(4) The Cry Of Death
10th century B.C.: year 947
Rediscovering the land took up most of the fall season. Homes were still being repaired in time for the winter, which fortunately started later as well. It was also milder, most likely due to the ocean being closer in some parts now.
Despite what people had hoped for, the incident unfortunately also seemed to shake the vrykólakas out of hiding to return with a vengeance, coming down from the north in a killing spree & by late spring, stories of blood baths had once again come dangerously close to Wycoller. At the same time, another strange thing was happening. People from the land below had been dying for some reason & by now, there were tales of whatever it was coming into the land through the ports. Since no one at the time had any sense of what being contagious was & so through travel & trade routes, the onslaught of a plague moved quickly. Most called it a red rash. Or a burning lumpy rash. Whatever it was, most people who had it eventually died within a week or two of showing the first symptoms while those that didn't die were left scarred for life.
It didn't stop people from going out at night in the search for more undead fiends, which they thought were more important in getting rid of. By now, several were actually encountering the monsters but were unable to destroy them & instead, they were getting destroyed, themselves. Or worse, turned into one. Most thought it was due to the fact that those who had tried to destroy the fiends simply weren't fast enough. Or maybe they had missed the heart of the undead. Or forgot some step or other in between to kill them. The real issue, the fact that the wooden stakes simply were not working, was not even considered.
In late summer, a group that both Sherrinford & Dion, Elizabet's old brother, was in, managed to destroy one by sheer dumb luck. Someone who had no stakes nearby grabbed a sword that they had found on the ground & quickly swung it around. It had hit the heart of the beast, causing the creature to go still as stone before shattering. On the return home, the sword was passed around for inspection. It was short with a round center in it. Not understanding what they were seeing, it was assumed that the round center was made of wood, cleverly disguised under a sheet of forged iron steel.
"Well, that's an interesting idea," Mycroft said when Sherrinford told him of the strange sword after finding his brother outside in the street with a new horse he had recently acquired.
"It's easier than carrying long stakes around," said Sherrinford.
"I don't often hear of those things being destroyed," a man nearby spoke. "Are you sure one was felled?"
"I saw it happen," Sherrinford said. "First, it was like a stone statue & then it sounded like shattering, then dark ash filled the air."
"Who did it?"
"Someone in the group I was with," Sherrinford answered. "Over in Wycoller. The brother of the woman who is with my own brother knows them, personally."
"You were fortunate at the time that the vrykólakas did not find you first," said the man as he got onto his own horse & left.
"Did the eyes turn red?" Mycroft asked once they were alone again.
"I don't know," Sherrinford shrugged. "I didn't get close enough to it to see. Cásel would know better since he was right in front of it. Still thinking of that woman?"
"I can't find her any where," Mycroft admitted, getting up on his own horse. "But I am quite sure she is one from the graves. Perhaps someone else destroyed her."
"One less to worry about," Sherrinford pointed out. Mycroft conceded the point with a flick of his brow before riding off.
There had been twenty-three people in the party that had destroyed the undead fiend. By the end of summer, more than half of them had been killed by friends of the fallen, as if in retaliation. Leaving the three children with their grandparents, Sherlock & Elizabet went to Thaec to try to convince Dion to leave.
"Those things are everywhere," Dion said. "Would it matter where I am?"
"Right now, it seems they are targeting the ones who were together that destroyed one of them," Sherlock said. "You've been here for a long time. They know where you are. Moving for now until we can destroy more of them would be wise."
"You should go to our parents," Elizabet said.
"We'll have to leave in the morning," Dion said. "It's getting late. I'll set you up in the back room."
"Alright," Elizabet sighed, relieved he would go with them.
"How's Ishtar?" Dion asked.
"Still doesn't talk," Sherlock replied. "Five years now, but hardly a sound."
"That is rather strange," Dion said. "Hopefully, someday she will outgrow it." He pushed open the door to the spare room & left them to settle in for the night.
Loud thudding at the door in the early morning made both Sherlock & Elizabet sit straight up in bed, startled out of sleep. Sherlock was the first to get up & make it to the main door. He went outside, leaving her to catch up. Elizabet quickly dressed & went outside to find a group of people standing in the main byway, crowded together as if looking at something. She hurried over.
Sherlock saw her coming & moved away from the others to grab her. "No, don't. Don't!" He tried to hold her back but that very reaction told her everything. Her brother was dead.
"Xanthá—"
"Don't look!" Sherlock pushed her back. "He's been ripped right apart."
Elizabet struggled in his arms. "No! Dion!" She finally broke free & ran forward anyway.
