by Troy Osgood
Davey reached out his hand towards the light which had a defined edge. It was odd, he thought, this new light gave everything a white tint and didn’t spread like normal light did. At the edge he could see, but if he took a couple steps back, he would be in pitch blackness. The light revealed details, showing depth and impressions in the wall, but it was muted.
“What is this?,” he finally asked looking up at Culann who just smiled.
Reaching out, the Far Rider held Davey by the shoulder and turned him so he was facing into the new opening. He was now facing into a room. It wasn’t as large as the entrance room, but it was perfectly square with the walls, floor and ceiling all smoothed. There were carvings along the wall, seemingly random, not in bands like the tunnel and entrance.
But it was what was in the middle of the room that grabbed his attention.
“That lad is the runestone,” Culann said pointing at the object.
It was smooth, egg shaped, and maybe nine inches long and six round. There were bands of runes around it, two at each end, and four giant runes in the middle going around the outside. It was a light color, lighter than any stone that Davey had ever seen, almost pure white and translucent. It seemed to glow from within, spreading out from the stone. He watched as a line of light left the stone and flowed up into the ceiling, disappearing into the stone above.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Davey stayed in the hallway as Culann walked into the room. The Far Rider started studying the carvings in the room, first walking around and getting a feel for them all before looking at them tighter and more in depth.
Well Culann examined the room Davey just looked at the stone. He was fascinated with it, but hesitant to move any closer. The light from within seemed to pulse like a heartbeat, each rune growing a tad brighter then fading with the next in line getting brighter. When a rotation around the stone was done, a bright line would come from within the stone and rise up and disappear into the ceiling.
The stone rested on a carved pedestal, made out of some dark material. It was square, wider at the base, tapering up to only a couple inches long. Mounted on top was a set of square supports curving out from the top of the pedestal and holding the stone securely, placed so none of the many runes were blocked.
Culann started walking around the runestone, pausing to study a side and then continuing. He made a couple of quick rotations before he slowed down. He crouched down, looking at the underside.
“This light makes it hard ta decipher,” Culann said, mostly to himself, reaching into his satchel and pulling out the rod. With a quick word, the globe at the end started to glow. “Wish I had been able ta bring a lantern.”
He went back to studying the runestone.
“Why is it pulsing like that?,” Davey asked, curious, pointing towards the stone.
Culann took a step back, watching the runes of the stone briefly light up and then fade, moving in sequence. It did the rotation a couple of times, each time a line of light disappearing into the ceiling, before he spoke.
“I’m thinking that means its making more skeletons.”
He pointed at the line of light that left the stone, following it as it disappeared into the ceiling above. He wondered how many it took to make a skeleton. The first line had moved towards the left well the next had gone to the right. The entrance chamber and the crypts? If his guess was right, this chamber was almost midway between the two.
It would make sense, he thought as more lines of light escaped the stone and entered the ceiling space. There could have been another entrance where the crypts ended up being built, or they were close enough to one. One stone, if strong enough and this one seemed to be, could create skeletons in multiple locations. If he had more time he figured he would be able to find a rune on the stone that matched one in the entrance chamber, a connection between here and where the skeleton would be created.
But none of that explained how the stone was powered or how to turn it off.
Sheren Tobiason held the sledge hammer loosely in his hand, hanging down and almost touching the ground. He looked around at the death and destruction, the carnage as the skeletons tore through the village and its people. More and more villagers were getting wounded, or worse. They tired or slipped, the skeletons never stopped. They just kept coming.
He was numb, shocked, scared and tired. So tired. Even during the busiest times in the mine he had never swung a hammer or pick this often, this hard.
How could this happen? Why did this happen to them at all?
He heard screaming and watched as two of the undead overpowered Darry Mackson, bending him over and crushing him under their weight. Bony fingers ripped and clawed at the man. A man that Sheren had known his whole life; had grown up with. The men were the same age. Their families had celebrated holidays together. Darry and Sheren had talked of the hope that Davey would marry Darry’s daughter, Julia, someday.
Sheren looked around at the new flames that had erupted, a few people rushing with buckets of water to stop them from spreading. He heard his name, but it was as if from a distance. He shook his head, trying to focus.
“Sheren,” the familiar voice shouted in a scream
He turned and saw his wife, the love of his life, Mary, backed up against a wall with nowhere to go. She was weaponless, defenseless, as a skeleton with arms outstretched walked towards her. She had not left the square, had not returned home, had not wanted to run in case Davey appeared.
She screamed and something inside Sheren snapped.
“NO,” he bellowed grabbing the sledge hammers handle with both hands.
“NO,” he screamed at the top of his lungs, powerful legs pushing and charging towards the monstrous creature reaching for his wife.
“NO,” he yelled one more time swinging the hammer.
He forgot the Far Rider’s warning that the runes would not break the skeletons, not with one blow, but it did not matter to Sheren. He swung the hammer, as familiar as his own arms. He swung with all the fear, anger, strength and power he had.
