To the Short Stories

We had, just three days ago, buried Madera. As we set her into the earth, I thought of how my family had been dwindling for many years, waning not just in number, but in means as well. What was left of our illustrious familial heritage?

We had the castle, of course. Its dank halls now mostly abandoned, with forgotten rooms where old portraits moldered away, and furniture, at one time glorious, slowly decayed. Could it be that these stony walls once rang with peals of laughter, that court intrigue sent servants spying through small holes and listening, as best they could, through the thick, wooden doors? That the scattered ruins, almost indistinguishable among the twisted vines of the forest, were previously thriving villages and towns, ruled over by my great-grandfather? Only one still remains, abandoned but eight years ago, and when one walks there, the forest can plainly be seen creeping in, planting seeds in window sills and breaking up the hardpack road with upshoots of lanky grass.

Our castle is called Shirehold, and if the political situation were more stable, I could tell you, as well, how much land we owned. As it is, I’m not sure if we hold title to anything anymore.

Still, it is home. Plague and politics, scandal and injustice have emptied our lands of inhabitants, so that even my family is now dead, all save myself and two of my brothers who live in Shirehold along my side. Here it is where we hide.

The battles of the MorDuraan war are being raged all about the province, but we, rightfully claiming noble blood from the Loredae family line, are excused from fighting, and do our best to wait quietly in our holding until the time when the war will end.

It was happier with Madera here. My brother’s dear beloved has left great scars in her passing, for what was left to give life to this place but her merry laughter, her sparkling eyes, her occasional outbursts of temper which gave us at least a small taste of drama and excitement? Madera, built for children with her plump breasts and plumper hips. Built for children, and nothing more did she desire than to have them, as many as she could! After the second stillbirth, the few servants left us began to whisper of old curses. After the third, and the beginning of her affliction, most of them left. Katherine stayed till the end, watching helplessly as Madera grew wan and sallow, her full cheeks sinking slowly in until she had taken on a most ghastly countenance.

How she had wanted children.

After Katherine left, the afternoon following the burial, the three of us gathered together on the wide balcony that overlooks the great wood and began to debate on what next we would do.

As we spoke, I looked out over the forest. Down to the left I could see Madera’s grave, with its fresh, black dirt, and three little graves alongside it. While it seemed that the graves, alone, saddened me, my brothers seemed pained by much more.

"We’ve scars here," I said. "Pain, and old memories we’d better to let die. But we know these woods, brothers. We’ve played among them since we were small. Think of Otter Glen, where we used to watch them play, or old Turtle Rock. Remember how we always believed that stone to be the most monstrously large of turtles?"

My remembrances brought smiles.

"Aye," said Alain. "This is home. And forget not that if we go out into the adjoining holdings, and make our presence known, we’ll likely be pressed into the battle. The Avorines, after all, are not faring well on the fields."

And so it was decided. I think now it would have been better to become soldiers and suffer the rigors of war.

All that next day, after the burial, we busied ourselves with cleaning and housekeeping. It was tedious work that we had never done ourselves, and though we made no complaint, we saw it in each other’s eyes, and after noontide we resolved to take ourselves hunting to free our minds.

There was a drawing, a pulling that day that beckoned quietly for us to ride up into the hills behind Shirehold. Those strange and lonely hills, crossed by steep little ravines and valleys, wet with rills; those hills that had long taunted us, luring us in upon tentative adventures, making us flee with strange shadows and eerie sounds. There were winding old roadways up there, mostly overgrown, from the times when loggers went there for their trees. That was in the olden days.

But we had instead, perhaps in an effort to alleviate the threat of darkening moods, trotted off through the bright field just in front of the castle, and from there into the high-treed forests, open and wide, where rays of sunlight shone down on faerie-rings of mushrooms and revealed the small, hopping toads which were so abundant during this time of year.

There were no more dogs. It was we and our horses in vain pursuit of hare, deer, or pheasant. We spoke little, but did our best to laugh as we lost our arrows to the animals’ agility.

"Hunting like this and we’ll soon starve," said Terril. "We’d best be setting snares, don’t you think?"

"Indeed," I replied. "I saw a new hare-path just a few days ago, out past . . ."

Alain looked over at me as my voice faltered. For a moment all was still.

"Out past Madera’s grave," he spoke at last. "I saw it as well."

I nodded, briefly.

Terril sensed the discomfort, and urged his horse around. "It’s getting dark," he said. "Let’s get towards home."

We began our ride, and Alain came up next to me.

"I apologize," I said softly.

"Do not," Alain replied. "I must come to terms with it, after all. She is quite irrevocably dead."

I looked over at his glossy eyes.

"I miss her too," I said.

