Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) (36 page)

Chapter 32

M
erek had a frightful time of falling asleep- tossing and turning so violently, he nearly threw himself from his bed onto the cold floor.  Twice he had to rise from the warm sheets into the cold night air to splash some cool water onto his face.  Though he had made everyone in the ranch house vow they would not use their water rations needlessly- because making a trip out to the well was too treacherous- he needed the water to calm his nerves. 

              Most of the night had perished before sleep finally took him and even though he was wrapped in the thralls of that pleasant, ignorant abyss that sleep is, he still twisted violently within his sheets, wrapping them around his arms and legs so tightly they began to grow numb.

              His dreams had been consumed with the last image he saw of the High Protector, fleeing atop the Captain’s horse with Mayvard holding her steady.  His pleas for aid were lost in the wind and either the Captain did not hear him, or he did not care- he was gone and with him he had taken any last glimmer of hope that Merek and his people had of escaping Tyos with their lives.

              He heard Rhada’s voice in his dream, telling him that all would be well.

             
I promise. 
She whispered but her promise had already been broken. 

              A sudden loud, piercing shriek pulled Merek from his trembling nightmare.  He snorted and sat bolt upright in bed, blinking confusedly into the darkness of night.  He carefully scanned the surroundings of the small room in which he was trying to find some reprieve and shuddered.  He could not decipher whether or not the scream had been a part of his dream or if it had actually reached his sleeping ears.

              As Protector of Tyos, his first instinct was to jump from the bed with sword in hand and rush through the door to find out where the scream had come from.  But as he sat trembling in his bed, he could not bring himself to move.  Exhaustion had rendered his body motionless and his arms and legs tingled from being twisted within the sheets.

              He sat for a few moments and listened to the dreadful quiet of night, waiting to see if the sound would come again.  When he was satisfied that it would not, he closed his eyes and practically fell back into bed, letting his head hit the pillow with a force that knocked loose some of the feathers.

             
Just a dream. 
He thought to himself and he felt the heavy embrace of sleep taking hold of him once again.

              The scream was louder this time, and closer.  It rang in his ears and pierced him down to his soul.  It was the scream of terror- a dying person in their last agonizing moments- when the mind knew the body was broken and would not recover it did not try to form words.  A scream is all that could be left to the world in those last, terrible moments. 

              This time, there was no mistaking whether or not the scream was real.  Merek sprung from his bed faster than he ever thought he could move and hobbled to the dresser where his sword lay.  He grasped tightly to the hilt and staggered to the door, cursing his tingling legs and their inability to perform the way they should. 

              Merek threw open the door in his panic and stepped into the dark hallway, turning one way then the other, trying to figure out from which direction the scream had come. 

              Noises came from his left- the scuffling of shoes on hard floor.  He turned quickly, held his sword out in front of him and walked slowly towards the sound. 

              The hallway opened into the main lobby of the ranch house where a small, dying fire burned in the corner, illuminating the room only enough to see the outline of a body strewn across the floor. 

              Merek swallowed hard at the sight and stepped closer until he could see every detail of the person’s mangled flesh. 

              It was a woman he knew only by the name of ‘Wenda’.  She had stayed inside her room for most of their stay in the ranch house, only coming out at night when everyone else was asleep.  Merek could see in the old woman’s expression that she had lost everyone she loved and he decided to leave her be. 

              Now, as he stared down at what remained of her, he felt a sickness boil deep within him and he turned to vomit. 

              Wenda’s belly had been ripped apart as though an animal with sharp claws had attacked her.  Her entrails had been pulled free and thrown all across the room.  Her throat had been gashed open, leaving a hole wide enough for Merek to see the back of her jaw.  Blood was everywhere.  It painted the floorboards beneath her and splattered in streaks across the walls behind her.  Merek could feel his bare feet slip on the now cold and sticky substance. 

              “Who did this?”  He wondered aloud and before he could even fathom an answer, another scream echoed down the halls to his ears. 

              He turned and ran towards the sound, hoping he could stop whatever it was from hurting anyone else. 

              He turned a corner and felt his foot slip from underneath him.  He gasped as he fell onto his back, hitting the hard floor roughly.  Pain shot up his left side and he wrapped an arm around it and winced.  When he could regain his breath, he sat upright and began looking for his sword that he had dropped during his fall. 

              Suddenly, he froze and stared at the large puddle of blood he was sitting in.  His eyes met the dead eyes of a man who was lying on his back, staring blankly back at Merek.  His stomach had been torn apart much in the same way Wenda’s had and the blood had pooled beneath him, causing Merek to slip. 

              Merek found it difficult to tear his eyes away from the dead man’s gaze.  He breathed heavily, wishing that he was still dreaming but the pain in his side told him that this was all too real.  He wrapped his arms around each other and turned his gaze upward.  His eyes were met with six more bodies lining the hallway.  Their blood dripped from the walls and pooled onto the floor.  Either their stomachs or throats had been torn out and for some, it was both.  From what Merek could see, they had all been pulled from their beds whilst they slept and it seemed as though they had made an attempt to flee, only to be caught in the hallway and ripped apart.

              Another scream came, shrill and full of fright.  Merek turned his head upward and saw the image of a woman emerging from her room, but instead of walking on her two legs, she had been thrown.  She slammed into the adjacent wall and landed on the floor, limp and unable to move. 

              Merek wasted no time.  He grasped the hilt of his blade tightly and rushed forward with a shriek of rage. He reached the shadow walker just as it emerged from the girl’s room and brought the blade down against its skull.  The sharp edge of the sword cut deep into the bone and the shadow walker went completely limp and fell to the floor in a heap.  