The head of the sledge struck the skull of the skeleton and the rune erupted in bright orange fire. There was a boom that echoed through the village.
The momentum of the swing carried Sheren around, bringing him almost full circle.
He panted, all energy gone, watching in awe as the skeleton was pushed back by the force of the blow. He adjusted his grip, tired, barely able to lift the heavy sledge, but ready to swing one more time.
He didn’t need to.
The skeleton stumbled; fell to the ground, a large crack forming in the creature’s skull. Orange light emitted from the crack, growing and swallowing the skeleton as the crack grew along the skull and down into the rest of the bones. Smaller cracks appeared, pieces of bones falling.
The creature tried to raise, arm outstretched and reaching for Mary. First the finger bone fell, then the wrist and the rest of the arm. The unthinking creature just watched as more pieces fell until there was nothing left, the cracked skull just lying on the ground with the jaw still moving up and down.
Sheren stood amazed over the creature and hefted the hammer. He swung down and the runed head connected with the skull. Another bright flash and the creature’s skull broke into many pieces.
Panting heavily, Sheren looked to his wife. She was unharmed.
He glanced down at the hammer, at the rune and then looked around the village.
“No more,” he said quietly, grabbing the hammer with two hands and advancing on a skeleton that was coming his way. “NO MORE,” he yelled even louder.
This was his home. His family. His friends. And they would not be threatened anymore.
“NO MORE,” he bellowed and heard the call being taken up by the other villagers.
Sheren Tobiason swung the hammer.
“I thought runes needed to be activated,” Davey asked from where he stood. He had walked into the room and Culann had moved him to the corner. “With a word or command.”
“M
ost runes do,” Culann acknowledged. “But nae runestones.”
He continued walking a slow circle around the pedestal that held the runestone. He bent down, shining the light along the pedestal itself.
“Runestones are like stored magic, a series o’ commands,” Culann continued from where he crouched. He paused, thinking of a way to explain it. Finally he shrugged. “Down South o’ Roma, there’s a kingdom where they made these instruments called music boxes. It’s nae a real instrument, nae played by a person. It uses these metal discs. The discs have holes cut inta them at specific intervals, shapes and sizes. When put on this box, it plays something like music, sounds created based on the holes in disc. A rune is something like that. The rune is like the metal disc, it plays the sounds cut inta it. In the case o’ a rune, that sound is the lyrics ta a chain of spells.”
He tentatively reached out, his fingers hovering close to the surface of the pedestal, but not touching. He thought he could feel a vibration.
“With a runestone, it’s inscribed wit’ a set o’ instructions ta cast the spells and in what order. All it needs is the trigger and then the stone starts setting off the runes based on the musical disc its following.”
He paused, holding the light close to a small symbol on the face of the pedestal. He leaned in close, tracing the outline with his free hand.
Culann stopped after a couple minutes, looking over his shoulder at Davey.
“None o’ that made sense, huh?”
Davey just shook his head.
Culann sighed and returned his attention to the stone in front of him.
“The trigger for this stone was when yer folk broke inta the entrance chamber above,” he finished standing up.
He took a step back, glancing at Davey in the corner.
“Stay there,” he ordered.
Culann faced the stone, spreading his hands out over it, palms down. He started whistling. Davey had a hard time following as the cadence and tones changed. It went on for awhile, the whole time Culann just stood there motionless. Davey watched as a light grew around the Far Rider’s hands. It was hard to tell the color as everything was tainted by the light coming from the runestone.
The whistling continued; the light around Culann’s hands spreading but not over his body. It spread down, flowing from his hands and over the runestone. The light coated the stone, flowing around it and engulfing it. The two lights, Culann’s and the stone’s, seemed to fight each other. One would flare and then the other, back and forth, a struggle.
Culann also seemed to be struggling. The whistling continued but Davey could see that it was hard. Sweat was forming on Culann’s forehead and he was grimacing, his body shaking with the effort to remain still. It was as if Culann’s own force of will was fighting with the magic of the runestone.
Private Jemas took a step back, staring at the skeleton in front of him.
It wasn’t moving.
The things were constant motion, the jaw working up and down continuously. But now it was stopped, all of it, as if frozen.
Taking another step back out of the reach of the arms, he looked around the square. The few pockets of fighting, the villagers that were left, were all doing the same. All the skeletons were frozen.
Jemas reached out with the sledge hammer, pushing on the skeletons chest. Nothing.
“What the…” he asked aloud and just shrugged. What did it matter? This was not an opportunity to go to waste.
He swung the sledge hammer against the skeleton’s head. The rune flared orange and cracks started to form in the skull. He swung a couple more times until the skeleton was nothing but a pile of broken bones, all small pieces.
The sound of breaking bone came from around the square, the villagers all taking advantage of the mysterious good luck. Jemas looked around for another skeleton to smash. He saw Sheren Tobiason over by a house talking to a woman, his wife. The woman nodded and ran down the lane, presumably to find safety.
Walking towards the middle of the square, where the stage was, he met Sheren at the base.
“Is this the end?,” Jemas asked.
