by Troy Osgood
He hit the back shoulder of the skeleton, more light flaring, and everyone on the plateau heard the sound of bone cracking. Another swing, at the same spot, and a louder crack of bone.
One more swing and the skeleton’s arm fell away, falling to the ground. The fingers still kept opening and closing, grabbing at the dirt and rocks.
A cheer rose up from the villagers. Three hits and the skeletons arm had broken off.
The magical creature turned, grabbing at Jemas with its lone arm. He pushed at it with the shield, turning it so he was once again facing the mine entrance. The second skeleton had managed to right itself and was almost standing up.
Pushing the shield to the left, Jemas pulled the skeletons arm away, leaving its chest open. He swung with the sledge, hitting it on the side. The rune flared up, bone cracked. Stepping back, the skeleton off balance, Jemas dropped the shield. He gripped the sledge with both hands and swung as hard as he could.
The head of the weapon hit the skeleton in the middle of its chest, where a crack had just formed spreading out from the impact on its side. The rune flared and the villagers watched as the creatures ribs exploded into many pieces.
Taking a step back, giving himself space, and breathing heavily, Jemas watched the skeleton standing frozen. One arm was reaching out, the fingers no longer grasping. There was a large cavity in the creature’s chest, where its ribs had been. Pieces of bone continued to fall as cracks spread across the skeleton’s body, spider webbing out from the cavity.
The head fell atop the pile of bones that was its body, the jaw moving up and down.
The villagers cheered louder and Jemas saw them rush forward, four of them, runed weapons raised. They all stood around the second skeleton and started swinging. Orange flashes flared as each weapon hit the creature, followed by the crack of bones. Within seconds the skeleton was reduced to a pile of small bones.
Jemas looked down at the head of the one he had destroyed. It had fallen so the eye sockets were up, staring at him, the jaw clacking. He raised the sledge over his head and brought it down smashing the skull into pieces.
“Get some new planks in place,” he ordered and was surprised to see all the villagers react quickly.
Culann stepped back out of the reach of the grasping arm. The skeleton filled the small gap between door and arch, trying to push its way through to get at the man.
As far as he could tell there was only the one, come up from the depths of the crypt.
He watched the heavy stone door, seeing it move little by little as the skeleton pushed against it. The strength of the creatures was hard to believe. He had struggled to move the door the few inches he had. The skeleton was pushing the thing just by sheer force.
The arm moved, reaching out but not up and down.
Culann angled slightly to the side, wanting to keep the skeleton reaching straight out. He watched the movements, gripped the black rod tighter in his right hand and grabbed the skeleton at the wrist with his left.
Immediately the creature started thrashing, moving the arm up and down and back and forth. It was hard to hold on to, the skeleton’s strength threatening to pull loose from Culann’s grip. He gritted his teeth and held on tighter. He gave it a small yank, pulling the skeleton forward.
The unthinking creature reacted instinctively. It pulled its arm backwards, expecting resistance from Culann but he let the creature pull back well still holding on. As the skeleton stumbled, Culann quickly yanked it forward. Off balance, the skeleton fell forward, the head barely fitting through the opening in the door.
Once the head was out and in the open, Culann swung with the black rod. He hit the skeleton on the neck and kept the rod against the bones. Runes flared up in a rainbow of colors. The light was bright and he had to look away.
He kept the pressure on the rod, trying to hold it steady as the skeleton kept trying to move. It kept pulling at him, trying to free its arm. A sizzling sound could be heard, like something was burning. Smoke starting flowing up from where the dark iron rod hit bone.
The light died down, followed by a thud of something hitting the ground. The movements of the skeleton changed, no longer as frantic.
Releasing the creature, Culann jumped back.
With no more pressure, the skeleton’s body jerked backwards, falling fully into the crypt entrance. Culann could hear it scrapping against the stone as it tried to right itself.
That would be hard enough, but it would be harder without a head.
He saw the skull lying on the ground where it had falling, a bit of spine still attached. The ends of the bone were still smoking and the jaw was still moving up and down. The clacking was muffled by the grass it had landed in.
He looked down and saw the still smoking end of the rod. Most of the flat length had melted away, bits of it still dripping down onto the grass.
“That was expensive,” he muttered, dropping the dark iron rod.
Culann reached into the satchel and brought out a smaller cloth bag with a drawstring around the top. He pulled it as far open as it would go and holding it with one hand he reached down and grabbed the skeleton’s head by the bit of spine.
He held the skull upside down in front of him. The creature’s jaws clacked together crazily. It knew he was there, so close, and could do nothing.
“Be angry all ye want,” he told the thing stuffing the head into the cloth bag. “But ye are going ta help me.” He pulled the drawstring tight, closing the bag.
With the skull inside, the jaw still moving and wrinkling the bag as it did so, it wouldn’t fit inside the satchel so he let the bag fall loose, holding it by the end of the drawstring. He swung it around a bit, shaking the skull inside. Bending down he picked up the rod, glancing inside the crypt where the headless body still struggled to get up. He put the rod in the satchel as he stood up.
