A Ritual of Bone Read online

  ‘What is this Hagen? Why are we riding out in the middle of the night?’ grumbled one of the men.

  ‘Did you not hear?’ said Hagen. ‘We heard a warning bell on watch. Arnulf wants us to take a look up in the passes. So here we are.’

  The guardsman looked up into the dark sky. ‘Riding out on a black moon, too. Varg save us,’ he said. ‘Aren’t we the lucky ones? There are old and evil places up in those passes. The folk about talk of haunted ruins and evil spirits which guide the unwary to their peril.’

  The other guardsman riding behind laughed. ‘Are you afraid, Branik? How often do we get to ride these poor beasts? Once or twice in a moon? It’s a cold night but I think it’s good to be out. Standing watch over the border lands for hours on end does start to wear thin. If you can believe that?’ he said with a grin.

  ‘Aye, lad,’ said Hagen. ‘But unless it was Branik’s spirits, someone was out there, ringing that bell and it’s only the living I’m concerned with. I have never met a ghost that could do me harm but, nonetheless, there’s a black moon out, Old Night’s time, and it’s a dark night at that, so stay alert. We will have reached the high passes by daybreak at this pace anyway, so keep your eyes open.’

  The trail led them west around the high ridges of the great mountain and into a high valley surrounded by looming peaks capped with snow. The terrain about the track was rugged, rolling heathers and rocky gullies choked with thorny gorse bushes. An occasional small, twisted tree grew from amongst the rocks alongside the track, their roots clawing onto the stones seeking patches of earth.

  After perhaps an hour or two the trail met another and stopped, leaving the choice, one way heading south east towards the rolling moors of Arnar’s Border lands and the other, winding up to the northwest which led through the high passes. Hagen looked away to the south and east. The horses where now high up in the mountains and the lands to the south down through the valleys below looked dark and quiet. Hagen turned his horse up towards the high passes and rode on.

  ‘Hagen, will we not search the track to the Wayrock and the farms on the moor to south?’

  ‘No,’ replied Hagen. ‘If the passes are clear and we find nothing we will ride by there on the way back, if the warning bell had rung from the farms, we would see the burning but I see no glow of flame, the lands are still. Besides I heard it myself. It wasn’t coming from the borders it came from up there.’ Hagen pointed up towards the dark hills.

  Suddenly, the sound of a horse galloping echoed down the pass.

  ‘Quick, lads, let’s see who this is. I want arrows on him while I halt him.’

  Hagen unslung his shield from behind and held it with his reins to his chest at the ready. His horse stepped about eagerly. The rider emerged from the darkness around a bend up the track ahead of them.

  ‘Halt,’ shouted Hagen. Still the rider came. ‘Halt in the name of Arnar.’ The rider showed no sign of slowing, galloping out of the gloom towards Hagen as he barred the track. ‘Halt man!’

  The rider was nearly on him.

  ‘Take him down,’ bellowed Hagen. The arrows flew. One caught the rider in the shoulder, he was knocked back, but he didn’t fall. The rider plunged out of the gloom and past the guardsmen at a full gallop. Hagen wheeled his horse and as he kicked his horse forward to pursue another arrow slammed into the flank of the rider’s horse.

  The horse screamed out and toppled over, crashing to ground. The rider was hurled to the floor with the arrow still sticking out of his shoulder.

  ‘Watch the pass. Quick, you with me,’ barked Hagen.

  Hagen rode to the fallen rider and lowered his spear at the crumpled figure. It was a man. He lay twisted in the heather with the now snapped arrow in his chest. In the fall he had smashed his skull on a rock. His head was bleeding badly. He looked up at Hagen and reached for him.

  ‘They’re dead,’ he groaned, and then he fell limp.

  Hagen did not recognise him. ‘He’s not a local man, and he is armed, look…’ Hagen raised the man’s cloak with the tip of his spear to reveal a sheath hung at his side. ‘Damn, you got him good, but I wouldn’t have minded a word with him.’

  ‘He said they’re dead?’ said the guardsman behind him. ‘Who’s dead?’

  Hagen shook his head, then replied, ‘I don’t know, lad, but this doesn’t look good.’