"Elizabet!" Sherlock called out to her but she didn't listen. She pushed through the throng & dropped to her knees beside what was left of her brother. He had been torn nearly in two & most of his blood was gone. Sherlock came to her side a moment later & tried to pull her away. "We should go. There is nothing we can do!" He finally managed to pick her up & bring her into the house. She had stopped fighting him by now, but was crying uncontrollably. Sherlock set her down in the chair by the table. He waited for her to calm down a little.
"I wish there was a way to get rid of them all at once," Elizabet said, letting more tears fall.
"I have been wondering if that is even possible," Sherlock said. "No one knows how many there are, just that it is more than one."
"If we only knew what caused them to rise again," Elizabet sighed. "It ought to be stopped at the source."
Sherlock looked out the window to see smoke going up from several places in Thaec. "The source is the grave & they are burning them out." He thought for a moment. "We have to burn Dion as well as a precaution. He was killed by one of those things which could mean he is now cursed as well." This caused Elizabet to burst into a fresh wave of tears. Sherlock put a hand on her shoulder for a moment before heading outside to help set fire to the dead.
From that day on, Elizabet was all but consumed by a hatred of anything dead. She would set fire to any body lying around, whether it was human or animal, whether it was a possible vrykólakas or not. If it was dead, it was on fire & that's all she cared about. She sought out repellent charms for the three children & herself to wear & also made sure Sherlock had something on him at all times. The house was also warded with various things in the hopes that it would deter the vile things. Crosses weren't yet used since the Christian Era was not for another thousand years & Elizabet would not be around to see it, but many other things from rocks, to a gathering of certain types of flowers to some kinds of animal hairs were spread around the house.
Elizabet also brought them all back to the blind witch doctor, seeking a protective blessing for the family. He smiled softly, with a distant gaze that saw nothing. He knew the woman was concerned for her children. What mother wouldn't be? But there was no actual spell to chase the things off. There were exactly only two things that could help, but neither she or the man with her could ever possibly hope to understand either of those things.
He put a hand on the two boys for a moment. They were nearly three now & talking to each other non-stop while their sister silently watched over them. Ishtar came upto him & spread her hands in front of her, thumbs touching. She flapped her fingers back & forth like a butterfly. This was her sign for the witch doctor now, as if he had wings no one but she could see. Next, Ishtar put out a hand expectantly, wanting another purple rock. She liked the colour about as much as her mother did.
"I will return in a moment," the witch doctor replied. He got up from the fallen log he was sitting on & went into his stone hut.
Sherlock watched him leave, then switched his eyes to the children now playing in the stream. Ishtar was just as playful as her brothers & she often smiled & appeared to be about ready to laugh, but remained resolutely mute at all times. Only an absolute terror sweeping over the child would make her speak.
The witch doctor returned a few moments later. He handed another purple rock to Ishtar before heading towards Sherlock. He held out a small pure white lance about three feet long. "You are never to use this unless something untoward makes the first strike," the witch doctor began as Sherlock took the small lance to inspect it. There was a sharp point at one end. "It is never to leave your home," the witch doctor continued. "Not to be used for any hunts. It is for the home only for the protection of the children. If I find out otherwise & believe me, I will, then it will be my own wrath you will face & that lance will not spare you from me."
"I understand," Sherlock bowed slightly even though the man could not see. The gesture was seen by the children so they would learn it.
The old man turned towards the direction of the children, hearing them splash in the water. "She still does not speak?"
"Not a word," Sherlock replied, attaching the lance to his horse. "The two boys speak just fine but not her."
"It is her own way," the doctor said. "She makes her own path."
Sherlock finished tying the lance before turning back to the witch doctor. "When I was here last time, you mentioned something about an intense sorrow. Were you speaking of Dion?"
The old man shook his head, listening to the mother get the children ready for the ride home. "It has not happened yet & I do not know when or what it is. A blackness will overtake you & my lance will not save you from it. That is all I know."
"Perhaps there is a way to stop it?"
"I have not yet found one," the witch doctor replied in a low voice. "But I am searching." He waited for Sherlock to get up onto his horse before adding, "Fare well, Xanthá Malliá."
"What was that about?" Elizabet asked as the rode down the trail.
Sherlock put his hands over Ishtar's hands as she tried to grab the reins from where she was sitting in front of him. "I do not know, yet," he answered.
In less than a year, Sherlock would find out exactly what the old man was talking about. In fact, it was already starting now. When they had returned home, there had been another killing & this time it affected Sherrinford. Cásel had been dragged away & his body, what was left of it, was found the next day. Sherrinford neither spoke or ate anything for the rest of the week & barely slept. He was now doing nothing else other than looking for the one who had taken his partner from him.