“I hope so,” the big miner replied. “You should go get those looked at,” he said studying the many wounds, mostly just cuts and the gash on the cheek that Jemas had. The soldier’s armor had been ripped by the skeleton’s claw like fingers, pieces of chain mail missing. The finish on the shield was ruined, almost scratched off.
“Time for that later,” Jemas said. “I’m fine.”
Sheren was about to argue when they heard shouting from the mining road. The two, tired as they were, ran that way wondering what was happening. A group of villagers had gathered at the end of the road, pointing up towards the mine.
“We saw two of them frozen on the road,” one of them explained to Sheren.
Jemas looked up the road but couldn’t see anything.
“Where are they?”
“They just unfroze and turned around,” another villager said.
“Headed back to the mine,” a third added.
The villagers were all talking excitedly to each other. This was good news, they thought. But Sheren and Jemas looked at each other, worried. This was not good news. Culann Hawkfall, and maybe Davey Tobiason, were in the mine.
Culann struggled. That was the best way Davey could describe it. The Far Rider stood motionless, relatively. His hands were outstretched, not moving, the whistling continued at the same tone and volume but he was shaking. Barely, but he was shaking. He looked like he was in pain.
The two lights still battled. Neither had an advantage.
The whistling continued and it seemed Culann was putting more will and effort into it. The light from his hands got brighter, stronger and more solid. It seemed to cover the runestone, blocking out its light. The room started growing darker, shadows coming back as the weird light of the runestone was being diminished.
Davey looked around, scared again. Even though the light was weird, it had helped push away the thoughts that crept in. Thoughts of darkness, what could be creeping up on him. Thoughts of all the weight of the stone that surrounded him. Light, of any kind, kept those thoughts at bay. But now they were returning, stronger than before.
He swallowed, taking a calming breath. This was good, he told himself. It meant that Culann was winning, that he was pushing back the magic of the runestone.
Having heard the whistling for so long, what felt like hours, but was only minutes, Davey thought he could duplicate it. It had sounded difficult at first, but the more he heard, the more he realized that it was fairly simple melody. There was one hard part, but the rest was straight forward.
He listened and whistled the spell in his head, matching Culann note for note. He managed to get through the hard part but something was off. The whistling he heard was no longer as he remembered.
Davey looked at Culann and saw the man sagging, taking a step back, one arm lowering. The whistling was not the same. Culann had missed a note. One single note.
The runestone flared and pushed Culann’s spell away. The light faded from his hands as he staggered backwards, breathing heavily. He tried to speak, but his voice was cracked and hoarse from the whistling. He looked at the stone in fear.
Lights flared from the runestone, the rotation of the runes starting up again. Davey looked at Culann; saw that he had drawn both his hand axes. Watching the lights, Culann moved so he was standing in front of Davey. The man could barely stand, breathing heavy and sweating. But he stood resolute.
The rotation of the runes ended and the thread of light flowed out of the stone. But not towards the ceiling. This light bent down, hitting the ground to the left of the runestone. They heard a rumbling, watching as light erupted from the ground, flowing into the shape of a skeleton. The runestone flared again and another thread bent towards the ground, on the right.
This close to the runestone, the power source, the process of creation was much quicker. The one on the left was almost fully formed.
&nbs
p; Culann looked from one to the other. He tried to whistle, to activate the runes on his weapons, but it was no good. His throat was raw and sore. The dispel magic spell had been working, but the runestone was too strong. He had faltered and lost it.
And now the stone was defending itself from his attack.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Culann Hawkfall watched the skeleton take its first step. The jaw started moving, that horrible and now so familiar sound, and the bone scrapping on bone as the creature took one step forward. There was something different about this one. It had a flimsy look to it, not as solid as the others. The one on the right, not fully formed yet, looked even thinner and less solid. If that was possible.
Could his magic have drained the stone?
Creating these was a defensive move, something set up by the runestone to protect itself from attack. But if it was weakened to begin with, would the magically created skeletons be affected?
Only one way to find out.
He waited for the skeleton to take another step. It did and he made his move.
Taking a running start, Culann leaped, jumping towards the skeleton. He led with his right knee, hitting the creature and knocking it over. He landed on top, pinning the skeleton down. The arms reached for him, clawing at him.
He could feel the fingers clawing at his arms, the dark iron of his armor protecting him. The skeleton moved underneath him, his weight barely pinning it down. Culann turned the hand axes around, hitting the skeleton in the head with the backside of the axe, the non-bladed side. There was no great strength to them, the weapons unwieldy, but he struck quickly. Left, right, repeatedly.
Pausing long enough to examine the skull, he noticed cracks were forming. He had been right. These were not as tough as the others. The stone was weaker. They were still strong though. And fast.
The skeleton grabbed Culann’s arm in one hand, holding it locked, unable to swing. He hit the skull rapidly with the weapon in his free hand. The cracks were getting bigger, slowly, but they were growing. Somehow sensing it was in danger, the skeleton gripped Culann’s arm tighter and started pushing up.