The Dark Tide

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Northward they wended throughout the day, at times riding, at other times walking and leading the ponies, sometimes stopping to eat, or to take care of other needs, or to feed grain to the mounts, or to break through the ice on a woodland stream to refresh their canteens and to give the ponies a drink.

  The large, thickset trees of the Dinglewood bordered close upon the trail, their grey bark and stark branches casting a somber pall upon the North Trace.

  A pall, too, seemed to have dropped over the Warrows, and little else was said that day as they pressed on through the silence of the barren forest. The Sun slowly crossed the cold sky, and its rays did little to warm the travellers. When the orb sank below the western horizon, darkness found the five young buccen huddled around a campfire on the far edge of the Dinglewood, some thirty miles north of Woody Hollow.

  They drew lots to see in what order the watch would be kept, with Tuck pulling the mid-of-night turn. As all prepared to bed down, except Hob, who had the first watch, Patrel said, "Tomorrow night we all sleep in a hayloft—Arlo Huggs' hayloft. I stopped at his place on the way to Woody Hollow. He has a farm along Two Fords Road, about twenty-five miles north of here. Arlo said he'd be glad to put us up in his loft, and his wife, Willa, said she would feed us a hot meal, too." This last brought drowsy approval from all but Hob, who merely smiled as he threw another limb on the fire and began his tour.

  It was midwatch when Tuck was awakened by a prod from Danner. "It's your turn, Tuck," said Danner, gruffly.

  Tuck threw some branches on the fire and gathered more wood from the pile to have at hand to ward away the cold. Danner was still sitting on a log near the blaze, glowering mumpishly at the flames.

  "Get some sleep, Danner," sighed Tuck. "Perhaps you'll not be so grumpy if you get enough rest."

  "What do you mean, grumpy?" flared Danner, glaring at Tuck.

  "You've got to admit, you were somewhat of a grouch today," answered Tuck, distressed, wondering how this conversation had gotten off on the wrong foot.

  "Look, Tuck," shot back Danner, "my philosophy is this: I'm like a mirror—I only give back what I get."

  They sat without speaking a moment, as the fire popped and cracked. "Well, Danner, I think you ought to consider this: you either can be like a mirror or like a window; but remember, only the window lets light in." Tuck then stood and began his rounds, and Danner took to his bedroll, a thoughtful look on his face.

  After a turn around the camp, Tuck came back to the log, and by the moonlight and firelight he began recording in his new diary the day's events in terse sentences or cryptic notes, except for Patrel's song, which he wrote out in full. He would jot down a few words, then tour the perimeter, returning to write some more. And that is how he passed his watch, writing in his journal, as the Moon slid westward to be hidden by clouds moving to the east. It was a diary he planned to keep up throughout the next few months—the record of his travels.

  The next morning dawned to falling snow. After a light breakfast of dried venison and bread, and grain for the ponies, the five broke camp and headed once more to the north. A breeze blew from the west, carrying eddying flakes aslant across their path, and they rode with their cloaks wrapped tightly around them and their hoods up. Through the falling snow they went, and their mode of travel was much the same as the previous day's, only now they trekked 'cross open land, having left the Dingle-wood behind. The North Trace continued to carry them toward Two Fords Road, but the route was becoming harder to follow as the thickening snow obscured the path. Hence, slowed by the storm, it was not until midafternoon that they finally struck the main artery toward Spindle Ford.

  "I sure am looking forward to that hot meal and hayloft you spoke of last night," said Tarpy to Patrel as the Warrows slogged through the snow, now calf-deep, leading the ponies and giving the animals a respite.

  "Ha! Me too!" answered Patrel. "I hope Willa won't mind if we are a bit late, and keeps the meal hot. I judge we'll get to Arlo's well after dark."

  "Blasted storm," carped Danner, then fell silent as they trudged on.

  Patrel's words proved to be accurate, for it was three hours into the night when they came at last to the edge of Arlo's farm. The wind had risen, and a mournful wail could be heard as it keened through a nearby stand of timber. With their backs to the gust, the five Warrows turned down the lane leading to the Huggs' stone field house.

  "Hold!" said Patrel above the wind moan, his voice tight with apprehension. "Something is wrong."

  "What?" asked Hob. "What's the matter?"

  "There's no light in the house." Patrel reached for his bow. "Ready your weapons."

  "What?" asked Danner, unbelieving. "Bows?" Then he saw Patrel was serious and, shaking his head, followed suit.

  "Maybe they've just gone to bed," spoke up Tarpy, but took up his bow just the same.

