man wasn’t trying to be stealthy, moving loudly. He at least held the mace in a ready position.
Culann gave the Guard Sergeant a questioning look.
Jaspers ignored him and walked to the far edge of the trees, looking out onto the cemetery.
Following the other man, cursing silently to himself, Culann came to the edge of the trees. The sun was setting to the west, the mountain in the way, so the cemetery was in shadows but it was still lighter than under the tree covering. They could see the neatly ordered rows of gravestones filling the space from side to side. The edge of a crypt was just visible along the mountain’s side. A couple of trees dotted the landscape.
But there were no skeletons.
“Where are they,” Jaspers said, too loud for Culann’s liking. “They said there were six of ‘em.”
“Five now,” Culann said, quietly.
They stood there for awhile, seeing nothing. Sheren and Jemas crept up behind them, Sheren looking nervously into the woods on either side. The big miner took a step forward, out from the shadows of the trees. He moved towards the edge of the plateau, looking down the sheer drop. Culann also stepped out moving into the middle of the graveyard.
He crouched down, looking at divots and torn up areas of the grass. It was hard to tell what had been Sheren running through the field or was the passage of skeletons. He continued through the field, glancing back and seeing Jaspers and Jemas step out, moving along the mountainside.
Culann stood in the middle of the cemetery, looking around. He could see both ends and there were no more skeletons. They had vanished. Disappeared. Was that the secret? Wait them out? Did whatever magic spawned them run out? He had heard of spells that had limited durations. Was that what this was?
He looked around at the others. The soldiers were examining the first crypt’s archway. The heavy stone door was shut securely and Culann was surprised to see Jemas crouch down and examine the threshold, trying to see if it had been moved recently. Good instincts on that one, he thought, noticing that Sheren had stopped his explorations on the far edge of the field.
The villager crouched down, head of the sledge against the ground. His head was bowed.
Walking over, not bothering to be quiet as there was nothing in the area; Culann saw what Sheren was bent over. The body lay on the ground, part of it hanging over the edge. There was blood everywhere. It had been torn to shreds, almost unrecognizable.
“Mattias Donalson,” Sheren said, head bowed. He muttered a quick prayer to Frigg, the goddess of love and family. He stood up, holding the sledge out for Culann to take. “I need to bring the body back for a proper burial.”
“Aye,” Culann replied, moving to put the axes in their sheathes when Jaspers loud voice yelled out.
Both men turned towards the sound. Across the field, along the mountainside, the two soldiers had made it down to the third crypt. Even from the distance, Culann could see that the stone door was open. Jaspers was waving his free hand in the air, trying to get their attention.
“That was not open before,” Sheren said.
“He needs ta shut up,” Culann muttered as they walked towards the crypt.
The arch was large; the stone door a single great slab with no markings or detailing aside from the handle. The arch itself was intricately carved in a variety of designs. Most had long faded, barely recognizable as anything. Animals, sun, moon. The thick door was open about two feet, it had been pushed from the inside judging by the way the ground was moved.
“This is a heavy damn door,” Jaspers said rapping his fist on it.
“Who’s tomb,” Culann asked.
“Hartson,” Sheren answered. “None are left in the town. Haven’t been any for near fifty years.” He stepped back, looking the row of crypts carved into the mountainside over, one end to the other. “Most of these belong to families that aren’t around.”
“So no one would be using them,” Jaspers stated more than asked.
“Not for a long time,” Sheren replied.
“So the any bodies would have long gone to bone,” Jaspers added, smiling like he had solved the mystery.
“That might explain the where,” Culann said studying the ground around the crypt, how it looked like footsteps in the grass. “But what is the why Sergeant Jaspers?”
Culann ignored Jaspers angry expression. He stepped up to the opening, leaning in and listening. He didn’t hear anything.
“Move,” Jaspers said and the door starting scrapping across the threshold as the man pulled on the handle.
It was a horrible noise, the metal hinges squeaking from non-use, the heavy stone grinding across the stone threshold. Culann jumped back as the opening became wider. He glared at Jaspers, angry and annoyed.
“Ye fool,” he said loud enough for all to hear.
Jaspers, with a final grunt, opened the door fully. Smirking, he stepped in front of the dark opening, staring defiantly back at Culann.
“Not going to learn anything just standing around.”
Shaking his head, Culann stepped up next to the Sergeant. There wasn’t much that could be seen from the opening. It looked like the tun
nel went fairly deep into the side of the mountain. There was no noise, nothing to indicate there were animated skeletons in the dark.