I set the snares as evening fell, along the small path worn by tiny feet. It was an exaggeration to say that we would be starving, for there were plenty of stores set aside, but it takes little time for the appetites of young men to turn towards fresh-killed meat.

It was just as I set the last of the snares and stood to make my way back to the castle when I was arrested by the most unusual sight, for there, riding hard into the darkened clearing, were three men, shouting wildly, in pursuit of a large, black shadow that loped along the ground at an odd gait.

"We have it now!" one of them shouted, and I watched as one of the men reigned in and swiftly drew back his bow. The other two flanked the beast, turning it broadside to the archer, who let fly a dark arrow that surely found its mark, for I heard the beast cry out and saw it roll into the grass. Almost immediately it was up again, but one of the men had leapt down from his steed and drove a glimmering rapier-blade into the beast’s flank. Another arrow marked itself in the animal’s hide, and it bolted for the woods, letting out another eerie howl. But a third arrow found its mark as well, and this time the beast fell and did not again rise.

The three men shouted out in triumph and converged about the fallen creature as I made my way into the field, to discover the source of their victory shouts.

One of the men saw my coming, and spurred his horse toward me. I noted, to my interest, that he was not a rustic as first I had suspected, but was dressed in nobler garb, as if he were the son of some personage of high esteem. Holding himself tall in his saddle, he gave a small bow, and said through heaving breaths: "Forgive me, my lord, for I fancy this must be your castle whose lands we intrude upon?"

"It is," I replied. "But I attend to your arrival with more interest than displeasure, my lord. Think not that you are intruding." I gestured over to his two companions. "You have taken a wolf, then? Was it harrowing some nearby village?"

He smiled and nodded for me to follow. "It may appear a wolf from afar, my lord, but surely it is not so common a beast as that, as you’ll see for yourself if you come this way. But we cannot claim to be such heroes as would deprive a village of some terrible threat. We are but nobles from the south – our holdings lie just past Reln Creek Road, and we’ve been trailing this thing for all of the day. My brother, there, Masaan, shot it early this morn as we were hunting in Oakfell wood. It was so . . . unusual a creature that we could hardly give up the chase, though it led us this far north with no provisions and nowhere to spend the night."

I arrived then at the site where the beast had fallen, and though the others greeted me, I could do nothing but stare.

Indeed, it was a creature such as I had never beheld in all my years. Its shape was vaguely that of a very large wolf, but it had thin, narrow eyes, thick forequarters, and a heavy, blunt muzzle that now lay open, its red tongue laid out over broad, sharp teeth. Its tail was as long as a dog’s, but was thickly furred, like that of a fox, except that this creature’s hide had no luster or vibrant hue, but held instead a lank, greased appearance, unhealthy to behold. Most peculiar of all, however, were its feet, which, though four-toed as I would have expected, appeared oddly long, almost like human hands.

"A strange brute, isn’t it?" asked one of the men, the one pointed out to me as Masaan.

I drew my eyes away from the thing.

"I know not what manner of creature it is," I replied. Then I managed a smile, though its appearance had set a strangled feeling into my throat. "Better that the three of you were able to bring it down here, than have it haunting the woods to the south."

"Aye. We’ll move it from your lands, of course, if you can tell us the boundaries."

"Oh, no," I replied. "Whatever news, then, would you bring to the southern nobles if I turned you away at nightfall? Come inside and we’ll do our best to feed you. You’ll have a warm fire, and beds as well, though you’ll have to excuse our rustic keepings, for we’ve fallen on hard times of late. All we have are dried foods and cheese . . ."

"No matter," said the other of the men with a smile. "We’ve plenty of fresh meat here."

I felt the tightness in my throat again as my eyes were drawn to the fallen beast. It did not seem, to my thoughts, a creature meant for eating.

In the butchery we converged, my two brothers and our three guests, as Masaan laid the great beast out and split it from its neck to its groin. We had learned their names, and were amazed to find that they were brothers as well. The aforementioned Masaan, Kail the next youngest, and finally Rennin, who had first rode over to greet me.

"Truly, then, it is as your brother said," spoke Rennin to Alain. "Your misfortune has been great."

"We long only for the war to end," Alain replied. "Then we shall seek out what relatives who might still live, and repopulate our holdings here. It is beautiful country, you must agree. We have that, at least."

"And each other," said Masaan, looking up from his bloody work. He was removing the entrails and softer organs, and placing the glistening mess into the slop-bucket beside him. "You’ve not lost each other, and you’ve that to be thankful for."

"Aye," said Kail, and he walked up to the beast. With a deft flick of his wrist, he produced a sharp little knife and cut a sliver of meat from the animal’s thigh. With a wink toward the rest of us, he stepped over to the oil lamp and held the meat above the chimney.

"We’ll leave plenty of it here at the castle," said Masaan. "It would be too much to carry it home. But I’ll cut it for drying and stew. We’ll have to bring a little home, at least."