              Merek stood over the body of the dead beast and took in a few calming breaths.  Then he pulled the blade free and pushed the shadow walker over with the tip of his foot.  When he saw the face of the monster he had killed, he gasped in shock.

              It was a familiar face, the face of a man he had known most of his life- the face of a man he had considered a great friend.  And though Thurdan looked the same in the flesh, death had cast a heavy shadow over his face, making him look gray and sunken.  Fresh blood dripped from his chin and fingers from the victims he had just killed and Merek found his eyes transfixed on the deep-red fluid, as though staring at it long enough could make it disappear.

              Though he had just killed several innocent people, Merek could not help but pity his dead friend.  The man he knew in life was not this monster, but a kind-hearted and generous man.  He had been shy, yes, but not with Merek.  Thurdan had trusted only in him to tell all his secrets.  He shuddered at what had become of the Sorcerer- a walking corpse with no other desire than to tear at the flesh from the living. 

             
He must have died several hours ago, alone in his bed. 
Merek felt the corners of his eyes begin to water as he thought about his friend’s last dying moments, frightened and wanting nothing more than a comforting hand to hold.

              Something stirred behind Merek and he spun around to find the girl the shadow walker had thrown.  It was Myra and she was doing her best to sit up and lean against the wall.

              Merek rushed to aid her.  He grasped her by the shoulders and lifted her up and held onto her shoulders tightly so that she would not fall.  Blood stained the wall behind her head where a deep gash had oozed onto it.  Merek could see where the shadow walker had tried to tear at her flesh.  Beneath the tears in her nightgown, red claw marks ran up the length of her belly but from what Merek could tell, they had not penetrated the flesh.  Not a drop of blood spilled from them. 

              “You are lucky to be alive.”  He told the young girl and she nodded in agreement.

              “I tried to run but it lashed at me and I fell.”  Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she spoke.  “He picked me up and threw me… he was so strong.”  She whispered the last few words and looked towards the corpse of Thurdan as she spoke, as though she was trying to make herself believe that what had just happened was real.  She reached up with her hands and buried her face in her open palms then began to cry into them hysterically. 

              Merek reached forward and wrapped the young girl in a tight embrace. 

              “Shhh.”  He tried to console her.  “Do not be afraid.  It is all over.  The shadow walker is dead.”  But despite his comforting words, the young girl cried and trembled in his arms. 

              Merek let the girl cry and turned his gaze towards the dead that were strewn about the hallway.  He counted those in the halls and those that were probably still in their beds, lying in a pool of their own blood.  In total, he imagined the death toll to be around eleven but there could be no way of knowing until he entered all the rooms and checked for himself. 

             
But that is just the main floor. 
He reminded himself.  There was the top floor to consider.  It consisted of twelve rooms, some housed families and some housed strangers.  Thurdan’s room had been on the main floor, the last room in this hallway and so he could only hope that Thurdan had not made it to the second floor yet and that all was well up there.  He knew he had to go check.

              “I must go check on the others.”  He told Myra as he pushed her gently away to look into her eyes.

              “I will go with you.”  She said through frightened gasps.  “Please don’t leave me here all alone.”

              “I won’t.”  Merek stood on shaky legs, held to his sword tightly with his right hand and with the other, reached down to help Myra to her feet. 

              They stepped carefully through the hall, trying their best not to step on the bodies of the dead and trying even harder not to step on their entrails. 

              They moved swiftly, trying to get away from the grisly sight of the dead as quickly as possible and when they turned the corner to the lobby, Merek stopped and stood frozen in terror.  His mouth was gaped open as though he wanted to scream but no sound could be heard escaping his lips.  His hands began to shake violently and he dropped his sword to the ground.  Myra looked up to him with panicked eyes, hoping that he would tell her what was happening.

              Through the small crack of the outside door, a thick, black fog emerged.  It flowed into the ranch house like a snake and slithered its way across the floor, up the stairs, around their feet and into the hallway they had just emerged from.  Merek’s eyes, however, were not fixed on the fog but the blood puddle that stained the floor where Wenda had been lying.  Her body was no longer on the floor and Merek turned his gaze up to search for her but she was nowhere to be found. 

              Both of them spun when they heard another scream fill the air.  The sound of it had come from the second floor and Merek released his grip on Myra’s hand to lift his discarded sword from the ground then walked to the bottom of the stairs to peer up.  He tried his best to see what was going on but the heavy fog blocked his vision.  He turned to Myra and motioned for her to follow as he took the first step. 

              Myra shook her head and took a step backwards.  He knew there would be no convincing the girl to follow him. 

              “Wait here.”  He told her and he began his ascent through the fog. 

              More screams filled his ears and he quickened his pace but just as he reached the top of the stairs, strong hands grasped him by the tunic and pulled him forward.  He gasped in surprise as he was pulled off his feet and in the darkness he caught a glimpse of teeth aiming for his neck.  Instinctively he raised his sword, causing the shadow walker that wished to rip apart his throat to skewer itself on the tip of his blade.  The shining eyes instantly went dead as the shadow was ripped apart from the flesh. 

              Merek jumped back and took a moment to calm his shaking hands.  He then leaned forward and lifted the shadow walker off the ground to look at the face and discovered that it was not the body of Wenda that had attacked him.  When he turned his gaze upwards, he could see her victims emerging from their rooms- their still fresh blood spilling from their gaping wounds.  The black fog swirled around them and seemed to be pushing them forward as though they were puppets.