  "No. There should be a light. They were expecting us," answered Patrel. "Take care. Let's go."

  Arrows nocked, they proceeded toward the dark house, on foot, leading the ponies. Off to the side, the barn loomed like some great dark beast. Now they could hear an ominous banging above the moan, as from a loose shutter blowing in the wind. Closer they came, and now they could see thaf the windows of the house seemed open, for curtains were blowing in and out. Tuck's heart was pounding, and his lungs were heaving in ragged gasps. He felt as if he could not get a firm grip on his bow. It took all of his courage to force one foot ahead of the other. Motioning Tuck and Danner to the left and Tarpy and Hob to the right, Patrel stepped toward the porch. As he put his foot on the top step the door burst open with a Blam!

  Tuck's heart gave a great lurch, thudding in his mouth, and he realized that he had a deadly aim centered on the doorway's gaping blackness. The bow was fully drawn, and Tuck could feel the fletching of the arrow against his right cheek as he held steady, ready to release. And for the life of him, Tuck could not recall taking the pull. And nothing came through the doorway. Just as abruptly, Wham! the door slammed to. Whack! It whipped open again and Blam! shut once more as the wind swirled again.

  "Lor!" said Tarpy, relaxing his pull a bit, as they all did, "I thought—"

  "Hsst!" Patrel cut off Tarpy's words and motioned them to go forth.

  Tuck and Danner went around to the left of the house and Tarpy and Hob to the right, while Patrel stepped through the front door. As they went along the side of the house, Tuck saw that the curtains were indeed whipping and flapping in and out of the windows, for the glass was shattered. Bang! Blam! They could hear the front door slamming to and fro. On they went, coming to the kitchen door, splintered from its hinges and hanging awry. Into the house they went just as Patrel, already in the kitchen, managed to light a lamp. Whack! Slam!

  The glow revealed a shambles: overturned chairs, a shattered table, broken crockery, an upside-down bench, smashed glass—ruin. Snow blew in through the broken door and past torn curtains across the sills of the shattered windows. Tarpy and Hob at last entered and looked about as the wind moaned and gnawed at the destruction. "We took a quick check of the barn," said Hob. "Empty. No livestock. It's gone." Thwack! Whack!

  "What's happened here?" asked Tarpy, as Danner lit another lamp.

  "I don't know, yet," answered Patrel. Blam! Whack! "Hob, will you latch that infernal front door? Tarpy, pull the shutters to. Although the glass is broken, they will keep most of the snow out. Danner, use your light to help Tarpy. Tuck, add the light of another lamp or candle to mine. We'll see what we can make of this."

  As Tuck found one more lamp and lit it, Patrel propped the kitchen door in its jamb, for the most part sealing out the wind and snow. They then opened what turned out to be the pantry door; Patrel took a quick look inside. "Nothing. No one," he said to Tuck. "Let's look—"

  "Ai-oi!" came a call from another room, and Patrel and Tuck rushed to find Danner kneeling with his lamp, Tarpy and Hob peering over his shoulder in the fluttering light.

  "What is it?" asked Tuck, and then he saw—
blood. A lot of blood. And in the center, a huge paw print.

  "Wolves," hissed Tarpy.

  "No," said Danner, grimly. "Vulgs!" And off in the distance, mingled with the moan of the wind, came a single, horrid, prolonged, savage wail.

  "The Vulgs smashed through the windows and doors," said Patrel when they all had gathered again in the kitchen following a thorough search. "See, the broken glass flew inward, as if the evil creatures hurtled through."

  "Yar, and the kitchen door," put in Danner, gesturing at the panel propped in the opening. "Remember, it was broken inward, too."

  "What about Farmer Arlo and his wife? Where are they?" asked Tarpy, his eyes wide and glittering in the lamplight. "We've looked everywhere."

  "It's another Disappearance," whispered Hob, and Tuck felt his heart plummet.

  "No, Hob, say instead a Vulg slaughter," said Patrel, his voice grim as he peered at the stricken faces of the others, his own a sickly, ashen grey. "This time it's not just a mysterious disappearance. This time all the evidence cries out wanton murder, Vulg butchery."

  "If it's murder," asked Tarpy, tears brimming, one hand with a sweeping gesture indicating the vacant shambles they stood amid, "then where is… where are…"

  "The bodies," spoke Danner, harshly, his jaw clenched in anger. "What did the bloody Vulgs do with the bodies?"

  "I don't know," answered Patrel. "All the other disappearances I've heard about left no traces of any kind. Just this one. It's as if…"

  "As if Fanner Arlo put up a fight, and the others didn't," put in Tuck. "The others must've had no warning. Arlo managed to bolt the doors, but the Vulgs prevailed."

