by Troy Osgood
Culann realized what was happening. They were watching a magical skeleton being created. No wonder they were so strong, he thought fascinated. They were pure magic, not formed from human bones, but from the stone of the mountain.
“Don’t move,” he told Davey.
He moved to the side of the room, keeping an eye on the forming skeleton, working his way back to the front. He stopped at the opening, reaching behind him and feeling for the bag that held the skull. The damned thing had moved. He risked a glance behind him, seeing the bag. Leaning back he grabbed it and pulled it towards him.
Bag in hand he cautiously made his way back to the boy and the open door. He watched, fascinated, as the shell of light become almost solid, taking on definition. He could see the ribs being formed, the shape of the spine bones.
“Come lad,” he said quietly, as calmly as he could, when he got back to Davey.
Walking backwards, watching the skeleton being formed, Culann stepped over the threshold and into the corridor. He held his breath, arm holding Davey in the other room, waiting for a trap to be sprung. Nothing. No explosions, gas or arrows. Sighing, letting the breath out, he pulled Davey into the corridor.
It was as wide as the room beyond and he pushed Davey into the corner formed by the walls, out of sight of the entrance. He moved behind the wall, looking into the entrance room beyond.
The skeleton’s shape was filled in now. The light was dimming and the hole in the ground reforming. Holding a finger to his lips, telling the boy to be quiet, Culann pulled himself deeper into the shadows of the corridor as the horrible jaw clacking noise started to come from the room beyond.
He listened, waiting to hear the sound of the skeleton walking away.
At first there was nothing, just the clacking of the jaws, then came the bone scrapping on bone as the skeleton moved its arms and legs. Culann heard footsteps, bone striking stone, as the skeleton moved. He held his breath, glancing down at the boy who looked up scared but also holding his breath.
Together they listened, waiting for the noise to come their way.
But it didn’t.
The footsteps moved away from them and Culann recognized the change in tone as the skeleton walked off the smooth stone of the Dvorkan chamber and onto the rough stone of the mine. There was a new scrapping, the creature’s hands and arms moving against the tightness of the passageway, scrapping across the stone.
Slowly letting his breath out, Culann peeked around the corner. He could just barely see the darker shadow of the skeleton as it made its way into the larger mine heading for the entrance. Whatever magic drove it had somehow missed the two of them. It had to be designed to protect from without, not within like they were.
He stepped into the middle of the corridor. He watched as the Skeleton exited the mine, moving in that odd shambling motion with the constant scrapping noise echoing down the tunnel. The creature seemed to pause, the head moving around and then it turned and walked in the direction of the village. Culann listened to the sound of it fading away as it moved quickly.
He wondered what to do now. Should he head back out, bring Davey back to his family?
The decision was made for him as the boy stepped up alongside, coming from out of cover.
They saw more of the white mist coming out of the ground, this time in two spots in the entrance chamber. Cursing silently, Culann stepped back from the doorway, pulling Davey with him.
“Come on lad,” he said calmly. “We need ta be away from here.”
With one hand on Davey’s shoulder, the other holding the lantern, Culann led the boy further into the Dvorkan Cradle.
The first skeleton came down from the mine road. The villagers that were stationed at the end of the road, where it met the village proper, shouted out when they first caught sight of it. It had been lost in the shadows of the mountain and only the noise gave it away at first.
The two men watched as it came closer. They shuddered at the horrible noises, bone scrapping bone and the jaw clacking. The thing’s arms were outstretched, reaching for them already.
They looked at each other, both holding a marked sledge hammer. They looked uncertain, scared. One glanced back towards the village, seeing other ranks of villagers in teams of two and groups of three or four with poles. The plan was that the ones without the runed weapons would occupy the skeletons well the ones with the magic would destroy them one at a time. The people in the square were ready.
Turning back to the skeleton they took a couple steps away from each other and a couple back towards the square, giving them more space. The road from the mine came into the village hugging the mountainside with a house close to the edge. The side of the house facing the road had a stone chimney and the mining carts with the horses always had to be careful not to clip the chimney when they came into town. The house’s owner had a fire going in the hearth and they could see the smoke rising up into the afternoon sky.
“Ready Michen?,” one asked, a man named Renin.
“No,” the other replied, fear in his eyes and his face.
The skeleton shambled closer with that weird gait it had. It moved stiffly, creaking with every step. Renin gripped his weapon tighter, hands hurting he held the shaft so hard. Michen took another step back.
Neither had thought much about it when Sheren Tobiason had told them to take up position there. They never truly expected an attack from a skeleton. That man, the Far Rider, was at the mine so shouldn’t anything have attacked him first? And that would have given them plenty of warning. Probably some of the villagers would have gone running to the mine. Sheren would have.
But now they were facing off against one of the creatures.
“I’ll take the first swing,” Renin told the other, remembering Sheren’s instructions. First one, then the other from behind. “You work your way behind it.”