It was now personal between Sherlock's family & the night stalkers out for everyone's blood & by now, Sherlock went with his two brothers nearly all the time they went out. Both their parents would often join as well & were rarely seen in the villages any more. The summer was nearly ended & the longer nights provided better times to look for the undead.
Sherrinford put up a fishing net between two trees one night when they were all together. Sherlock tried not to say anything, knowing this probably wasn't a good time to tease his brother, but his curiosity finally got the better of him & he moved to stand next to one of the trees where the edge of the net was. "What are you doing?" He asked. "Fish don't go in trees."
"I know that," Sherrinford muttered. "Just wait." He turned away & dropped onto the ground nearby.
Sherlock had little choice but to join him if he wanted to find out what Sherrinford was up to. He lay back on the grass, looking up at the stars. "How are you doing, now?" He asked after a long silence.
"Like half of me is gone," Sherrinford said. "I don't know how to be whole again."
Sherlock heard a sniffle & looked up to see Sherrinford wipe his eyes. He wanted to say something, but wasn't sure what. Seeing the net wiggle, Sherlock tried to distract Sherrinford as he pointed towards it. "The net is moving."
Sherrinford looked up at it for a moment. His eyes landed on a small body desperately flapping its wings which only made the entanglement worse. He jumped up & began cutting the net around the tiny animal. Clutching it in one hand, Sherrinford held it out to Sherlock. With his other hand, he pried open one jagged wing. "You see this wing?" Sherrinford asked. Sherlock nodded, looking over the terrified bat. "When that thing grabbed Cásel ..." Sherrinford paused, trying to keep his voice steady. "He was coming back from the barn after putting the horse away for the night. I was watching from the door of the house. I didn't see anything until it was too late!" He let the wing go & pressed his hand to his eyes. "It came out of the trees. Moved through the shadows of evening. It had wings," Sherrinford's voice was down to a whisper.
"Wings?" Sherlock asked incredulously.
Sherrinford nodded. "Like this creature, but huge. The body of a human & large wings like the bat. I ran after it. Didn't even have a stake with me or anything. I wanted to grab Cásel back, but then the wings appeared & it took off with him." He pulled the last bit of netting loose & threw the poor bat into the air.
"You're saying the dead can fly?" Sherlock wasn't sure he heard right.
"Yeah, I am," Sherrinford replied. "That thing had huge wings like a bat." He flipped out a small blade & cut the tip of his finger. Holding the bleeding wound out to Sherlock, Sherrinford added. "See this? The wings were this colour, exactly like the red river inside all of us. A dark red."
"Large dark red wings," Sherlock repeated, glancing up to the stars. "If they can fly, we are not safe under the stars. They can drop in from above." He looked back at Sherrinford. "Why haven't you mentioned this before?"
"Because ... I'm not sure I believe it!" Sherrinford leaned back on the tree. "I saw those wings spread out behind that creature. I often wonder if I had imagined it. No one ever mentioned anything about the vrykólakas having wings! Am-am I going crazy, Xanthá?" He slid down the tree to sit at its base & put both hands over his face.
Sherlock checked the dark sky again. "Whatever remains must be the truth," he said to himself. In a louder voice so Sherrinford could hear, Sherlock added, "It has some sense to it, Theós. It explains how they get around so fast. If they can fly straight like a bird over mountain & meadow & glen, that would save a lot of time as compared to riding through the trails for days."
Sherrinford lowered his hands. He licked at the tiny wound before saying, "Do you understand what you're saying?"
Sherlock turned to him. "If we are right & they can fly, then their graves are no where near here."
"By all the Gods!" Sherrinford was once more holding his head in his hands. "Where are they coming from, then?"
"Perhaps from one of those?" Sherlock pointed upwards.
"The tiny lights in the sky?" Sherrinford scoffed.
"Why laugh?" Sherlock defended. "Do we know anything at all about what's up there?"
"Just that the Gods love moving them around," Sherrinford came to stand next to Sherlock as both gazed up at Jupiter. Besides that one, Mercury, Venus, Mars & Saturn had been known to exist for ages past, but to know anything about them other than existence was hidden knowledge left to any deities & not meant for humans. "But the birds do not go out that far. Would it even be possible to fly to anything up there?"
"It is not known," Sherlock said. "We should tell the others about the wings. They should know the daimōns can fly."
