by Troy Osgood
Quickly looking away he turned towards the wagon, seeing it at an awkward angle. The gap between it and the road’s edge had widened, the wagon had been pushed. He could see why, there was a skeleton on the other side of the wagon continuing to walk forward and its magical strength slowly moving the unloaded cart out of the way.
There was no one there, the four men having retreated into the square itself.
He saw multiple skeletons, four or more. It was hard to make out with all the chaos. Men were running back and forth, crossing each other. It looked like they had regained some control and were following the plan. A group of four villagers were pushing a skeleton in circles with brooms and the ends of shovels. Another group, two from the wagon watch, were alternating blows on a skeleton with their enchanted weapons.
Sheren ran into the square. He found the group of teens at the far edge, crowded together. There were less than he thought there should be. Some must have ran. Not that he could blame them.
“Start a bucket line,” he ordered the boys. “We need to put out those fires.”
The oldest of the boys nodded, understanding. The others were reluctant to leave the perceived safety of where they were, but the oldest pushed them to go. Some he had to physically push, but once they most got moving, the rest followed.
Sheren ran back into the square, stopping and grabbing some of the men as he went. He ordered them towards the fires as well. They had to put those out before it spread to more of the homes. The skeletons were bad enough. They didn’t need the village to catch on fire as well.
He looked around the square, studying the pockets of fighting, trying to figure out where the best place for him would be.
Jemas felt the force of the skeleton’s blow against his shield. It staggered him, but he dug his heels into the ground and would not move. Again the thing struck at him, mindlessly pummeling the shield with its arms. It moved forward, bringing its body against the iron of the shield and now Jemas was pushed back. The strength of the thing sliding him back, no matter how hard he tried not to move.
It was relentless. Nothing would stop it.
He adjusted his stance, angling his body down. Holding onto the enchanted sledge, he swung at the skeleton’s exposed knee.
Orange light flared up as the weapon hit bone. Cracks could be seen forming.
The skeleton stumbled to the side and Jemas swung again at the same spot. The bone of the kneecap shattered into hundreds of little pieces. The skeleton fell to the side, the lower leg given out completely. It rolled onto its backs, arms and remaining leg flailing as it tried to right itself.
Private Jemas didn’t give it a chance.
He struck it repeatedly with the sledge, orange light flaring with each blow. Three, four hits and the creature stopped moving as there were no pieces large enough to move anymore.
Breathing heavily, Jemas looked around the square for his next target.
Mary paused at the edge of the square, still in the lane between homes leaning against one, looking out onto a nightmare.
A house far across the square, at the mine road, was on fire. The flames were spreading to other homes. There was shouting, screaming. She could see two skeletons walking through the square and another three already being fought off by the villagers. She watched one skeleton reach out and grab one of the men, pulling the man towards it, as the other men started hitting it with everything they had.
She couldn’t let that distract her.
Mary looked all around the square, moving deeper into it. Looking. Searching. Where was Davey? The group of boys was gone, some having run away and others doing the tasks they had been assigned. She thought she saw some running towards the fires with buckets in hand. It hadn’t been that long since she was last here, but it looked so different. It had happened so quickly.
Still looking and searching for Davey or Sheren.
Then she saw in the middle of the square. Sheren. Her husband.
“Sheren,” she yelled, watching him turn towards her. “Davey is gone!”
Sheren heard his wife’s voice behind him. He turned and looked at her, saw her running across the square towards him, saw the fear in her eyes. He didn’t need to hear exactly what she had yelled; the look and fear said it all. He looked around the square, searching every corner and nook. But it was impossible; there was too much going on. Too much movement to find one small boy.
Where was that boy? The damned fool.
He couldn’t see him.
No, Sheren thought. He didn’t. He wouldn’t.
Davey had chased after the Far Rider.
He looked down the west road, lost at what to do. Chase after his son? Stay here and fight, save the village? More shouting, louder screams, drew his attention. He watched a skeleton walk out of another lane, coming towards the back of some distracted villagers.
Sheren ran, swinging his hammer, praying to Dagda and all the Gods above that the Far Rider could protect his son.
Sergeant Jaspers woke up to the sound of shouting, screams and the horrible bone scrapping.
He thought he was still in the midst of the nightmare, but no, he was awake and the sounds were coming from outside. It took him a moment to orientate himself to what was happening. He remembered the conversation with Private Jemas earlier.
He turned his head to the left. Empty beds. He pushed himself up and looked to the right, needing the extra height to see with his left eye. An empty bed. They had taken the three men; Hutch, Harland and some other man that he did not know; and sent them to their own homes or somewhere else. Planning for more wounded, he assumed. That damnedable woman who called herself a nurse was gone as well.
Shaking his head, sitting fully up and turning to put his feet on the floor, he stood up. He knew more about battlefield medicine then she did. The poor woman never had to deal with more than broken bones and colds, he knew. She wasn’t ready for this. None of them were.
In bare feet, he couldn’t find his boots, the wooden floor cool, he walked towards the door. He didn’t stumble as much, finding a balance and angle to hold his body so he could see enough to move. The sounds were louder and the bone scrapping was everywhere. How many skeletons were there? He could now hear the jaw clacking, sounding like it was right outside.
