00:15 Feb 04 2007
Times Read: 785
The Second Chapter
The faint scrabbling noise drew him back from the mournful reverie. Blinking, he looked at the dead and brittle bark of the tree, taking a moment to focus. Again, the noise came to him, the disturbance of his wallowing brought a rise to his anger. Pushing himself away from the tree, he looked about his surroundings, searching for the source of his discomfort.
As he turned to his left, he saw the first shadow in the mist, a hulking form, crouched and swaying with an unnatural gait. He watched as it slowly began to manifest itself through the fog, its form inching closer. The decrepit pace drew him to watch, almost fascinated by the strange thing. As the distance closed to a few feet, he could distinguish the features all the more clearly. Covered in the filthiest rags, there hunched an older woman- so many lines crossed her worn and muddied face. The eyes were downcast, watching her hands as they dug through the dirt, rummaging for something.
As he moved away from the tree, shifting his position to face her, the sound brought the old woman's face up, her nose sniffing the air as a dog for scent. He froze, looking onto a vision of pain, when in the eyes, all he could see was the dull grey of blindness, but so strong was his scent, that she began to move towards him, no longer attentive to the dirt. Slowly, he brought himself back up onto his feet, still staring at the macabre image in front of him.
As he stood there, about to back away, the screeching lunge at him brought a sharp flash of surprise, before instinct and training brought his hand around in a wicked backhand strike, the mail lined glove giving the blow more weight, which sent the lifeless figure sprawling onto the hard mudcaked ground. The listless and prone body convulsed every few seconds, he suspected that the force of the blow had broken her neck. Over the sound of his own breathing, now ragged with the ensuing thrilling rush from the adrenaline, came the faintest scraping and shuffling. In the hazy light, beyond the body, he saw that more shadows were emerging, coming towards the sound of the commotion.
Quickly turning, he headed back to the road, finding loose grip as he climbed the small banked ditch, leading up to the hard stone surface. As he reached his horse, he glanced back over his shoulder to catch the sight of the new arrivals bent over the old woman's corpse. Their motion became more agitated and violent by the moment, as the sound of slick wetness reached his ears, he saw one of them raise a torn arm above its head, crowing out in glory, it loped off at remarkable speed, before being engulfed in the fog once more.
Holding a thin determined grimace, he turned and mounted with a heaving swing onto Ursa's back, causing the horse to whinny and stagger momentarily from the forcefulness. Looking back across to the grisly scene, he saw that several more of the creatures had joined the first and they now, were sniffing the air, trying to detect the source of the noise. Pulling the reigns around sharply, the rider directed the horse forward, hastily moving to a gallop. He wanted to be away from here as fast as the horse could ride.
For hours, they rode on at a furious pace, the road widening and well beaten tracks now visible to each side every few miles. But still, he met no-one on the journey, no signs, no life. The damp air and gloomy days were hard to bear. He kept thinking of how this was not meant to be. His return, expectedly triumphant, was only a dream, a hope now shattered. He spent his time cursing himself, his foolishness and that of his Lord and King, for allowing him to leave at such a crucial time, no matter the importance of his 'duty'.
As the great charging warhorse began to tire, he pulled up near a small ruined building, which he at first mistook for a natural rocky formation. He listened, to the wind, trying to detect any others nearby, but heard only a sigh. Feeling safe to dismount, he led the horse to the ruin and unravelled a large leather sack, into which he poured a generous filling of water. Holding it up to the horse, he let her drink noisily. He washed down the beasts face, stroking her nose with his rough hands.
Feeling unwilling to make a fire, he broke out some bread and considered the circumstances while he chewed slowly on the spiced loaf. Suppressing the fear, he thought back to the scene earlier in the day, triggering flashed images from his memory of another brutal time in his life. Opening his eyes suddenly, as if to clear his vision of that horror, he took a swig of the water and looked at the boulders lain around him.
Old. They had been as they were for a long time. The moss and weeds had grown about their resting place, where they must have been undisturbed for many years. The thought sickened him again and he struggled to concentrate. The aching of the long ride had him sat wearily and head hung low. Pouring some water on his glove, he wiped his face, before quickly replacing the mask.
The situation was clear. The terrible consequence of his failure, of all their failures, was this wasteland of lost people. Starvation had turned them to cannibalism and savagery, the plight of farmers with no sun, failed harvest and faced with a hopeless battle against the elements, was insurmountable. Now, the living must feed on anything that they can eat. How it came to this, he wondered- the wet from his eyes soaked into the mask and he felt the sorrow in his every breath..
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