  The fallen horse screamed again. The guardsman got down and removed an axe from his saddle to put the poor creature with the gods. The blow was quick. The guardsman muttered a word and kissed the pendant around his neck, and the creature soon stilled.

  Hagen looked off north into the pass. ‘There could be more. Move on, lads. Scout the track, keep your eyes open, we stay quiet, have a look and get back, got it?’

  They rode off cautiously, shadows under the black moon.

  A glimmer of light had started to appear on the eastern sky as the horses wound higher up into the passes. There were more trees clustered about as they got higher. The faint light began to reveal the open barren scrublands of the high passes and the tree covered mountain sides they were winding up through. A mist hung over the wet morning heathers and began to creep through the dark trees about them. It was getting thicker as they climbed.

  Hagen whistled and his men reined in and looked at him. He had heard something. He raised his arm and cupped his ear, a signal to his men. They all looked around silently. There it was again, a horse. The men heard it, too. All eyes turned to the direction of the sound coming through the trees. Hagen sent Branik off to look. He was gone a minute or two, and then he appeared again.

  ‘It is horses, Hagen. Up off this way,’ he said pointing up off the track. ‘There’s another track, off this one, going up the hill. Would have ridden straight past it if I wasn’t looking.’

  Hagen looked off through the misty trees. He could see some big rocks looming up ahead.

  ‘Would make an easy ambush, so careful,’ said Hagen with a frown.

  There was indeed another track, nearly hidden amongst the trees and undergrowth. It seemed to lead towards the sound of the horse. They rode carefully until the shape of a horse appeared from the morning mists ahead. It was tethered to a tree amongst the rocks. The beast seemed distressed and was trying to pull itself free.

  Hagen signalled to his men and they rode around checking the high rocks and trees about. All seemed clear. They found a campsite back among the rocks. The fire had burned low but was still smoking. There were weapons and belongings strewn about, even a near empty barrel of ale by the burnt-out fire.

  ‘They cannot have gone far, search about. Looks like only a few of `em, wouldn’t mind knowing who they are. So, stay sharp they could return.’

  Hagen continued along the track, which led past the big rocks and up into the trees until his horse suddenly reared and kicked. The other horses seemed restless and nervous. The horses kept neighing and snorting, and the horse tethered to the tree thrashed to get free.

  ‘What is wrong with them?’ cried Branik as he struggled to stay in his saddle. His horse kicked and wheeled about, not wanting to go further.

  Hagen could not urge his mount on further. The beast just pulled away and walked back. They rode back and dismounted, tethering the horses to trees. Hagen did his best to calm the beast before taking his axe from his saddle and sliding it through a loop in his belt, and then once again took up his spear and shield. Branik did the same, and the other guardsman, a man named Darek, took up his bow and ran to join the others.

  ‘We leave the horses here,’ said Hagen, ‘and go look along this track. If there is any trouble, we get back to the horses and ride like the wind.’

  The others nodded their agreement.

  They quietly moved up the track that wound up off into the trees. Staying off the track itself, they cautiously picked their way through the rocks and undergrowth alongside to make their approach harder to spot if someone was watching the track ahead.

  ‘Hagen, look!’ Darek pointed as a figure lo
omed out of the mist on the track ahead. They shrank back into the undergrowth. A lone figure slowly limped towards them.

  ‘There’s only one. Let’s find out who they are…’ whispered Hagen. ‘This time, we get answers. Careful now.’

  Hagen emerged onto the track and called out, ‘You there, halt, for Arnar.’

  The figure was closer now. The face cloaked, the figure just kept walking slowly forward. The horses thrashed and neighed wildly from behind them. The guardsmen looked around, fearing the horses would break free.

  Hagen called again, ‘You there, who are you? We are the guard of Arnar. Show yourself.’

  No reply. The figure just kept walking slowly forward one jerky footstep at a time with its arms stretched out towards him.

  Darek notched an arrow.

  ‘Do you need help?’

  No reply.

  The figure was close now. It was an old man.

  ‘What is this?’ said Darek.

  Still, the silent figure advanced. As he got closer, Hagen could see something on his face, Blood. There was blood on his hands, too.