The revelation that the undead could fly caused a panic through the villages. Most said similar things to what Sherlock had mentioned. If they could fly, they could be coming from any where which meant anyone from out of town on long journeys, so they claim, could be a beast wandering too far from its grave. As the nights grew longer & colder, indicating the oncoming winter, people of the villages turned cold & distrustful of anyone passing through during the late evenings.
The strangest reaction however, was when Mycroft found the Lady from the Waldheri in his home village once more. He had not seen the Waldheri in a while but decided to let the woman know as a kindness for all the help her people had done for his family. He even mentioned how Sherrinford had compared the colour of the wings to the red river all carried within.
The Lady stood up sharply & Mycroft noted an unusual fearfulness about her. She had once said few things scared her & now suddenly, something seemed to agitate her. "I must go." She mounted her horse without saying more.
"Wait," Mycroft tried to put a hand up to the bridle but the Lady pulled one rein & turned the horse around, away from him.
"I have to go," She insisted. "Thank you for telling me what colour the wings are."
The horse bolted before Mycroft could say anything else, leaving him standing in some confusion. One thing was certain. She did not seem surprised that such creatures had wings. It was the colour that had set her off. Mycroft sighed heavily & shook his head as he turned towards his own home. He had long since given up trying to understand those people. He wondered again about the garden of the old man & decided maybe to try seeking it out next spring.
It was a rare time Mycroft was home. Mostly, he along with most of the family, had been going out together, looking for more of the undead while hoping to find & kill the one that had ruined Sherrinford's life. Apart from Sherlock who was with Elizabet at their own home, everyone else had stayed together at their hunting house in the highlands for longer than usual, since the last week or so of summer & throughout the fall, going out most nights in search of monsters & using the day to do some normal hunting to stock up for the winter.
Mycroft had returned home to find Sherlock & bring him along for the main hunt. It was later in the year now since the seasons had shifted a bit after the earth shaking. The wildlife was still recovering from it & with the warmer weather, they took longer to go into hibernation. The deep snow & bitter cold finally rolled in nearly a month later than usual. It was around that time when Mycroft saw the woman again, the one with the strange eyes.
He had caught sight of her one evening just as he was about to bring his horse in for the night. She had walked right by his place & fortunately, she had not noticed him crouched down behind the fence as he watched her pass by. Mycroft kept his eyes on her until she faded into the lengthening shadows of night. Grabbing a stake, he went after her, staying well behind & under the trees. He didn't plan to follow her for long, just only enough to get a sense of which direction she was headed in before turning towards home.
The next day, Mycroft retraced his steps & followed the trail on foot, feeling that a big animal like a horse would draw too much attention. The main path curved on down towards Wycoller. As he got closer to that village, Mycroft found another new path leading to the right, small & barely used, exactly like before when he had first met her. He turned onto it & moved ahead until he could see a few stone huts through the trees. It seemed that the small village was situated right between his own & Wycoller where his parents had a summer home. It had been a while since any of them had visited Wycoller & he wondered if that village was the next one to be attacked by the vrykólakas. Not wanting to face her alone again, Mycroft turned back. But he now had a place for a night hunt once the others were gathered. He had a feeling that they would find more than one undead creature this time.
The first thing to do was warn Wycoller. As it was already getting late in the day, Mycroft returned home for his horse & rode at a fast pace down to the other village. It was evening by the time he arrived. He trotted the horse over to his parents' house & left it by one of the five holly trees around the property.
People were already setting large bonfires alight while others carried one or two sharp stakes with them. A large pile of ready-made stakes was next to a watch fire in the center of the village. Mycroft went up to the group there to tell them of the hidden new village he had found. It didn't take long for a large group to gather, some on horses, some on foot & all had stakes in one hand while others also carried torches. Mycroft got onto his horse, two stakes, tied one on each side, to the saddle & as he passed the main fire, he leaned over to grab a torch as well.
"I will bring you to the path," Mycroft said, holding the torch high to light the way in front of his horse. He trotted it into the forests, letting the others follow. Once he got to the new trail he had found, he pulled his horse to the side to let everyone else catch up. "Be careful," he began. "I think there's more than one in there."
"Are you not coming?" One man asked.
"Oh I will," Mycroft promised. "We're not far from where I live so I'm going to get a few more to join us. There's a whole small village there of those things. We need all the help we can get." At that, he turned his horse onto the main trail & hurried towards home, holding his torch up to keep the path lit. It was the only reliable light he had at the moment as the moon was barely half full & partially hidden by clouds. He didn't expect the vrykólakas to jump out at him for they would be rather preoccupied at the moment, but he kept his eyes open for any hint of one of them coming after him just in case. Once he was within his own village, he still felt safer with the fires burning & people standing watch. He soon managed to collect another gathering & led them back to the trail he had found in the day.