“Yeah,” Michen said distractedly.
Renin didn’t catch the tone in his partner’s voice, he just readied himself. He took the stance he used when mining, one foot in front of the other, so he could swing down with all his might. He held the sledge hammer against his shoulder with both hands, waiting for the creature to come close enough so he could lift it up and swing it down.
The skeleton came closer, arms outstretched with fingers grasping. It took all Renin had to stand there, watching the thing. Time seemed to slow down, dragging to a stop. What was seconds seemed hours. Each step of the skeleton an eternity.
“Stay quiet,” Renin said to his friend.
Michen needed no encouragement.
Renin tensed, shifting his grip, watching the skeleton and timing the steps. He waiting, watching. Closer, every step bringing it closer and closer until it was right there.
He lifted the hammer over his head and swung with all his might. A shout behind him, lots of shouting caused him to stumble a bit and the aim of the swing was changed. The hammer swung down, the momentum pulling Renin with it.
He had missed, the heavy weapon swinging down in front of the skeleton and into the ground. Renin stumbled forward, gasping in surprise. He fell into the arms of the skeleton. The creature grasped at Renin’s shoulders, fingers cutting into flesh. Renin screamed.
Michen stood frozen. He had stayed quiet, had started to move around behind the creature like he was supposed to. Then Renin had missed.
He heard his friend screaming and panicked.
Michen swung his hammer at the skeleton, right hand over left. He was further away and barely connected with the skeleton, but the magic of the rune flared and orange light exploded from the small contact. It startled Michen more than it did the skeleton.
The thing dropped Renin, who fell whimpering to the ground. It turned on Michen who took steps backward quickly, finding himself moving around the skeleton. Unconsciously, for the young man had no idea what he was doing at this point, he was stepping backwards and turning at the same time, rotating around the creature. The skeleton moved with him, the eye sockets of the skull a
lways staring straight at Michen.
He swung again, the momentum turning his body almost around, exposing his right shoulder to the skeleton. The creature’s bony fingers grazed his shoulder and Michen screamed. He swung the sledge hammer back, left to right, crossing under the skeletons reaching arms. The swing continued, past his body and around in an arc, the runed head pointing out.
Michen hadn’t realized how close to the house he was, how close to the stone chimney with the lit fire.
The sledge hammers head hit the stones of the chimney, the rune not caring if it was stone or bone. The magic flared as the power of the rune found an easier material to break. The bones of the skeleton, born of the earth itself and shaped and shielded by magic were stronger then the stones of the chimney.
There was a great explosion of stone, chunks big and small flying in all directions. The force of the explosion pushed Michen, throwing the man against the side of the mountain. A large stone hit the skeleton in the head and the thing fell backwards, other stones falling around it.
The explosion blew inward as well, throwing flaming logs around the large open space of the houses. Clothing, blankets and the wood of the home caught on fire where the flaming logs hit.
Sheren stood back from the wagon that was across the road leading to the cemetery. There were two men at the wagon and two on the other side further down the road. He had thought about moving it out of the way. It would give the skeletons, if any came and he had a feeling they would, easier access to the village but it would also allow the people to get at the monsters quicker.
He thought they had a good strategy in place, one that had been worked out with Culann Hawkfall. There weren’t enough runed weapons to go around to all the townsfolk, and not all would be capable of fighting to begin with. The dozen or so weapons were spread out with the men assigned to groups of two. It would be their task to destroy the skeletons, standing in front and back of the creatures and alternating swings to keep it off balance. The other villagers, in groups of three or four, were equipped with shovels, rakes and brooms. Anything long that they could use to keep the skeletons at bay and distracted until a team with weapons could get to them to deal with them.
When Culann had outlined the plan, Sheren at first had thought it overkill. So far there had only been four of the skeletons at a time and the theory was that those in the cemetery were the first and had appeared over a length of time, not all at once. Four of them should be relatively easy to deal with now that they had the weapons and plan.
The Far Rider had said to take no chances and Sheren had agreed. These were his friends and neighbors and there really was no such thing as overkill.
The two men on the road shouted, getting his attention.
He watched as they ran back, glancing over their shoulders. The wagon had been moved enough to allow people to move by easily, about five feet from the wagon’s end to the edge of the cliff overlooking the forest below. The two runners stopped in front of Sheren, breathing heavily.
“Two of them,” one of the runners said pointing behind him. “Just around the bend.”
“Get ready,” he told the four men. “You two lead the first into the square,” he said to the two runners. “Wait until the second skeleton is on this side of the wagon,” he told the others who were both carrying runed sledge hammers.
All four men nodded. Sheren looked them over. They were all young men. He was one of the oldest in what they were calling the defenders. Most of the older men were in their homes. The older boys were arrayed around the square ready to run with bandages, water or whatever else would be needed. That left only about two dozen men that were ready to fight.
They were young men but looked ready. Not too eager, which was good, and just the right amount of scared. They would do well.