  ‘By the gods,’ muttered Hagen. He took a step back and levelled his spear. ‘I said halt, old man! Who are you?’

  The old man just kept walking towards Branik, with his arms outstretched. The old man groaned.

  ‘What was that, old man? Do you need help?’ asked Branik.

  The old man stumbled forward and clutched at the guardsman.

  It was then Hagen saw the old man’s back.

  ‘By the gods, what is this?’ repeated Hagen.

  He had seen his share of blood in battle, but still, this chilled him. The old man had a great wound on his back, as if his cloak had been torn into by some terrible beast with ripping claws, taking chunks of skin and flesh with it. Bone could be seen through great bleeding hole in the old man’s back.

  The old man collapsed into Branik’s arms. Branik dropped his spear and held the man from falling.

  ‘He is so cold,’ muttered Branik as the man clutched at the guardsman fiercely.

  ‘Crone, guide us. What did this?’ said Hagen, horrified.

  Branik suddenly cried out. He felt his flesh tear as the old man pulled away. The old man snarled and sunk his teeth into Branik’s neck again. The hood fell back, and blood sprayed on the old man’s face. The guardsman collapsed with a look of horrified surprise as the blood pumped away from his throat. The old man leapt on the fallen guardsman and started trying to tear at his mail armour.

  Darek drew back his bow and loosed his arrow. It struck the old man, and he staggered back with the arrow protruding from his chest. He snarled again and lunged at the bowman, leaving Branik stricken on the ground. Darek stepped back, fumbling for another arrow as the old man lunged towards him.

  Hagen rushed forward and battered the old man down with his shield. The spear thrust was hard and swift into the man’s chest. He twisted it free as the old man fell.

  ‘Crazy bastard. Are you OK, lad? Branik?’ said Hagen.

  He looked around. Hagen suddenly felt an iron grip seize his ankle. He wheeled, and to his dismay, he saw the old man had more fight yet. He looked down into the old man’s blood-smeared face. He had strange dark eyes. He snarled like a beast. Is it a man? It snarled again, and Hagen again drove his spear into the old man, surely a killing blow. It let go of his leg. The old man writhed and gargled beneath the spear point, flailing for Hagen’s leather boots again with his bloody claws.

  ‘Just die,’ roared Hagen, and leaving his spear tip impaled through the old man, he unhooked his axe from his waist and brought it down in a savage strike across his face. He felt the blade of the axe bite through bone, and the strike jarred his arm in his sudden fury. The old man lay still.

  Hagen ran over to his fallen comrade. Branik lay, blood still oozing from his neck, his eyes blank. He was dead.

  ‘Bastard,’ muttered the old guardsman.

  Darek knelt next to his fallen friend and pulled Branik’s helmet over the staring eyes.

  ‘What was that? He just wouldn’t die,’ said the younger guardsman.

  ‘I don’t know, but we should go,’ said Hagen, catching his breath. The horses were neighing frantically. They reared up and thrashed around, trying to break free. One did and ran off through the trees.

  It was then that Hagen turned and saw them. They had come lumbering out of the mist, quietly unnoticed. Several other figures now advanced down the track. As they came into view, he saw the one nearest appeared to be naked and had runes carved into his skin. Another dressed much like the rider they had slain in the night. Some had great and terrible wounds and were splattered in blood. Hagen stared in horror. How could a man suffer such wounds and still stand? They looked dead. More came groaning and limping towards them with arms outstretched.

  Darek notched another arrow and loosed it at the first man with the carved skin. It struck him, and he fell.

  ‘Come on, lad, to the horses, we ride,’ called Hagen. The guardsman loosed another arrow. The arrow struck, and the man staggered but just came forward again, snarling. The naked man began to get up again. The guardsman panicked.

  Hagen shouted again, ‘Come on, run!’

  Darek turned and froze at what he saw before him. Branik stood there, pale and splattered with blood. His eyes, dead and black, like the old man. Branik lunged at the surprised guardsman and sank his teeth deep into his arm. Hagen grabbed the guardsman’s shoulder and pulled him free. Branik took a chunk of flesh from his arm, and blood ran down his chin as he chewed at it. Hagen was horrified. He hesitated a moment, then struck Branik hard and low with the axe. It buried deep into his side, and he fell.