Kail removed his bit of meat from the lamp and looked it over.

"Here, now," said Masaan. "You don’t all have to watch me get bloodied. Take yourselves to the Hall and await me there. Start a fire, and we’ll set a haunch to roasting, and tell each other news of the south and the north."

"Good, then," said Alain. "We’ll meet you there."

The others left, Kail chewing his morsel of meat. For only a moment I lingered, staring at the opened carcass of the thing. Its odd feet were splayed out at strange angles, and its dark blood ran in rivulets down the edge of the butchering block. Masaan smiled and set back to work. And I made my way quickly toward the Hall.

We ate cheese and drank wine, and I tried to lose myself in talk of the war, of the dark MorDuraans with their evil magics and wicked laws. And of the ancient Avorine line, once again attempting to regain power, promising a golden age of honor and justice if they won the war. But such things seemed far away from Shirehold. It would do little but trouble my mind to have such things in my head. Instead, I let the words of my companions fall over me, rain on a duck’s back, as my eyes watched down the long hallway that led to the butchery. I did not know Masaan, but I had, in the past few moments, developed a keen concern for his welfare. Something, I was sure, did not feel right.

"I don’t feel well," said Kail. This, of course, drew my attention back to the room.

"What’s the matter?" Terril asked. "Feeling ill?"

A grey pallor had fallen over Kail’s features, and he rocked forward a little, his hands on his belly. Alain stood up immediately, and gestured for Terril to fetch some water.

"Come, brother," said Rennin. "Tell us what it is."

"I’d best get to a pot," said Kail. "I feel quite ill indeed."

"This way," I said, and helping Rennin to support him, for he seemed quickly to be gaining a terrible cramp, we led him down the short hall to where a guest room was kept. We swiftly arranged a chair over a clean chamber-pot, and hovered about him, unsure as to what to do.

"It’s no servants that’s the problem here," said Rennin, his face betraying a high degree of agitation for his brother. "What do you think is the matter?"

The meat, I thought silently. But I knew that such words would seem irrational, and only shook my head. "I, too, long for a servant’s expertise. Perhaps he is over-winded from today’s ride, or his stomach did not rest well with some of that old cheese we dined upon."

Rennin shook his head doubtfully. "Perhaps."

"I’ll be alright," Kail said through gritted teeth. "Just a bit of time. I’ll up my stomach into the pot and feel right and well again." He looked up at us, and despite his pale features, delivered us with a smile.

Terril came in, a pitcher of fresh water in his hands.

"Here," I said, pouring some into a cup. "Take of some water."

We sat gathered around him as he drank and hunched over the chamber pot. Now and again his stomach gave a lurch, and he grasped the chamberpot and brought it to his lips.

"Really," he said, looking out at us with a hint of annoyance in his dark eyes. "I’m fine. And I’ll have an easier time of purging if I don’t have an audience."

It was then that we heard the scream. A strange, drawn-out sound that seeped through the stone walls.

"Gods," Rennin swore. "Masaan!"

We left Kail, fairly flying out into the Hall. Alain stood there, ghostly white, and Masaan came stumbling in from the butchery, his hands coated in blood and his eyes wide with an unnamed fear. He fell against the table and looked up at us wildly, peering from one face to another as we stared. For a moment all was silent in the Hall, but for Masaan’s heavy breathing. And then, in the most surreal of manners, he opened his mouth and let out another tangled scream.

Beside me, Rennin began to shake. "What’s wrong with him?" he whispered, panic in his voice. "Doesn’t he see us?"

Something terrible was growing inside me. A feeling that an awful evil had come upon us, and nothing we might do would turn it aside. How, in that moment, more than any other time in all my life, did I want a blade in my hand.

But we had left our swords in the butchery.

"It’s . . . it’s beating," Masaan panted, and I saw a glistening rivulet run down the side of his mouth. "Its heart. It started beating." He nodded vigorously, as if that would make his words the more believable.

"Madness," Alain whispered.

Rennin moved toward his brother, speaking soothing words as he tried to calm his ravings. I only stared down the hall to the butchery. At the end I could see the faint glow of the lamp-light, and it seemed to me that a shadow fell across it, bringing a moment of darkness.

"We should get our swords," I said to Alain.

He nodded, but did not move.

On the table were cutting-knives, and I took up one of these. I noted that my hand trembled, and the shard of steel seemed pitifully small in my hand. I nodded down, and Alain took up a knife, as well.

"Come on," I said.

We walked slowly past Rennin and Masaan, who was weeping now as he rocked back and forth, making odd sounds. Ahead, the hallway seemed very long, and I strained to hear past the beating of my own heart.

The beast was dead, I reasoned. Gutted and bled clean. Quite relieved of its life. But then, what had Masaan seen to so affect him?