  "Arlo and Willa are probably out there somewhere," gritted Danner, "covered by the snow." The sound of Tarpy's soft weeping was lost in the moan of the wind, and Tuck bleakly peered without seeing through the kitchen window shutters out into the dark night.

  "Well," asked Hob, after a long moment, "what do we do? Search for them? Though I don't see how we can find them in the snow in the night."

  "Let's go after the Vulgs," demanded Danner, raising up his bow, his knuckles white with anger.

  "No," said Patrel. "Neither search nor hunt. We've already looked over the immediate grounds with no results, and the Vulgs are beyond our vengeance by now. No, here we stay and rest, and tomorrow we press on to Spindle Ford, warning the countryside as we go."

  "Faugh!" snorted Danner, raising his bow. "I say let's get the brutes!"

  "Danner," Patrel's voice had an angry bite to it, "until we get to Spindle Ford, you are in my command. I'll not have you out chasing around in a blizzard at night looking for Vulgs long gone. I say we stay here, and what I say goes."

  "Oh no," said Tarpy, peering around desperately. "Not here. I can't stay here. Not in this wrack. Not when there's blood on the floor in there. Not in this house."

  "How 'bout the hayloft?" asked Hob, throwing an arm around Tarpy's shoulders and cocking an eye at Patrel, who nodded. "Yes, we'll stay there," continued Hob. "Besides, we've got to get the ponies into shelter and fed and watered." He took up a lamp. "Come on. Let's see to the ponies."

  And so they all went, Hob in the lead with Tarpy shivering beside him, Danner and Patrel glaring at one another, and Tuck bringing up the rear.

  They kept the same order of watch as they had the previous night, and though Tuck didn't see how he was going to get any sleep, it seemed as if he had just lain down when Danner shook him awake. "Time to get up,"said Danner. "Bring your blanket; it's cold." He climbed back down to the floor of the barn.

  Tuck struggled down the ladder from the loft, blanket over one shoulder. As he stepped from the bottom rung, he saw that Danner was refilling one of the lamps with oil and trimming the wick with his knife. "Need any help?" Tuck yawned. At Danner's negative shake of his head, Tuck asked, "Any sound of Vulgs?"

  "No," replied Danner. "The wind died about an hour ago, and the snow's stopped, too. And there's been no sound of Vulgs, Wolves, or anything else from out there. Blast! I've pinked my thumb." Danner sucked on his thumb and spat, while Tuck finished trimming the lamp wick. "We should be out there, you know," grumbled Danner between sucks, "hunting Vulgs."

  "Come now, Danner," replied Tuck, lighting the new lamp and extinguishing the old, "you heard Patrel. We can't go blundering around at night in the dark looking for Vulgs."

  "Well let me leave you with this thought, Tuck," shot back Danner. "Night is the only time you can hunt those slavering brutes." And Danner disappeared up the ladder into the hayloft.

  Why, thought Tuck, he's right! The Ban! They won't be about in the daytime.

  Later, during his watch, Tuck scribbled in his diary as the last entry for the day: How true will be our aim in the dark?

  Morning discovered the Warrows back on Two Fords Road, travelling north toward the Spindle Ford. At first light they had taken one last look about the Huggs' farm, but they found no sign of Arlo or Willa. Patrel had then tacked a note to the front door warning any who came to the stone field house about the Vulgs. Then the young buccen had mounted up and ridden away.

  Two miles north, they came to another farm and spoke to the crofter there. Dread filled the eyes of the family upon hearing of the Vulgs and the fate of the Huggs. The tenant, Harlan Broxeley, sent his sons upon ponies to warn the nearby steading holders, with Patrel's request to "pass it on." Patrel and the others were loath to leave the family alone, but Mr. Broxeley said, "Don't you fret none. Now that we are warned, me and my buccoes can hold 'em off till dayrise. Then the Sun'll stop 'em. Besides, we ain't the only family near about, and you five can't protect us all. You've got to get this word to the Thornwalkers so as they can do something about it." With that and a warm breakfast, the five young buccen went on northward, bearing the news toward Spindle Ford and the Eastdell Fourth.

  All day they rode north, stopping three more times to start the word spreading. Dusk found them eight miles south of the ford. "Let us press on and get to the ford tonight," said Patrel, grimly. "I'd rather we were not camped out in the open." So onward they went, as darkness fell and the Moon rose to paint black shadows streaming away into the night.