“Look,” Private Jemas said.
The young soldier was pointing at the stone door, at the surface that had been inside the tomb. The inside face of the door was pitted and cracked from age but there were six obviously new deformations to the stone. The dents, for that is what they were, marks pushed into the stone by force, were at different heights but all had similar shapes. There was a wide section at the bottom with five thin extensions off the top, like a skeletal hand laid flat and pushing against the door.
“Ye said the tomb hadnae been used fer fifty years,” Culann asked Sheren, reaching out and feeling the depressions. They were at least an inch deep.
“At least, if not more,” the villager answered.
“So ye are saying this door was shut fer that long?”
“Aye,” Sheren replied, the implications sinking in for the others.
“I donae think these bones belonged ta any Hartsons,” Culann said. “Bones that old would have been crushed against the door.”
“You’re just guessing Far Rider,” Jaspers said, the last with a sneer. “Skeletons can’t just appear out of thin air, magic or not.”
Jaspers took a couple steps further into the dark tunnel.
“Private,” he called out, not turning around, his voice echoing down into the crypt. “Get some sticks or something so we can make a torch.”
“Donae bother,” Culann said. “I have a light.”
Letting the right axe hang from the leather loop around his wrist, Culann reached into the satchel. He was feeling around inside the bag for the right wand when something caught his attention. A noise from out in the cemetery but further down towards the back. A scrapping sound.
“Hurry up,” Sergeant Jaspers said.
“Shut it,” Culann snapped.
He stepped back outside, moving around the open door so he could look towards the back of the cemetery. He definitely heard a sound of something scrapping against stone.
“How many crypts,” he asked Sheren.
“Six,” came the answer as Sheren came up next to Culann. Wisely, he stayed silent, listening as well. “I never got a chance to fully check the last,” Sheren added quietly as he heard the noise as well.
Culann stepped out towards the middle of the cemetery, angling towards the back. His new position gave him a better view of the remaining three crypts. The fourth and fifth were fine, nothing odd about them. Solid stone doors, all closed, set into carved arches. The sixth crypt was different, the door was open. Not fully, only a couple feet, but wide enough for a body to walk through.
The sound was coming from there. They could hear it clearly now as it echoed up from the tunnel beyond, coming closer to the opening. Not just one, but many sounds. And now the clacking could be heard, drifting out of the open stone door.
“I think we know where the skeletons went,” Culann said to himself.
He watched as an arm emerged from the shadows behind the door.
“We should leave,” he said, louder, turning towards the others at the third crypt.
Jemas and Sheren were looking down the field towards the skeleton that was stepping out from the last crypt. Jaspers was still inside the tunnel’s entrance looking towards the others. He took a step out when a noise caught his attention. Culann watched as the man turned.
“Something’s back there,” the soldier said.
The man took a step deeper into the cave. It looked like there was a light in the back of the cavern, deeper in the tomb. Sheren kept his eyes down the field, watching as another skeleton emerged from the shadows of the sixth crypts door, but Jemas turned and watched his superior officer stepped deeper into the shadows.
What is that fool doing, Culann thought running towards them.
“Dagda,” they heard Jaspers curse from in the tunnel and now they could hear the clacking of the skeleton, the bone on bone.
Culann whistled, two quick notes, and lights flared up. Small wisps of light shot out from around the Far Rider, shooting off in multiple directions but all focused on the mouth of the crypt’s tunnel. They were multi-colored, blues and greens and reds, and not that bright but they lit up the tunnel enough.
Jaspers was grappling with a skeleton. The creature was close and the man was doing his best to hold it off. He started screaming, cursing, as an arm of the skeleton raked at his face with the bony claws. The lights zoomed all around, never stopping, casting the entire scene in weird colors and shadows. The mace lay on the ground where Jaspers had dropped it. He pushed with his hands, trying to keep the stronger skeleton away but it was steadily moving the man backwards.
“Help,” Jaspers yelled.
“Get ready ta close the door,” Culann yelled.
Jemas just stood there, stunned and scared, but Sheren reacted. He grabbed the Private, pulling him out of the way. Culann hummed, the pitch and volume changing, and then gave a sharp whistle. He never stopped moving, passing the door and letting his axes hang from the loops. He grabbed Jaspers by the cloak’s edge just as a black fog grew from the ground at the skeleton’s feet. It floated up a couple of inches and then dropped, solidifying and turning into a black liquid.