His armor, weapons and shield were leaning against the wall by the door in a neat pile. He reached down and felt the metal of the shield, running his fingers along the upper edge. He felt better just knowing the familiar weapon and armor were close.
There were no windows on this face of the house, nothing looking towards the square. He leaned up against the door, listening. There was so much shouting, from all over the village it seemed, that it all ran together. He couldn’t make out any of it.
“Bah,” he muttered opening the door.
The door opened onto a set of steps that led down to the ground, this home being one of the few that opened directly onto the village square. It was a scene of chaos.
A building near the road to the mine was on fire. Men were running back and forth with buckets of water, trying to put it out. Scattered around the square were groups of men fighting skeletons. Some were attacking with make shift weapons, sledge hammers and the like. Others were just keeping the skeletons occupied, pushing them with long poles, herding them towards the ones with the weapons.
Jemas had explained that the Far Rider had runed some of the villager’s tools, turning them into weapons that could harm the skeletons. And they seemed to be working.
Jaspers watched as the villagers took turns, alternating their swings and hits on a skeleton. They kept it off balance, turning the thing back and forth between them. And each time a weapon hit the bones, there was a flare of orange light. He watched as it took only four of five hits for chunks of the skeleton to start falling off, the thing breaking apart into pieces.
A cheer came up from the nearby villagers as the skeleton fell. But that cheer was quickly drowned out as that group moved to the next magical creatu
re, repeating the alternating hits.
But one of the men tripped and fell, dropping his sledge hammer. He hit the ground hard, the skeleton reacted instantly, reaching for the man’s flailing arms. The other villager started hitting the skeleton wildly, distracting the creature. The first reached for the fallen sledge.
Without the other man to alternate blows, the untrained villager was overwhelmed. The skeleton reached out, ignoring the wild hits, and grabbed the man with one bony claw. The man screamed, dropping his weapon in the panic. The skeleton gripped and Jaspers, knowing how strong those bones were, imagined the sound of bones breaking.
The fallen man stopped, panicked, watching his friend and neighbor. He was frozen, unable to move.
The skeleton reached forward with its free hand and grabbed the struggling villager’s face. The creature squeezed and the man screamed.
Jaspers looked around as best he could with one eye. There was no one else around, no one else nearby. The villagers with the poles, that had brought the skeleton, had moved on. Not sound tactical planning, he thought, but then these were miners and farmers. Not soldiers.
It was over quickly, the villager stopped struggling and the skeleton turned towards the man still on the ground. Seconds, what had felt like minutes. The skeleton dragged the lifeless body around with it, letting it fall to the ground as it reached down for the man on the ground.
The man screamed; fingers just inches away from his weapon.
Not that he would have been able to do anything. Untrained, he could just swing, treating it like a hammer hitting a nail. That wouldn’t help him now.
No one could help him now.
Grabbing his shield, Jaspers jumped down the stairs. He stumbled as he landed, adjusting to only seeing from the one good eye. He worked to put his arms through the straps as he charged at the skeleton. So close, yet so far.
Jaspers heard a new scream echoing through the square and was shocked to realize it was him.
He slammed into the skeleton, taking most of the force on the shield. He pushed the creature back, turning it away from the villager.
“Run man,” he yelled.
The villager, younger then Jaspers had realized, scrambled back on his hands and legs putting as much distance between them all as he could. Because of the angle, Jaspers couldn’t see if the man was gone as he was on the right side. The man had better be, Jaspers thought, as the strength of the skeleton was pushing him backwards.
His feet scrapping along the rough ground, it was only then that Jaspers realized he had run out with no boots on. Or shirt, or anything at all beyond the pants he was wearing and the shield he had grabbed. He felt a sharp pain across his chest as the stitches were being ripped out. Blood starting flowing down his body, dripping onto the ground.
He grunted in pain, gritting his teeth. A skeleton arm got past the shield, raking at his arm and making new cuts. He shifted the shield, moving it to protect from both arms, but lost some ground. He felt something hitting his heel, pushing it across the ground as he was pushed.
He shifted again, putting more force on the right side to turn the skeleton that way. He angled himself so he could look down at the object with his left eye, cursing the damned skeletons for taking his eye, making everything harder. He also cursed himself for his stupidity, knowing that ultimately he was to blame.
The thing he had hit was the dropped sledge hammer.
It was on his left side.
He was holding the shield with his left arm.
The skeleton surged forward, pushing him backwards and bending him down. Jaspers could feel more blood flowing from his wounds, the old and the new. He could feel himself getting weaker. Already tired and hurting, the strain of holding back the supernaturally strong skeleton was too much.
It was now or never.
He pushed with the shield, putting all his strength behind it. The skeleton turned, barely, and Jaspers bent down, keeping the shield above him. He blindly felt around the ground for the sledge.