  Hagen grabbed the stricken guardsman, who stood, holding his arm. ‘Run, fool.’

  The two guardsmen ran for the horses and mounted up. The dead men limped along slowly in pursuit. They wheeled the panicked horses and rode back down the track.

  ‘He was dead, Hagen. How? He bit me.’

  ‘Just ride,’ replied the old guardsman. He trembled. He could not believe what he had just seen. Those men were dead.

  They rode fast and spoke little. The mists still clung low as they emerged from the tree line into the barren high valley. They passed the body at the crossroads and rode up the track that led to the watch post.

  Darek slumped low in his saddle until, finally, he fell from his horse. Hagen dismounted and ran to him. He was bleeding from the bite on his arm and looked pale.

  ‘I’m hungry, Hagen. I need to eat. Now!’ He spoke through clenched teeth. The lad seemed angry, from the pain or delirious from the loss of blood perhaps?

  ‘OK, I’ll get you some food. Wait there, rest a few minutes.’ Hagen returned to his horse. He hadn’t planned to be longer than a day so they brought little food.

  Something struck him hard on the back of the head. The world blurred, and he fell to the floor. The guardsman stood over him. He was breathing heavily and had a strange look in his eyes.

  ‘I must eat now,’ bellowed Darek.

  Hagen could feel something dripping off his ears and down his neck. It was on his face. He touched his cheek and looked at his hand. It was blood.

  His head was bleeding badly. The guardsman dropped the rock and bent to pick up another larger one with both hands. He advanced on Hagen. Hagen tried to get up, but he couldn’t. His head span.

  ‘No!’ cried Hagen.

  The guardsman advanced with the rock held high above his head. He laughed hysterically. Hagen took the horn from his belt and blew it as hard as he could. It sounded loud and deep. The guardsman shrieked at him. Hagen blew again but it was cut short as the rock crashed down.

  ***

  Arnulf stood over the body of the old guardsman. The horn lay by his side. He ran his fingers across the engraved patterns that ran along the head of his great axe and looked at the scene in front of him.

  The sun had already begun to rise over the peaks and ridges above them. One of his men stood behind
him in silence, holding a spear and shield. The other men clustered about, leaning on their spears. Few had mail. They were the townsfolk and men of the villages whose turn it was to stand guard at the watch post.

  The crows had got there before them. Rhann circled overhead, the greater kin of crows. The huge black carrion birds soared on thermals rising off the pass, circling the kill below. Their smaller cousins had moved in now, the Rhann having had their fill.

  The birds flapped away and cawed in anger when the men approached. The body lay at the side of the track and had been torn open, the entrails pulled out and pecked at. The creatures of the pass had been feasting. The torso lay trapped and crushed beneath a large rock. The blood, still wet, was splattered across the nearby rocks. It seemed to be everywhere.

  ‘No way for a man to die,’ muttered Arnulf. It looked like Hagen, one of his men.

  As they stood there in silence, another horseman rode up and reined in.

  ‘M’lord, there is another up the track. He had an arrow in him, and his head was smashed in but he’s not one of us.’

  Arnulf looked up at him. ‘No sign of the others yet?’ he asked.

  The horseman shook his head ‘We did find two of our horses though, just running free, m’lord?’

  ‘Trouble,’ said Arnulf in a grim tone, again turning to the scene at his feet. Arnulf was angry and saddened. This was one of his men, a man he’d know his whole life, the man’s son was sworn to him also. How will I tell Hagen’s wife?

  He had no time for that now. They must get a warning to the farms on the moor and raise the guard.

  ‘He is with Old Night now. Cover him in stone, and we move on.’

  Arnulf turned back to the man on the horse.

  ‘Erran, take one of the town lads who can ride and ride fast, send word to the Motte, bring my men, and send word to Fergus at Weirdell. Tell them the guard has been attacked, one dead, two missing, no sign of the attackers. Tell them I’m going to find out who did this and that I will await you and the men at the Waystone, and hurry.’ The horseman spurred off back down the track.