Letting the bag hang by the drawstring, Culann left the cemetery.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The tavern was full and Private Jemas was the center of attention.
The young man sat at table in front of the hearth, the villagers that had been on watch outside the mines sitting around him. There were a couple of empty mugs already in front of the soldier along with the one he was currently hoisting. Men clapped him on the back and many more mugs of ale were hoisted in toast.
The poor man was overwhelmed.
Culann just laughed and smiled from his seat at the bar, a mug in hand.
Jemas drained the last of the ale in his mug and set it down, one of the villagers calling for another. The young soldier looked around and caught Culann’s eye. The Far Rider smiled and raised his mug, telling the young man to enjoy the attention. He deserved it. His quick thinking had most likely saved lives.
Let them all enjoy the night, he thought, because tomorrow will not be enjoyable.
He turned back around, setting the mug on the counter. He leaned down, elbows on the counter, and laid his head in his hands. He rubbed at his temples, sighing.
Culann looked up at a light thump on the bar, seeing his empty mug replaced with a full one. He nodded thanks to Murphy.
“Big difference a couple days can make,” Murphy said nodding towards Jemas.
“Aye,” Culann replied taking a drink. “Some men rise up when called upon but I’ve seen many more sink and break.”
The sound of the door opening drew both men’s attention. They watched as Sheren Tobiason walked in, pausing just inside. The big miner looked the tavern over. A good percentage of the village was there, mostly the men that were not currently on watch. A small smile escaped the man’s stoic features. Even before the skeletons, it had been a long time since he had last seen the villagers this celebratory.
What Jemas had done had changed the mood. Now they knew they weren’t defenseless against the skeletons. Now they could fight back.
He saw Culann at the bar and started making his way there, having to stop at the tables he passed and exchange words with the villagers.
“Aye,” Culann said returning to his drink, looking up at Murphy. “I’ve seen men break. I’ve seen men rise up when called upon and I’ve seen men find their true calling.”
Murphy watched Sheren move through the crowd. He smiled.
“I think I’m seeing it now,” the man said turning to the kegs and filling a mug.
He set it on the bar just as Sheren sat down next to Culann.
“Good crowd,” Sheren said taking a drink. He nodded his thanks to Murphy.
“It’s good for them,” Murphy said. “They needed to let loose a little.”
“That they do,” the miner replied. “They really needed to lose the fear.”
“Fear isnae always a bad thing,” Culann said looking straight ahead, staring at the wall with a far away expression. “A good dose of fear kin keep ye alive. Overconfidence, the lack of fear, that kin kill ye. Without fear, ye have the illusion o’ safety. And we are nae safe.”
Murphy and Sheren exchanged somber glances, the mood instantly changing for them both.
“Let them have their night,” Culann added holding up his mug in a silent toast. “For the morning and reality comes soon enough.”
He drained the last of the ale, setting the mug down. Putting his hand over the top, he indicated that he didn’t want anymore. Sheren put his own mug down, listening to the sounds of the villagers behind him. Good sounds, happy sounds. Yes, the morning would come soon enough.
The morning came.
Again most of the village gathered in the square, the sun up for a couple of hours. Culann stood on the stage, alone; the bag containing the skull was at his feet. It moved as the skull inside shifted, the jaws still clacking away. The villagers eyes it warily, especially the councilors that were at the bottom of the steps. There were men, women and children, all looking to him for answers and solutions.
“There is risk ta this,” Culann said looking out over the villagers after outlining his plan.
They were scared, worried, as they should be. The cheerful mood of the previous night had faded. The reality of the threat facing Minoda once again in their minds.
“What risk?,” Hesh asked.
“If it is a trap like I think and I go inta the Cradle ta find and deactivate it,” he started.
“It might cause more to appear,” Sheren finished from where he stood at the bottom of the stairs. “To protect itself.”
“Aye. Inside the crypts, the cradle or maybe more outside.”
"But won't the skeletons attack you, not the town," one of the councilors asked. "To defend this stone?"
"Maybe some will, but I do nae think all will," Culann answered. "The skeletons have so far been moving away from the Cradle," he explained. "Coming ta where the threat is perceived. Here."
"It's a defense mechanism," Private Jemas said, all eyes turning towards him. "An automatic defense, you would have it respond outwards, away from what it is meant to defend. To prevent more intruders."
"Aye," Culann said with a nod. "That is what I think as well."
“If there’s a chance they will attack the village then don’t do it,” Hesh said. “One or two we can handle now that we have these,” he said pointing at the runed tools many of the villagers were carrying. It was lost on no one that he did not have a weapon.
“We’d have to shut down the mines,” Sheren told the man. “Even with the weapons,” he paused looking out over the villagers. “We couldn’t risk it.”
“Just the new one,” Hesh tried to counter but he didn’t look as sure as he had a second before.
“No,” Sheren answered. “All the mines. The entire mountain,” he added looking around at the villagers.
The murmurings started. People looked at each other, to the mountain, to the councilors, to Culann. This was their livelihood at stack.