The skeleton recovered and pushed again, the force causing Jaspers to bend awkwardly. He felt a bone snap in his leg, grunting in pain, as he fell and landed on his back, the skeleton on top. His legs were pinned under him and he could not move; the weight of the skeleton pressing against him with the shield between them. His left arm, through the straps, was caught and bent. He was sure his wrist had broken.
He could feel the bony fingers of the skeleton grabbing for the edge of the shield, trying to pull itself over or around. Jaspers felt the ground around him, hoping and praying.
His fingers felt the edge of the handle, just barely touching. He shifted under the shield and grabbed the sledge hammers handle. The movement caused the skeleton to turn and the grasping fingers found his left shoulder. They cut and dug in deep, ripping new wounds in the man. Jaspers yelled.
Barely holding onto the sledge he swung it, the angle and movement awkward. By the grace of the gods the runed end hit the bones of the skeleton. Jaspers closed his eyes in shock against the bright orange flash of the magic. The skeleton shook, its weight loosening up.
Again Jaspers swung, managing to free his legs from under the weight of the skeleton as it moved to avoid the attacking weapon. The hits were bothersome, doing no real damage, but it allowed Jaspers to free.
Screaming in pain, he lifted with the shield, broken wrist and torn shoulder fighting against the act. He continued to swing and hit the skeleton, keeping its weight off the shield. He managed to turn the creature and pushed with all his strength.
The skeleton was pushed up and fell, landing on its back. It still moved, kicking its arms and legs to try to get up.
Jaspers struggled up. He leaned to the side, barely able to put any pressure on his right leg. Broken leg and ankle, bleeding from the re-opened wounds on his chest and the new ones on his shoulder. He could barely stand and had to drop the shield, the sound of it hitting the ground loud in the relative silence.
He looked around the square and saw that it was the same as before. What had felt like hours had only been a couple of minutes.
“To Duinn with you,” he said walking towards the skeleton that was struggling to get up.
Sergeant Jaspers swung the hammer off balance, nearly falling over. The weapon hit, not with much force but enough to spark the magic. The orange flash joining others throughout the Minodan village square. He swung and swung; each blow weaker than the last.
His entire body was covered in the blood that leaked from his many wounds. Breathing heavily he dropped the sledge, staring down at the skeleton that was still moving.
Moving slower, but still moving.
There were cracks all over the creature’s body, more growing with each passing second as the magic of the rune spread. It still moved, trying to get up.
Jaspers took a step back moving away from it, stumbled and fell to his knees.
He grunted in pain, vision going dim.
There was a noise to his right, the sound of someone bending down and picking something up. Footsteps moved towards the skeleton. Jaspers managed to turn his head and saw a limping form standing in front of the skeleton. He thought he recognized the man but was having a hard time thinking.
The villager, not the one he had saved, swung the sledge with two hands. The rune flared brightly where it hit the skeleton and continued with each smash of the hammer into the creature. Three or four more swings and the skeleton finally fell still. There was a large hole in its chest, the bones smashed to pieces, and more and more of it was cracking apart.
The man dropped the sledge and kneeled down in front of Jaspers.
This close, he did recognize the man, Donald Jaccob. The former soldier, who knew Jaspers prior to all this, nodded at the Sergeant.
“That man you saved is named Harin Joneson,” Jaccob said with a sad smile. “He’s nineteen years old.”
Jaspers smiled. That felt right. He knew what kind of man he was, what kind of man he had been when come to this town. N
o one would miss him.
“You did your duty Sergeant,” Jaccob said. “You can rest now.”
Smiling Jaspers fell backwards, hitting the ground. He stared up at the blue sky, birds circling ahead. Everything was fading, going to black. But it was okay. He had done his duty.
Jemas swung the hammer. The orange light flared and the skeleton was forced back, its arm falling off at the shoulder. He swung again, hitting the thing in the chest, and pieces of bone shrapnel flew everywhere.
He grimaced as a large piece struck him across the face, just below the eye, cutting a long gash and drawing blood. Sweat feel from his forehead, hair drenched, dripping into his eyes. He wiped the sweat, clearing his vision and looked around the square.
The fighting seemed to be under control. It seemed more and more skeletons were appearing from both directions, but after the first chaotic moments, the villagers were calming down. They had found their rhythm and coordination, working together. Further away he could see Sheren directing groups of villagers, setting up better defensive positions at the roads.
He could feel the blood from the cut running down his cheek, dripping onto the ground. No time for that now, he thought.
Over to the side he saw a man, he thought it was Donald Jaccob the former guardsman, standing over someone lying on the ground. He saw the sun glinting off metal, a shape that looked like a shield.
Jemas ran over, Jaccob turning at the sound. The older man just shook his head and moved out of the way.
Sergeant Jaspers looked peaceful laying there, at least his remaining eye that was still open. His body was a mess of cuts and blood and bruises, but there was definitely peace in his lifeless gaze. There was a slight smile on the face.
Peaceful and content was not something that Jaspers had been when he was alive. Jemas had never really liked the man, but he was glad that he had been able to die content.
“You’re bleeding,” Jaccob said looking at Jemas.
“I’m fine,” the young man replied absently still looking down at Jaspers.