  Through the enshadowed land they rode. A mile passed, and then another. Of a sudden, Tuck's pony snorted and shied, tossing its head. Tuck looked sharply into the blackness but saw nothing, and the other ponies seemed calm enough. Onward they rode, Tuck's own senses now alert. "What's that up ahead?" asked Tuck, pointing to a tall spire looming up through the darkness and into the moonlight.

  "It's the Rooks' Roost," answered Patrel, on Tuck's left, "a great pile of stone that happens to be where Two Fords Road and the Upland Way come together. It means, when we get there, we'll be just five miles from the Thornwalker camp at the ford."

  Toward the junction they rode. The Upland Way was a main route running aslant across the Boskydells, joining the Land of Rian in the north to that of Wellen in the west. Two Fords Road ran north and south—up from the Bosky village of Rood and north to the Spindle River. It was called Two Fords Road because it crossed the Dingle-rill at the West Ford and passed into Rian at the Spindle Ford.

  As they came closer to the Rooks' Roost, by the bright moonlight Tuck could see that it was higher than he first had thought, rising perhaps fifty feet into the air, a great jumble of rocks and boulders placed there in ancient times by an unknown hand to stand ominously in the night. As the ponies plodded onward, Tuck felt as if this looming pile somehow boded doom.

  Without warning, again the grey pony shied, scudding to the left. "Hey! Steady," commanded Tuck, looking to the others, but now their ponies, too, were skittish. What's happening? he asked himself, and then he gasped in shocked fear: off to the east a great black shape slunk through the shadows, keeping pace with the Warrows. "Vulg!" he cried to the others, his voice tight with dread. "In the field to our right! Just beyond arrow range!"

  "Stay close!" shouted Patrel. "Keep riding!"

  Danner, in the rear with the frightened pack poni
es trailing him, grimly called out, "Two more behind us! No, three!"

  "Left! Look left!" came Tarpy's startled voice. "Lor! Another one!"

  The Vulgs trotted without effort. Their evil yellow eyes gleamed like hot coals when the Moon caught them just so, and slavering red tongues lolled over wicked fangs set in crushing jaws. Hideous power bunched and rippled under coarse black fur as the beasts slid through the shadows.

  "Cor! Let's ride for it!" shouted Hob, clapping his heels to his pony. But Patrel reached over and grabbed the pony's bit strap.

  "Whoa! Hold it! Don't panic. Stick together. When I give the word we ride for the Rooks' Roost. As long as they stay their distance, we'll just keep trotting for our goal. We've got less than a quarter mile to go." Patrel nocked an arrow, but as if that somehow were a signal, with blurring speed the Vulgs closed in. "Fly!" cried Patrel. "To the Rooks' Roost! Ride for your lives!"

  With shouts and cries, the young buccen all clapped their heels to the ponies' flanks, but the steeds needed no urging, for they had taken full flight. Yet the hideous great Vulgs closed the distance with horrid quickness. Tuck wanted to cry out in fear; instead, he leaned forward and urged the grey onward. Toward the rock pike they raced, yet faster ran the Vulgs. Tuck could hear Danner shouting a challenge of some sort as the ground flew by. The Vulgs drew abreast, and Tuck could hear guttural snarling and see the gleam of fangs. They were now less than a furlong from the Rooks' Roost, closing the distance rapidly. Tuck thought of winging an arrow at the beasts but knew that his aim would be unsteady from the back of a running pony: The arrow as strays might well'er been throwed away, he seemed to hear Old Barlo's voice cry, and so he held his shot. Yet a Vulg closed in and slashed at his pony's hindquarters; Tuck clubbed at it with his bow, and the brute shied back as the pony plunged on.

  Tuck looked ahead just in time to see Hob's steed go tumbling down, screaming, hamstrung by the Vulgs, but Hob was thrown free. Tuck tried to turn his pony but was past the fallen Warrow ere he could do so. He heard Danner yell and looked back to see Hob on his feet with a Vulg slashing at him just as Danner rode by and reached out an arm. Hob caught at it and swung up and onto the pony behind the other buccan. Yet the Vulg snarled in rage and leapt at the twain, and Hob screamed horribly as the cruel fangs rent the Warrow's side and leg, though still he kicked out and the Vulg fell back. Danner's pony bolted forward at an even faster clip, in spite of bearing double, and temporarily gained a pace on the Vulg. Yet the slavering creature once more closed the gap, and with a great snarl and jaws wide it leapt at the two. Hsss, thwock! An arrow sprang full from the beast's left eye, and with a sodden thud it fell dead to the earth! Tarpy had gained the Rooks' Roost and had let fly with the shot of his life!