"Worms," Alain said, his voice emerging from the gloom behind me. It was as if he had been aware of my very thoughts. "Sometimes dogs can harbor worms in their heart. It was so with this beast, and Masaan must have seen them squirming."

Masaan, however, had struck me as a huntsman well seasoned. I did not think he would mistake the tiny movements of worms for the pulse of a living heart.

A scraping sound emerged from the dim light ahead.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yes," said Alain, and I could feel his breath, heavy, upon the back of my neck. "An animal, perhaps, come to feed upon the carcass."

But all my flesh seemed alive and watching, aware of the slightest movement in the air. Something was horribly wrong.

We moved further down the hall, knives clutched in pale knuckles. There, ahead, we could see the opened door, the lamp glowing with its steady light upon the wall, and our swords, piled against the butchery table. I could not see, from where I stood, the carving block where the cloven beast lay.

I swallowed, and it was thick in my throat. I could taste the coolness of night air, and knew without looking that the door to the yard had been opened.

No longer did my mind posit rationalities. There was only the sour taste of fear on my tongue, and the vision of our swords in my eyes, long spans of sharpened steel that could keep horrors far from our flesh.

Behind me, Alain was silent but for his breath.

I stepped up to the door. With a shaking hand I steadied myself on the wall and raised the knife beside my head. I drew in a trembling breath. And then, mustering all my courage, I peered very slowly around the corner.

The carcass was gone. The slop bucket was tipped over and empty, and a glistening trail of blood and juices led across the floor and to the doorway, out into the waiting night.

With a cry, I leapt for the swords, scooped all of them up at once, and fumbling with the blades, ran back to the Hall with Alain at my heels.

It had been a library once, the favorite haunt of my father’s. Now it was empty but for a fine old sofa and a few chairs. The room had the benefit of being entirely windowless, and as none of us wanted to ponder the night, it seemed the perfect place for us to rest and tend to Kail.

He had worsened considerably, growing with fever so that he shivered now and again, and moans escaped his lips. He no longer smiled. We had laid him upon the couch and given him blankets and water, and Rennin sat close, patting his forehead with a damp cloth.

Masaan was no better. Though not sick in body, he was consumed by a growing fear, and sat upon a chair with his arms wrapped tightly around his body. He rocked lightly and sometimes mumbled indistinct words.

Alain, Terril, and I huddled together in the corner of the room, all of us now wearing our blades.

"An animal," I said. "A bear, perhaps."

"What bear can unlatch a door?" Terril asked. "We’ve had meat in there a hundred times, and never has an animal gained entry."

"A man, then," I offered. "There are still said to be old huntsmen up in the hills. If one had grown too lean, perhaps he’d fall to theft in order to secure a meal."

"It is not beyond reasoning," said Alain.

For what was the alternative? That the beast had dragged itself from the butchery upon its own volition?

Alain gestured out at the three nobles, each in their own state of disarray. "All that is clear to me is that we should spend the night here in the library. We’ve all been given a good scare, and that one, there, is getting sicker by the moment. In the morning we can see what really happened in the butchery, and if needed, send south for a healer."

There was nothing else we could do, so we settled in for the night.

The first rumble awakened me quite abruptly. It was a deep, solid sound, straining to pierce the blocks of the castle.

Beside me, I saw that Terril was already awake.

"Thunder," he said. "Let’s go see what the morning holds."

Quietly we stole from the room, Terril adjusting his sword so that it would easily come from its sheath.

"You’re nervous as well," I said.

He shrugged. "The butchery door has a solid latch," he replied. "It was humans who took that carcass, and if they’re bandits or runaway soldiers, they might well be coming for more of what our castle holds."

We entered the Hall, and beheld the grey morn. There was no rain yet, but all of a sudden the field outside brightened with a brilliant flash, and thunder rattled the windowpanes not a moment later.

"Here," he said. "Let’s have a look before the rain obscures any sign that’s left."

I felt safer beside Terril, who, after all, was the finest swordsman among us. His confidence infused me, and I followed him out to the butchery.

All looked the same as last night, save that the blood had dried to a blackened crust upon the floor. Here and there were dark chunks of unnamed flesh left behind.

"The slop bucket, emptied as you said," Terril spoke. "Odd, don’t you think?"

"Quite."

He stepped out the door, and we examined the grass without. Overhead, thunder sounded, and I felt it shudder the very bones of my body.

"It was dragged off that way," Terril said. "Toward the woods."

We followed along the path of matted grass to the edge of the forest. There we found a place of darkness among the leaves, as if a beast had been slain there. But we could discern no other sign upon the litter.

"Horses would have left deep tracks," he said. "It must have been people, then. Likely they bagged up the carcass here and trod off with it. It seems our mystery is solved."