Once on the new path, there was no need to lead anyone since fires could be seen ahead in the trees & shouting from the first group could be heard. Mycroft kicked his horse into high speed & rode into the fray. He tossed the torch forward onto a burning pile, unhooked the two stakes he had & jumped off the horse, one stake in each hand. He felt more than saw a shadow swoop over him. It landed somewhere on the other side of the fire but Mycroft could see a large bat-like wing flexing before the creature took off again. But it wasn't red like what Sherrinford had said. This one was a cornsilk yellow. The thing had disappeared into the night before Mycroft could blink.
Hearing something like pottery or glass shatter, Mycroft whirled around. He saw the Lady of the Waldheri pull a long slate-coloured sword back from a cloud of ash that rose into the air to mingle with the fires. His brow twitched. He didn't remember seeing her in either of the groups he had brought here. Come to think of it, there seemed to be a lot more people then Mycroft had expected. In the distance, he heard the barking of dogs as if they wanted to join in the fight.
Mycroft's eyes went wide as he felt something come up behind him. He spun around & shoved the stake forward. The woman he had been stalking for a long time now shrieked at him, baring fangs. She stumbled back from the blow but otherwise seemed unhurt. The stake he had used on her however, splintered apart. Mycroft cast the remnants of it aside, thinking the wood was faulty & dry, which caused it to break. He lifted the second stake he had with him to hurl it at her but she suddenly ran away as if scared. He attempted to go after her.
"No!" A hand grabbed his arm & held him back with an unusual strength. Mycroft spun around & ended up in the arms of the Lady. "She is too strong for you!" The Lady said.
"What are you doing here?" Mycroft demanded, trying not to think of the fact that he was pressed right up against her body while she held him tightly. He had never been this close to a woman before & didn't know what to make of it.
"We have been after this group for a while," the Lady replied. "That woman is very dangerous. Stay away from her!" Before Mycroft could say or do anything, the Lady released him & took off into the night. He heard another shattering sound but couldn't see who did it.
The place was soon as bright as day with all the fires raging in every building. Late in the night before dawn, people were mostly making sure that the fires were contained. Mycroft never heard another shattering sound that night but he knew that sound meant one of the undead had been destroyed. There had to have been more than two destroyed, but he had not heard that sound again. He was confidant now that the woman was one of them for he had seen her fangs as she had hissed at him.
The only question for now was how did the Lady end up in this mess? She seemed to have brought others with her but Mycroft did not know who. He also noted that the barking of dogs had stopped & yet, he never actually saw any dogs. Mycroft told himself to forget about the stupid dogs for now. It was time to get his horse & head home with those who had come with him while the other group returned to Wycoller. He found the horse near one of the larger fires in the center of the tiny hamlet. Before getting on, he noticed a sword lying on the ground, tip partially in the flames. Glancing around, he saw that no one was paying attention & so Mycroft picked it up before climbing onto the horse & heading home with a few others.
It had been a long night but Mycroft lay awake on the pile of furs for a while. He still wondered a bit about the sound of dogs when none were to be seen, but he found that he also could not stop thinking of the Lady. They had shared some intense gazes before, but she had always seemed to be rather aloof. He was glad to know she wasn't one of the undead. She had been seen in the light more than once & now he had seen her destroying them & it made no sense that she would destroy her own kind, so Mycroft reasoned to himself that she could not be among them. Besides, she had always been civil, not a ravenous blood thirsty monster. He knew she was odd & different, more like the Waldheri, but at least not a monster.
Mycroft thought again of how it had felt to be suddenly so close to her. He had never known a woman & despite his boasting in front of his brothers (namely Sherlock), he had only ever been with two different men so far & it had been a while before he had bothered to try again. Had the time now come to try a woman? He knew she was older than he was; still in his late twenties while she had to be in her forties or nearing fifties. But despite that, she seemed to have an unusual strength not only for her age but also for being a woman. Part of him wanted her to hold him that hard again. Wait, what was he thinking?