He gave them a nod and turned to walk into the square and join the others when there was a shout from the mine road. He looked and saw the two men stationed there shouting and pointing. Another skeleton? He moved closer and could see the shape of the thing up the road, slowly approaching.
Sheren took steps that way when shouting behind him turned him around. Back at the wagon, the four men were pointing and yelling back beyond the wagon.
“Two more,” Sheren heard clearly.
Culann must have opened the door in the chamber somehow, he thought. That would make sense, the stone or whatever it was creating more of the skeletons to defend from the intrusion. One from the mines, four from the cemetery. He knew where he needed to be.
He could see people in the village square reacting to the shouts. He wanted to go to them, to give them direction, but thought he was needed here. Not for the first, or last, time he wondered how he had come to be in this position. Sheren took a step towards the square and saw Private Jemas moving from group to group, giving directions and calming them down.
More shouting from the mine road.
Sheren saw Renin holding his sledge hammer, ready to swing, with Michen moving to the side to get in position behind the skeleton. The two men were ready. Or so it seemed. He watched, moving towards them, ready to assist. Renin was waiting and went to swing just as more shouting came from the cemetery road. Sheren didn’t turn, but Renin shifted, distracted by the noise.
He saw Renin fall, he saw the skeleton grab the man and he saw Michen’s panicked movements.
And there was nothing Sheren could do.
He was too far away.
Horrified he watched as Michen moved around the skeleton and swung the hammer in a panic. He watched as Michen missed and the head of the hammer, etched with magic, hit the stone chimney of the house.
He watched as the chimney exploded.
The explosion threw him to the ground.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mary Tobiason heard the shouting. She looked up from where she was gathered with some of the other wives, laying out bandages and other supplies. Coming from each of the two roads around the mountain she could hear the shouts of the men. The skeletons were here.
“Alright,” one of the older women said standing up and looking the crowd over. “It’s time to get inside.”
The women all took long looks out into the square, where their husbands and some sons were. Mary thought she could see Sheren at the far end, over by the cemetery, but it was too far to be sure.
One by one, they all turned and headed down the lanes and through the square to their homes. They all wanted to be out there, ready and watching, praying for their loved ones. But they knew it was better to be behind the locked doors. Safer.
Only Mary and the older woman were left.
“You boys know what to do,” the woman asked the group of young men that were behind them.
She received a chorus of nods. These were the boys that were too young to be in the fighting but too old to be left inside with the mothers and younger children. Mary knew that Davey wished he was one of them, but she was glad he was not. They were to be the runners, bringing bandages and whatever else was needed.
“Come Mary,” the older woman said laying a hand on her shoulder.
Mary nodded, letting herself be laid away. They walked slowly down the lane and the old woman continued further down towards her house, leaving Mary outside her door. She took one last look towards the square, visible at the end of the lane.
“Rosmerta protect him,” she prayed looking towards the sky.
Opening the door she stepped inside.
Mary closed the door and leaned against the rough wood, feeling the knots of the planks beneath her forehead. She could hear the sounds through the wood. The shouting of the men at first and now followed by the screams of the hurt or worse, the horrible scrapping of bones. A sound that would haunt her forever.
She turned around, facing into her home, back against the wood. Tears streamed down her face. She sank to the floor, hugging herself. She reached out for Davey, needing to hold him. Not for his sake, but for hers.
Opening her eyes she looked around the
dark interior of their home, a place so familiar but now looking like a place she had never seen before. Where was Davey?
“Davey,” she called out, quietly at first but louder as she said it again. “Davey?”
She stood up, desperation in her cries.
He was not there. Her son was not there.
Mary ran through the house and up the ladder to the loft, wondering if Davey had gone to his more familiar sleeping space. But no, he was not there. He was not anywhere in the house.
“Rosmerta, please no..,” she said standing in the middle of the space, looking around wildly.
He had to be outside still. Why? Why would he do that? He had been told to go straight home.
She pulled the door open, stepping outside into the lane between buildings. Mary looked both ways, seeing nothing. She looked towards the square, where the sounds of fighting came from. She knew that was where Davey would be. She used the sides of the houses to help hold her up as she walked, half stumbling, towards the square.
Sheren pushed himself up off the ground. He stood up, shaking his head, trying to clear it. He could hear more shouting, much more. It was coming from all around him. From the direction of the mine, from the cemetery and now from the square itself.
He looked down at the ground, searching for his sledge hammer. It had flown from his grasp when the chimney had exploded. He found it almost five feet away.
Grabbing it he got a clear look at the chaos that now fell over Minoda.
The house that had exploded was fully on fire, the flames licking up the log sidewalls and onto the thatch roof. The flames had spread to the next house, threatening to consume that one as well. There was rubble across the road from the mines, but that hadn’t stopped the skeleton.
Or was that a second one? There looked to be bones trapped under large rocks at the road, along with what were two bodies.