A strange sound drifted across the yard.

"Did you hear that?" I asked. "From the stables."

"Indeed. Let’s have a look."

We started across the yard as the clouds boiled overhead, heaving and lurching with internal winds. Lightning lit their depths, and as I looked to the west, I saw a sheet of impenetrable grey obscure the distant trees and pound toward us.

"The rain comes."

"Hard," Terril replied. "Let’s make the stables with speed, shall we?"

Together, we broke into a run, and just as we ducked inside the rain struck with terrible force, pounding upon the slate-shingled roof so that we could hear nothing else but the roar of the downpour. I think that never had I seen such a rain.

"Look!" Though he shouted, I could barely hear his voice. But then he grabbed harshly at my shoulder, and it was clear that he desired my attention. I turned, and saw him pointing further into the stables.

From under the door of one of the stalls had pooled a thick mass of blood.

Terril’s sword was already out, and mine was soon to follow. Slowly we advanced. Beside the door, Terril signaled for me to halt. He readied himself, and I reached out with one shaking hand and moved the door’s latch. At his nod, I opened it.

We stared at what lay within.

The horse’s eyes were wild, and its mane and fur matted with blood. It lay on its side, its belly spilt over the floor, with the grasses shoved aside where its hooves had scraped in its efforts to stand. The horse was not ours, but belonged to one of the nobles. Still, Terril wasted no time. He lunged forward, and the tip of his rapier pierced deep into the horse’s heart. It threw back its head, let out a ghastly noise, and finally slumped, still, to the floor.

"What could have done this?" he cried, to be heard over the rain.

I, however, felt all too sure of what had done the killing. The dark fur was pierced with the mark of bites, and long claw marks had opened the horse’s belly with raking tears.

"Let us check the other horses," I said.

"Mine and Terril’s are still living," I said, "though both are too frightened to allow approach."

Kail looked up from red-rimmed eyes. His face was marked with red welts, for he had begun to itch with such ferocity that we had found it necessary to bind him and ease the pain with liberal amounts of brandy. Masaan, huddled in a blanket, nodded.

"One is dead in its stall, and the others are missing. Something slew them in their stalls and clawed its way out through the back wall, dragging the carcasses with it."

"It’s the beast," said Masaan. "It’s still alive."

"Don’t speak madness," said Alain. "We all saw it dead."

Outside, the thunder roared.

"Whatever it is," Terril said with a dismissive wave, "we need to attend to the most pressing of issues first. I fear that Kail won’t make it to nightfall without a proper healer. I’m going to ride south to Aelfall and bring one back with me. It’s two hour’s ride each way on a clear day. With the weather like this, I’ll be pressed to make it back by nightfall. I’ll need both the horses."

"You should be straight-away, then," said Alain. "I’ll come out with you to help pack some provisions." He looked at me and nodded toward the three nobles. "Watch them."

I sat down beside Rennin as my brothers left for the kitchens.

"They’re not well, either of them," he whispered.

I shook my head.

"Do you think," he asked, "that Masaan could be right?"

I looked over to him, to his haunted, fear-laced eyes.

"The woods are mysterious," I said. "And the MorDuraans are said to stir ancient beasts from their graves." I shrugged. "Terril insists that the threat is human."

"It is not," said Rennin. "Humans do not behave like this. They would steal horses, not kill them."

"Perhaps they wish us to flee in fear. Perhaps they wish the castle for themselves."

"Then why not murder us? I’d rather fight a man than try to kill a horse in its stall. Can you imagine the fight it would give?"

I offered no more explanations, for they sounded lamed even in my own head.

In time my brothers returned, and Terril gave us goodbyes. Then he left us, Alain accompanying him to the stables to aid in readying the horses.

"Chamberpot," Kail said.

It was the first word he had spoken in hours, and Rennin stood immediately.

"Are you going to heave?" he asked.

Kail shook his head. "I’m feeling better. I just need to use the chamberpot."

"Here," I said. "This way."

I walked over to him and untied him from the chair.

"I’m feeling better," he repeated. "Just give me an arm to hold."

I reached out, Rennin on his other side, and he stood between us, taking our arms. His hand grasped my elbow, and he clung with a shaking hand so firmly that his fingernails pressed into my flesh. Across from me, I saw Rennin wince, but neither of us protested. We walked him to the potroom just down the hall and let him inside.

"I’ll be alright," he said, and brushing our arms away, he made his way over to the basin and chamberpot, holding himself against the wall.

Quietly I closed the door. Both of us, I noted, were rubbing at our arms. On Rennin’s flesh I saw a hint of blood.

"Well, he looks improved, at least."