With a long sigh, Mycroft rubbed his brow with both hands. He had to stop thinking about her. Stop thinking about the dogs. Stop thinking, period & go to sleep. So-o-o ... what was with that sword he stole? Mycroft's brow twitched in annoyance. Sherlock had more than once compared the thought process of his own brain to that of a high strung fast horse, but Mycroft's was as fast as a shooting star & when it went to work on something, it was next to impossible to stop thinking! He shivered a little under several layers of furs. He probably should have started a fire before lying down in the cold night. It was an excuse to get up to check the sword. Well? What was he waiting for? Mycroft shivered again, then groaned as he finally got up, lit a fire in the stone pit & picked up the sword. It had a slightly rounded center to it that seemed to be pale colour, but he couldn't see it too well in the dim light. This should be something to do in the morning which wasn't too far away. He needed to sleep. Mycroft forced himself to put the sword aside & lie down again, wrapping himself up in a thick bear skin as the temperature dropped. The new fire would burn for a while, offering some warmth. By early dawn, Mycroft finally dropped off to sleep, dreaming of dogs & the Lady controlling them.
Another layer of thick heavy snow had started falling by dawn & continued throughout most of the day. Sherlock made sure to put on an extra covering & even draped a hide over his mare, tying it with ropes around her belly. A messenger from Mycroft had shown up earlier to let him know of the large nest of the undead that had been found & purged. Sherlock was to meet with Mycroft & a few others down in Wycoller to help go after any stragglers that had escaped.
Elizabet came out to meet him in the barn. "Here," she wrapped a deep purple skin around his neck. It was incredibly soft. "I've been working on that rabbit for a couple of months now & was starting to wonder if you'd ever get to use it. The cold weather is late this year."
"I think it always will be from now on," Sherlock replied, tying the tassels of the rabbit skin to keep it in place. He glanced sideways, hearing a soft thud. Ishtar had hopped onto the mare from the rafters of the barn & was now trotting it around the front yard. Sherlock put his hands up for a moment. "We need another horse."
Elizabet petted her own white horse for a moment. "My mother probably has a spare for her," she began. "Xanthá?" She hesitated before going on, "While you're gone, I'm going to take the children back home to my parents."
Sherlock stared at her for a long moment. "Why?"
"It's a small out of the way village," Elizabet said. "They don't seem to get attacked as much. I haven't told anyone. I don't want others to know where I'm hiding the children. Just you. So meet me there when you're done with this nest your brother found."
Sherlock held her close, kissing her before saying, "I will find you in a few days, then." He put a hand out & caught the mare by the bridle as Ishtar tried to ride by. "Come off now, Ishtar. Go to your mother." Ishtar pouted at him, clutching the reins. "Off! Now!" Sherlock ordered, ignoring Elizabet snickering at him while Ishtar continued to glare. "Your mother will get you your own horse," Sherlock tried. "But only if you get off mine this instant!"
Ishtar considered that for a moment before sliding off at last. As Sherlock got on, Ishtar made her wing sign as if asking for the witch doctor.
Sherlock shook his head. "We are not going to see the witch doctor now. If you want to see him again, you'll have to wait for the cold season to be over with." He gathered up the reins before asking, "Why would you want to see him again?" Ishtar merely shrugged. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Looking at Elizabet, he said, "I will see you in a few days."
"Be careful, Xanthá," Elizabet warned as the mare moved into a fast gait towards the main trail.
It was evening by the time Sherlock arrived at Mycroft's home. The shadows had come earlier due to the clouds but he wasn't too worried. He expected to join a large hunting party, all equipped with wooden stakes. He had his own stakes tied to the sides of his mare. But what he expected & what was were as different as a kind word was from a whip lash.
Sherlock trotted the mare around Mycroft's stone house twice, but his brother did not appear. Finally, a man with blond hair came up to him. "He has gone ahead to Wycoller," the man said. Sherlock scanned him over. There was something off about this man. The way he was watching Sherlock. Something in his eyes. It was as if he thought he had won something as he added, "They claim to have caught some of the vrykólakas who had wandered into the village a short while ago. They're going to burn them."
"Let's hope it works," Sherlock replied as he turned the mare back onto the main path & rode away.
"Oh it will," Míka said to himself, watching Sherlock ride away to his fate.
There wasn't as much snow under the trees & the trail was well worn from use, so Sherlock was able to hurry his mare forward. It was nearly dark by the time he entered Wycoller & it was like he had ridden into a war zone.
The ground was stained with blood & a few bodies were lying in the snow, torn asunder as if the undead had swooped in. People were screaming & fires were starting to leave their designated pits. Sherlock rode upto the back of his parents' summer home & nearly collided with Nýchta. He slipped off his mare & entered the house.
"Eurus?" Sherlock called as he opened the back door.
"There's the other one! Grab him!"
Sherlock's eyes went wide & he stumbled back outside. He slammed the door in the faces of the intruders & ran into the night. He ended up going around to the back of the celebration hall. Suddenly, something grabbed him & yanked him down into a pile of snow. A hand clapped over his mouth before he could say anything.