“Push,” Culann ordered and pulled hard on Jaspers cloak.
Jaspers managed to weakly push at the skeleton, enough to cause it to stumble back a step. The creature’s foot came down on the liquid and slid upwards. The skeleton fell backwards in a clatter of bones, slipping on the magical grease.
The soldier fell as well by the force of Culann’s pull. He landed hard, crying out in pain as Culann dragged him back towards the light, the open mouth of the tunnel.
“Close it,” Culann ordered, pulling the heavy soldier who had enough wits left to dig in his feet and start pushing backwards.
Together they managed to get Jaspers beyond the swing of the door. Culann looked towards the heavy stone, which was now moving, and was glad to see Private Jemas alongside Sheren pushing the door closed. Sheren was doing most of the work.
Culann looked down at Jaspers, who lay on the ground breathing hard and coughing. The man’s face was a mess. The skeleton’s bony fingers, as sharp as claws, had taken the man’s right eye and dug deep cuts into that side of his face. He was bleeding badly.
“Gods damn,” Sheren yelled out.
Culann looked up, saw the heavy stone door almost closed and also saw the skeletal hand sticking out from the opening. The fingers were grasping at air, closing and opening. Sheren pushed harder, grunting with the effort. But the door would not budge.
Humming a tune Culann placed his hand, palm down, about an inch from Jaspers face. A white glow enveloped the hand and spread down onto Jaspers. The man was writhing in pain, head moving back and forth, blood flowing from multiple wounds, but as the white light hit him he calmed. Peace seemed to settle over Jaspers as he fell unconscious.
But the soldier was still bleeding.
“Leave it,” Culann shouted. “We have ta go.”
Sheren gave one last mighty push and the two men stepped back from the door. Jemas leaned down and grabbed Jaspers mace. Culann pointed Sheren to Jaspers head.
“We have ta carry him,” the Far Rider said moving towards the feet.
Sheren held his sledge hammer, not wanting to let the weapon go, but not sure what to do with it.
“Let me,” Culann said taking the weapon.
Sheren watched in amazement as Culann took the almost three feet long sledge and slipped it into the satchel he wore. The weapon’s head disappeared into the bag. Which was surprising because the head was wider than the bag. The hammer’s shaft slid in, following the head. The bag looked to be only a foot deep and empty, but the long weapon was going inside.
“Pick him up,” Culann said closing and clasping the bag, drawing Sheren’s attention back to the present.
The big miner nodded, reaching down and grabbing Jaspers
under the shoulders. Culann grabbed a leg under each arm, both men bending down.
“Lift,” Culann ordered and the two stood up, holding the wounded and bleeding Jaspers between them.
“They’re coming,” Jemas said pointing down the field with one of the maces.
Looking over his shoulder as they slowly carried the still bleeding Jaspers, Culann saw two skeletons coming towards them from the last crypt. A scrapping noise, stone on stone, and he knew that the other was pushing the third crypt’s door fully open.
They moved forward, slowly, steadily towards the trees but could hear the approach of the skeletons led by the dreadful clacking of the jaws. It was a race and one that Culann knew they would lose. They were too slow, having to carry Jaspers and the man was not light. But they couldn’t just leave him, not well he was still alive.
“Jemas,” Culann said getting the young man’s attention. He had been behind them, facing the skeletons, a mace in both hands. “Take him,” Culann told the soldier.
Private Jemas looked at the two maces, back at Culann, at the skeletons. He was confused, overwhelmed. Staring at the maces, he let them drop, rushing over to take Jaspers from Culann. First one leg, passing from one man to the other, and then the other. Jaspers dropped and Sheren grunted at the shift. Jemas struggled but got his feet under him, lifting the wounded man up again. He wasn’t as strong as Culann.
“Go,” Culann ordered.
He bent down and picked up the two maces, twirling them in his hands to get used to the weight. They were definitely not his weapon of choice, but he still knew how to use them.
The first skeleton was within ten feet, two more only ten feet behind.
“I donnae even like the man,” Culann muttered to himself moving forward and swinging the mace in his right hand.
The weapon connected with the head of the skeleton, staggering it. There was no damage, nothing visible, but the skeleton did take a step backwards. Culann kept it up, swinging with the left and connecting, staggering the skeleton another step back. Again with the right, followed by the left. Constant hits keeping the undead creature off balance.