Rennin nodded. "Still, I’ll feel all the better when a healer’s been brought." For a moment, he was silent. "I must admit," he finally spoke, "to a little anger when Kail first grew ill. I felt it irresponsible that you had no servants. But I’ve come to understand that you’re good people, the three of you, and trying as best you can. It is good of your brother to ride south."

"He’s always been one to move swiftly to action."

"It may make the difference between my brother’s living or dying."

I gave the most reassuring smile I could. "Don’t antagonize yourself, my friend. He’s feeling better on his own. Likely the healer will give him some herbs and he’ll be as robust as ever in the morn."

"I’ll hope so."

For a time we waited in silence. Down the hall we could hear Masaan say something, but we took it for words of delirium, and held by the potroom door.

"He’s been long, don’t you think?" Rennin asked.

"Let’s call out," I suggested, and I leaned toward the door and spoke out Kail’s name.

All was quiet within.

"Kail!" Rennin said, raising his voice much louder. Still nothing. I saw the panic begin on Rennin’s face, and he fumbled with the door-latch. But the door had been bolted from within.

"Kail!" he shouted again. "Can you hear me? What’s wrong!?"

Brusquely I shoved Rennin aside, and with three heavy kicks snapped the bolt and the door swung wide.

On the far end of the room, a door was open. We rushed to it and into the room beyond.

It was one of father’s old studies, with still a few books upon the dusty shelves. There was a window that looked out onto what once had been gardens, and this window was opened wide, the rain spraying into the room so that the desk was already coated and the floor puddled.

We swept into the gushing wind and thrust our heads from the window. In the grey light, with the rain spattering against our half-closed eyes, we could see almost nothing.

"He’s gone out there!" Rennin cried. "Into the rain! Come on!"

I tried to pull at him, but he scrambled through the open window, falling to the ground outside. He rose, muddied and with blood upon his cheek, and shouted out his brother’s name. Even from a few paces away, I could barely hear him through the deluge.

"Come back inside!" I cried out. "Rennin!"

But he did not heed my words, and drawing his sword, he fled out into the storm, screaming his brother’s name.

I turned and ran as fast as I could back toward the library.

Stumbling inside, I saw Masaan. He smiled, but his eyes were lost, and seemed to look beyond me.

Then I heard my name.

I turned, and to my greatest relief saw Alain running forward.

"What is wrong?" he asked. "You’re wet!"

In frantic words I described what had happened. Alain looked grim.

"The fool," he cursed. "He’ll never find his brother in this storm. And we’ve no more hope of finding him. The winds rise even as we speak."

"What should we do?" I asked.

Alain only shook his head.

We set ourselves in the Hall and opened one of the great doors that led into the yard. It would give Rennin or Kail, we reasoned, unmistakable entry into the castle if they were feeling their way along the outer wall. Masaan we brought with us, and he came easily enough, though he could do little but stand or sit, and kept whispering softly to himself. Alain and I brought out our bows, unsheathed our swords, and kept our eyes upon the opened door through which rain and wind invaded our castle. We would stay near each other, we vowed, until Terril returned.

It was a grim and frightening silence which had descended over our minds, and I found myself completely occupied with watching the shifting, slashing rains, watching for movement down the hall that led to the butchery. Neither of us had any doubt left that some horrible evil had found its home upon the lands of Shirehold.

Hours passed. We did our best to ignore the occasional giggle or weeping sound that emerged from Masaan’s breast, and spoke only words of encouragement to each other when we spoke at all. Near dinnertime the rain let up, and together we went to the kitchens and brought out cheese, sausage, and wine.

"He’s sleeping," Alain said, gesturing over to Masaan. "Should we wake him?"

"Let him sleep," I returned. "He seems more peaceful that way."

"And ourselves. Let us walk."

Armed with steel, we made our way off through the castle, doing all we could to leave behind the horrors of the past morn and eve.

"I’ll feel all the better when Terril returns," I said.

"Indeed," my brother replied. "But don’t expect it too quickly. He told me, in the stables, that with this fierce weather, he would need move slowly if he were to avoid injuring the horses. And it will take some convincing to get a healer to ride in this rain. It may be until the storm breaks before he returns."

"I had thought as much."

We made our way through damp halls, past rooms we hadn’t visited since we were children. Whenever we passed a doorway, we could hear the rain cutting against the windows of the room beyond. Here and again the stone around us shook with the deep-felt roar of thunder.

Our talk was soft and muffled among those stones, and ever strayed back to subjects that left my skin chill and my stomach aching with a queer sort of emptiness. It seemed a very long time until we came back to the hall. Through the open doors the grey was fading to the darkness of night, and a cool was creeping in upon us.

I had expected Masaan to be gone, but he was there still, rocking back and forth in his chair and murmuring to himself.

"Kail and Rennin." I said. "They aren’t returning, are they?"

Alain looked grim. "Shall I speak the truth?"