"Xanthá, what are you doing here?" Trefor asked in a low voice.
"We're supposed to go looking for some vrykólakas," Sherlock answered. "What are you doing here?"
"They're saying your family are the vrykólakas," Trefor said.
"What? No!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Why would anyone think that?"
"Because they haven't been seen in a while," Trefor began. "Because the last few times they have been seen, it was after the light was gone. But mostly because they think Mikró set them up last night!"
"Set them up?" Sherlock gasped. "Why would he do that? What proof do they have?"
"Everyone said that while they were destroying the nest with Mikró last night, the place seemed to be mostly empty, as if someone had warned the beasts ahead of time," Trefor explained. "When they got back to Wycoller, half the village had been attacked by the vrykólakas while it was left unprotected."
Sherlock suddenly remembered something. "Where are my brothers & sister?" He demanded. "Where are my parents?"
"Eurus ran off into the night," said Trefor. "I saw where she went so I'm hiding so no one tries to make me tell them. I saw someone run your uncle through with a sword from behind."
"My uncle is dead?" Sherlock's eyes went wide. Was his whole family destined to die this night?
"I'm sorry, Xanthá," Trefor said as he wiped away a tear. "I don't know where your brothers went but I think your parents have already been captured. Xanthá? I think they're—"
"I know exactly what they're going to do!" Sherlock rolled out of the snow pile. "Come on! We have to stop them!"
"Xanthá, wait!" Trefor came out of the snow as well.
"WHAT? I DON'T HAVE TIME!"
"It's dark! If they see you now, they'll just think you're undead!"
"That doesn't matter, right now!" Sherlock all but snapped. "I have to find them before ... "
"Two trees from your parents' place were cut down," Trefor said. "Then everyone went to the edge of the village. Somewhere by that big fireplace."
"Alright, let's go!" Sherlock turned & ran for it, not waiting any longer. He burst into the barn & grabbed his father's bow while Trefor grabbed a sword in his free hand & carried a stake in the other.
They ran down the center road towards the shouting up ahead. Sherlock made his way into the trees before anyone saw him & moved forward towards the edge of a clearing. He heard a woman crying, almost begging, "It isn't us! If you would just wait for the light, you'll see it isn't us!" Sherlock's eyes went wide as he recognized his mother's voice & he jumped forward to find two stakes already set up & his parents tied to them.
"MOTHER!" Sherlock screamed as he ran forward. He saw Mycroft & Sherrinford being pinned to the ground by four other men. Both his brothers were tied up.
"Xanthá!" Siger called out even though he couldn't see Sherlock at the moment, who was behind him. "Run! Run now!"
Sherlock twisted sideways like a bunny escaping a wolf as someone charged for him. He flipped over onto his back & put an arrow to the bow. He didn't have much experience with a bow but these people were basically point blank range so it should be an easy mark. He rolled over & let the arrow fly but it went right over the man's head. Incidentally, the man still dropped dead from another arrow sprung from a string. "Eurus!" Sherlock gasped under breath. She must be in the forest somewhere with her own bow.
Trefor ran forward, swinging the sword he had & slicing through the arm of one man holding Mycroft down. While the man was momentarily stunned from the blow & clutched his wound, Mycroft rolled away under the trees. Eurus found him a moment later & cut his wrists apart before helping him up.
"We've got to stop them!" Eurus whispered, pulling Mycroft away.
"We would have to kill everyone!" Mycroft gasped.
"Then we will!"
Mycroft shook his head. "We need Theós to help us. Can you shoot a few more down?"
"I can probably shoot the whole village down before Xanthá figures out how to use the bow!" Eurus replied as she fired another arrow. The second man next to Sherrinford dropped dead. Eurus began shooting down anyone she saw while Mycroft moved back towards Sherrinford to get him untied.
It didn't take long for people to realize they were suddenly dropping like flies. It sent them into a panic & in the midst of the chaos, a torch was thrown. Mycroft's eyes went wide as he cut the last bit of rope from Sherrinford. He pushed his brother over as he got up & ran forward, shoving people aside in a desperate bid to catch the flaming torch. He felt as if everything had slowed down. He couldn't move fast enough & then, suddenly someone deliberately tripped him. Mycroft went down into the snow hard as the torch came down & the two stakes close together suddenly lit up.
"NO!" Mycroft bellowed, trying to push himself up. In another moment, the person holding him down dropped dead beside him, shot by Eurus still hiding under the dark trees, but nothing no longer mattered to him other than getting a sword. He somehow found himself behind his mother, trying to hack at the chains while Trefor was doing the same thing for Siger.