“Dvorkan Cradles are huge,” Culann said as the crowd quieted, listening. “Great sprawling complexes built deep inta the mountain and below. It’s a surprise ye had nae gotten inta the tunnels before this. Ye could mine fer a while and never hit a tunnel, or hit a tunnel and never set off the trap, or mine tomorrow and flood the town with skeletons.”
“No way to know,” Sheren stated more than asked.
“We can’t shut down the mines,” Hesh said dejectedly. Any fight the man had was gone. He was looking at the loss of the only thing that gave him any standing in the town. He knew he had already taken a beating in that regards, the last couple days, and couldn’t take anymore.
“Aye,” Culann said agreeing. “Ye cannae. Ye need the mines and cannae take the time ta start new ones further away.”
The Far Rider fell silent, letting the villagers decide. He walked down off the stage, leaving the moving bag with the head as a reminder, coming to stand in front of the councilors.
“The merchants would have to go elsewhere,” Hesh said with a sigh. “They would have to, in order to meet their contracts. We’d lose everything. We might already with what we’ve loss due to these.”
Sheren looked around at the villagers beyond the circle of councilors. They were scared and nervous. He looked at the rest of the councilors and found all eyes on him, even those of Hesh. They were telling him that it was his decision.
He sighed, looking up at the sun and the clear blue skies. Everything had been so much easier a couple days ago, less worry and more simple. Work the mines, that was it. He saw Private Jemas standing off to the side. The young man looked less scared than he had when first come to the village, more determined. He no longer had the look of a recruit. He was turning into a true soldier. Looking into the crowd he saw Mary, clutching Davey tight. She had the same fear in her eyes but also strength and faith.
Faith in him.
“Go,” Sheren Tobiason finally said turning to Culann. “Go and stop this. Do what you have to. We’ll defend the town.”
“What can I do,” Davey Tobiason asked.
He stood in front of his father, along with the men and older boys of the village. He was the only boy of his age, the others all closer to adulthood. They were all gathered in front of the stage in the middle of the village square. His father was directing, telling people where they would stand and what groups they would fight in. Others were handing out the runed weapons, hammers and picks. The women and younger children were at the edges of the square, watching and waiting when they would have to kiss their loved ones goodbye and seek the safety of the homes.
It was a couple hours after the meeting in the square. It had not taken long for preparations to begin.
Sheren looked down at Davey, a smile on his face. He looked proud.
“Not today son,” he said, the pride still in his eyes. He was proud that Davey was here trying to help but the boy was not old enough, not yet.
“Da, I can help,” Davey said trying hard not to let his voice turn into a whine.
He knew he couldn’t fight but he could help, like the older boys. He could run water, bandages, orders and that. He was one of the fastest boys in the village. It wasn’t fighting, but it was important and it was helping. He wanted to help. This was his home too.
“You can help by staying with your mother,” Sheren said clasping his son on the shoulder. “She will need you.”
“But,” Davey started to say, the whine creeping in.
“No,” Sheren said in the tone that Davey knew meant there would be no more discussion. “Go to your Ma.”
Dejected, Davey walked through the crowd towards the lane that led to his house. He could see his mother standing with other mothers, holding the younger children back.
“Davey,” she called. “Come here.”
Sighing, head hanging low, he walked to his mother. She held out her hands, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him in close.
“What did you think you were doing?,” she said scolding him. “Your father is busy.”
Embarrassed, Davey mumbled something, trying to step away so she wasn’t holding him so tight. Part of him wished this h
ad happened a year or two from now, when he would have been older and able to stand with the older boys. All he wanted to do was help.
Her grip was tight, he couldn’t move.
He looked out over the square. Watching the men organize, clustering and talking in small groups. There were the older boys, going over the routes they would run with supplies and orders. His father stood out, everyone going to him for commands. Davey was disappointed but also proud. That was his father. The center of it all. The one in charge.
That was his Da. He was proud but he wanted to be a part of it.
Private Jemas stood outside the building that was serving as the hospital. He watched the action in the square, Sheren Tobiason directing villagers as if he was a General. The miner should have been a soldier, Jemas thought. He would have made an excellent leader.
The conversation that Culann had, he had missed it. Too far away to fully hear, but he knew the basics. The Far Rider was going after whatever was causing the skeletons to appear. Jemas wondered what his role, if any, would be.
Most likely there would be fighting. Should he go with Culann or should he stay and defend the village?
A commotion got his attention. The sound of an argument, voices raised, came from the house behind him. He climbed the steps and walked inside, seeing Sergeant Jaspers standing up at the end of the bed. The man was clad just in pants, the bandages wrapped around his chest and face were stained red. He was moving slowly, stumbling. He held out his right arm, the side where he lost the eye, using it to help guide him. The woman that was acting as the nurse, Madame Thurmanson, stood at the end of the bed, not touching him, but glaring at the man.
“Need to lie down,” she was saying harshly, no signs of a bedside manner.
“Lady, I need to know what is going on,” Jaspers said with a growl.
“You lost an eye,” Madame Thurmanson said stepping out of the way of the fumbling Jaspers. “You need time to adjust.”
Jaspers was about to say something and Jemas knew the man well enough to know it was going to be mean and angry.