"Do," I implored, taking him suddenly by the arm. "Hold nothing back."

He sighed gently and shook his head. "And what would I tell? That something black and evil has come forth from the woodlands, something that cannot die? That it has eaten our horses and waits, outside, in the wet damp? That Rennin and Kail even now are being covered with dirt and sticks and leaves, cached for a later meal? Or perhaps Terril’s idea – is it really any better? – that men have come down out of the hills, bandits perhaps, and that they thought horses more valuable dead than alive, and held some strange need to take not only the carcass from the butchery, but to empty the slop bucket as well? Every idea I can conceive of seems ludicrous at best."

I nodded. "Masaan’s been safe enough. Perhaps we should go out into the yard and look for Kail and Rennin."

"Where would we look?" Alain asked. "From whence could they not see the castle? They’re lost or dead, I can only think."

"Then we shall blow the horn," I offered.

It was an antique, over a hundred years old, a large ram’s horn used, it was said, in the hunt for the Leridan, a huge and legendary stag that had once haunted these woods. I remembered it better as the horn that had called me home from childhood romps in the forests – I would be lost, battling some fen dragon with a stick I had taken up as a sword, and its low, distinct cry would pierce the woodlands. Dinner, I knew, would be on, and I would fling aside my sword and run for home.

We kept it in the armoire near the butchery, and when I blew softly to clear it, dust hazed out from the end.

We stepped past Masaan as we made our way outside.

"Brothers," he whispered, and as we looked over we stepped back, our mouths twisting in revulsion and shock. His eyes were red with heat and crusted white upon the edges. His lips had gone dry, and the bottom one had cracked, leaving a dark line that ran down his chin. Both hands shook with a harsh quiver, and there seemed very little left of the man called Masaan.

"Kail and Rennin came when you were gone," he rasped. "They were looking for you."

Alain and I looked across from each other. Alain, at last, spoke.

"Masaan," he said softly. "They are alright?"

I put my hands to my ears, so terrible was the cackle of laughter that broke from Masaan’s lips. Then the laugh shattered into coughs, and he bent over double, coughing violently. I saw little speckles of blood flecking the floor beneath him.

"He’s mad," Alain whispered. He nodded toward the outside and walked quickly from the Hall.

I followed, but I could not tear my eyes from Masaan’s heaving form on the chair.

Without, Alain was leaning on the wall, his fingers among a tangle of vines.

"It has to be the meat of that creature," Alain said. He was breathing heavily, and I reached out to grasp his shoulder.

"What is wrong?"

"Did you see his eyes? It’s that creature – some emanation from its blood, some vile substance that oozed from its body. Masaan was butchering it – his hands were coated in the stuff. And Kail, he ate it."

Alain looked at me and shook his head. "That in itself," he said, "was madness. Anyone could have seen the thing was wrong."

"Do you think," I began . . . "do you think Kail and Rennin really came back?"

My brother’s frame shuddered and his fists clenched spasmodically. "If they did," he said quietly, "I don’t think we want them to find us."

His voice was so low and haunted that I thought, for a moment, that I saw the madness in his eyes, as well.

"Don’t blow the horn," he said. "Let’s find a room, lock the door, and wait for Terril to get back. Then the three of us will go south together to Aelfall."

"But Alain. This is our home."

He shook his head. "Times are growing worse, don’t you see? What if the MorDuraans reach the northlands? What then? No, the best we can do is find some city where at least we’ll be away from . . . from this," and he gestured about himself.

I nodded. He was right.

We retreated up the stairs to an old bedroom that overlooked the yard – we brought stocks from the kitchen, cheese and bread and dried meat and wine. And three oil lamps as well, two to light the room and the last to hang from the sconnet outside the window. The light, visible from the castle’s approach, would alert Terril that we were yet alive.

We huddled in the room, frightened and alone, and the immense stonework of the castle seemed very cold and empty around us.

Alain was badly shaken, I could tell. He sat by the window all day, looking out at Madera’s grave, his features pale and grey.

For myself, I could not stop from pacing. We had left Masaan downstairs, his words too disturbing for our sanity, and for hours I could hear his muffled screams and laughter, barely audible through the thick oaken door. Later in the day there were sounds in the hall – footfalls running down the passages, distant shatterings of glass. I could only suppose that Masaan had gone into some horrific frenzy, and it was only by constant effort that I kept my mind from envisioning his wide, crusted eyes, the slickness of saliva running over his chin and neck.

Always I kept my sword in my hand.

When night fell, we did our best to sleep, huddled together on the bed as if we were young again. Time and again one or the other of us bolted awake as a sound passed by the door or a distant thud sounded from far off in the castle.

It became a haze of noises and terrifying dreams, all entwined so that it came by some surprise to me when I awoke, early in the grey of morning, to find Alain asleep beside me.