But the chains were too thick & the sounds his parents were now making was unlike anything he had ever heard before. He could hear Sherlock somewhere off to the side & Sherrinford was killing anyone who dared come close to him by running his stake through them in a fit of rage. But all Mycroft could think about at the moment was that these chains were never going to come undone & both his parents were now in unimaginable pain.
No one ever knew how long it was since Sherlock had jumped into the mess & caused confusion to the sudden silence of their parents. But both Siger & Violéta had stopped in an instant, their bodies hanging limp & sagging into the fires. Mycroft moved to the front & saw something sticking out of their chests. Arrows. " ... Eurus ..." Mycroft closed his eyes. Was this even real? Were their parents dead? Murdered by the village in a most gruesome way & only Eurus had been able to put them out of their misery?
Sherrinford appeared beside him. "Did she ...?"
Mycroft nodded. He lifted the sword he had found the previous night. "I'll kill them!" He gasped angrily. "I'll kill every last one of them & leave their open bodies as gifts for the vrykólakas!"
"Not alone, you won't!" Sherrinford snarled. "We need to get Xanthá & Eurus out of here first & then ... we—"
Mycroft turned & headed for Sherlock who was fighting off someone with a sword he had picked up from one of the bodies. Swinging his own sword around, Mycroft ran the man through, back to front, then shoved the body aside. "Eurus! Get Nýchta now! Hurry!"
Eurus skirted around the trees & headed towards the summer home of her parents. It was probably hers now but she didn't care. She never wanted to come back here again! She dived under a tree as a great shadow flew over her.
Sherrinford, Mycroft, Sherlock & Trefor were fighting furiously against everyone else while the fires still burning at the stakes lit the area & reflected off the white snow which was quickly turning red at the slaughter.
They were abruptly joined by a more sinister predator. Mycroft saw the cornsilk yellow wings as something hurtled into the fray & carried someone off. Another one with even larger wings that were dark red snatched up another villager. "Where were those things when we needed them?" Mycroft fumed. If only the vrykólakas had shown up sooner, there might have been a chance to save their parents. "Theós, no!" Mycroft grabbed Sherrinford by the arm to hold him back.
"That's the one that took Cásel from me!" Sherrinford snarled.
"I know!" Mycroft shot back. "We'll get him! But right now, we need to get the younger ones out of here." He looked long & hard at Sherrinford. Neither voiced it but both expected to die here. Only Sherlock & Eurus would survive.
"TREFOR!" Sherlock suddenly screamed, making Sherrinford & Mycroft look around just in time to see a bat-like wing that was an ochre orange colour spear Sherlock's life long friend right in front of him. The wing yanked upwards, splitting Trefor in two, his eyes forever wide in surprise & terror as he died instantly. Sherlock tried to move to his fallen friend but Sherrinford grabbed him & pulled him back.
"He's gone, Xanthá! There's nothing you can do."
Mycroft lunged forward with the strange sword he had picked up, striking the monster in the heart. It went still as stone & then shattered into ash. "I'll lie your friends beside you!" He promised, glancing around as he heard hooves pound the ground.
Eurus returned riding Nýchta. She attempted to get off but Mycroft held her back. "Xanthá! Get up there with your sister!"
"B—"
"NOW!" Mycroft all but roared in Sherlock's face.
Sherlock decided not to argue. Mycroft had snapped. They all had. None of them had expected to lose both their parents like this, right now. Or a lifelong friend. Sherlock glanced back one last time at Trefor's split body & couldn't help but think of them together in the hayloft while the boys were being born. They were high but that strange conversation: it would have been either Trefor or Elizabet that Sherlock would have ended up with & now Trefor was gone. Sherlock could barely fathom that fact or the fact that they were now orphans or that it had all happened at once. His eyes switched from the pieces of his friend to the burning stakes. Not much was left now but crumpled bodies of bone & thick ash. He turned back to the horse. As Sherlock clamoured up, Sherrinford went to the black stallion's head & cut the bridle off.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Eurus exclaimed. "Theós? No, don't!" She barely had time to grab the mane as Sherrinford snapped down the remnants of the bridle hard on Nýchta's rump, sending the stallion squealing into the night.
Mycroft leaned over, hands on knees for a moment. "Do you think we'll ever see them again?"
"I doubt it," Sherrinford replied. "But at least they have a chance to survive."
Mycroft picked up the sword he had & turned around. "Let's finish this, Theós!"