Something had awoken me, some sound I could not recall. I lay still, eager not to wake my brother, for sleep seemed very precious then – a repast from the nightmare.

I heard it again – a scratching sound, as of sharp and hardened claws working slowly at the stone above me, digging patiently toward a soft pulse – clawing toward the warm, wet burrow of my heart.

I cried out and sat up, grasping for my sword.

"What is it?!" Alain cried, sitting up as well.

"Nothing," I gasped, clutching at my heart. "A dream. Only a dream."

He swallowed and looked at me for a long while. I saw that his hand was clenched, white-knuckled, upon his blade.

"I’m alright," I whispered again.

We arose and heated some sausage over the flame of an oil-lamp.

Alain took now to pacing, as I sat and brooded. There was no rain, but the clouds still made everything dull and lifeless outside the window. Alain went and stood at it.

"Any sign of Terril?" I asked.

"No. But now that the storm has bro . . ." his voice choked off, and I looked up with alarm. The sausage, half-devoured, slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. "No!," he gasped, and then he turned, eyes emblazoned, and ran for the door.

"Alain!" I shouted, trying in vain to block his path. He only pushed by me, threw open the bolt, and nearly tore the door from its hinges as he flew out into the hall.

"Alain!" I cried again, hesitating only a moment before the love for my dear brother overpowered the fearful pounding that shook my heart.

With my sword gripped in my sweating hand, I fled after him, following down the stairs and out through the Hall into the yard.

I caught up to him there, and my legs went weak as I saw what had taken him.

He walked slowly, as if stunned, staring ahead to where Madera’s grave had been, to where there now was only a wild scattering of black dirt. The resting place of his wife, and those of his infant children, had been most horribly violated, torn asunder so that the markers lay tipped or broken, and the earth had been forced to surrender its carefully held treasures.

"No!" he cried, and he began to run forward, dropping his sword into the tall grasses.

What we saw next caused us both to go rigid and cold, for neither of us moved, and I realized that my breath had gone very shallow and hot.

Madera moved out from the edge of the woods, her fair-skinned body naked and full. Against the deep green of the trees her large, pale breasts seemed somehow wrong, too white and too full, as if something was moving softly beneath her flesh.

But Alain saw only his beloved, only his dear Madera. I can still remember the sound, almost a feeling against my skin. It was the sound of Alain whispering her name.

He went to her, his arms outstretched, his lips parted and quivering. And then he fell beneath her, toppling into the grass, and I saw that the pale flesh of her back was marred by coarse hair – long, greasy hair that I had seen once before, on a creature that had been killed on the palace lawn.

I turned and fled into the hills, choking on sobs as I heard my brother crying out in pain and sorrow.

It was a narrow roadway that I walked along, doubtless once used for logging the ridge. I had wandered incredibly far, incredibly deep into the hills, and knew not my way home.

But then, I no longer held any desire to go there.

I had been fighting a battle, a battle within my very soul, always fighting against the bile in my throat and terrified by the rapid, skipping beat of my heart. Everything I had known, everything I had loved, had been swept away by the arrival of . . . what?

It was a puzzle that I pieced together as best I could – the creature’s body missing from the butchery, the dead horses and strange illnesses, the unearthed graves and the horrifying vision of Madera. But try as I might, there was no clear answer.

I found the cabin sometime after noon, and gained entrance through a window whose latch I managed to loosen. It was a sturdy structure, composed of only a single room with a cot, a washbasin, and a small, locked chest. Strange furs hung along the walls, and a woodsman’s axe rested next to the door.

I washed the sweat and dried tears from my face, and found some old, hard, cheese in the chest. There was something precious there, too – a half-filled journal with quill and ink. Possessing no other means of releasing the anxious trembling that filled my breast, I set to writing out my story.

It was evening when I heard the horn.

I was tired by then, half-delusional I think, weary with a pain that I could hardly understand.

The sound was from my childhood -- a low, distinct cry that pierced the woodlands and made me remember warm meals, spiced wine, and the love of a family that was now very far away.

For a brief moment I was flooded with hope. Terril had returned, I thought, and taken the horn, our childhood summons. He had brought it to the woodlands and was riding, even now, in search of me.

Then I remembered Madera, and the movement under her flesh.

I stepped from the cabin and looked down the woodsman’s road. It was featureless in the evening light, passing down the ridge into the valley below.

I looked back at the cabin. It was very small, very dark and cramped. I did not want to be trapped inside it when the horn-blower came.

The horn sounded again, closer now.

I stepped back inside, and wrote down these last words. I will grip my sword and take myself up the road, away into the soft, beckoning damp of the valley. I am weary of running, weary of thinking and wondering and fearing. It is time for me to go.

To the Short Stories