The Silent Isle (25 page)

The dogs were on
the wall also.  Their presence gave Rawl a measure of comfort.  But
what held his attention was outside the wall.  He joined his brother
overlooking the western meadow where they had an unobstructed view of the
figures gathering there.  Rawl stared for a moment in silence.  “What
are they?” he finally asked. 

“Well, I figure
they’re
what’s
been plaguing us,” Paul said.

Rawl glanced at
his brother and then back to the meadow.  “I know that, brother.  But
what
are
they?”

Paul shrugged.
 
“Got me.”

***

There was no
path along the stream and the going was difficult.  Dane fought his way
through thorns and the tangling undergrowth.  He never stopped calling her
name.  He used her true name.  He had never used it out loud or in
front of other people, but he felt somehow now it was the right thing to do, as
though it had more power to call her back. 

He came out
suddenly into a little clearing.  There was a strange chill in the air and
a faint smell of burning mingled with the damp-earth smell from the rain. 
A sudden movement to his left caught his eye and he swung towards it.  He
froze. 

His first thought
was to doubt whether he had ever woken up this morning because the whole day
felt now like a fever dream – Bax needing his help, this nightmare search for
Mirela, and now, this
thing
that stood before him between the
trees.  He doubted what he saw because it was
an
impossibility
, an absurdity, an image from one of the death cults. 
But there was a certain weight to the feel of everything, even the damp clothes
clinging to his
skin, that
made him know he was not
dreaming.  And he knew, without needing anyone to tell him, that this
thing that watched him from the clearing’s edge was everything a Tiran held in
mind when he spoke the word (or more likely, refused to speak the word) ‘
shriken
.’ 

Dane paused only
for a moment.  Then he remembered himself.  He raised his crossbow at
the creature with a shout and at the same moment remembered the string had lost
its power.  It mattered not.  The thing turned and disappeared into
the trees.  Dane stood staring at the place where it had vanished.  A
strange noise startled him, and he turned back towards the clearing.  He
found himself staring into Bax’s eyes. 

Bax stood at the
other side of the small clearing.  His spear lay at his feet and he was
holding something red and pink and slick in his hands.  Dane felt a strange
surge of euphoria.  Mirela had delivered a healthy baby and Bax was
holding it and everything would be alright.  Then his dream-daze entered
the heavy world of reality and came crashing down and shattered to pieces and
Dane knew what he’d really known the instant he saw Bax. 

Bax was not
holding a human infant.  He was holding his own intestines. 

Dane wanted to
move but felt like the earth held his feet in an unbreakable clutch.  Bax
sank to his knees.  His eyes were pointed at Dane, but he did not seem to
be seeing Dane at all. 

“Mother,” he
said.  “I’m sorry.” 

Then he
fell
forward face-first.  With his cloak drawn over his
head, Bax’s body looked like a shapeless mass, as though it were melting into the
mud in which it lay.  Dane did not know when the rain had stopped but he
noticed now that it had.  He stood there, staring at the body before
him. 
Wasn’t it just like Bax to go out like this? 
Without giving him a chance to speak.
 
Without giving him a chance to apologize.
  Not for his
last words.  Not for the last 29 years. 

Dane finally
found the will to move his legs.  He turned Bax over and dragged his body
out of the mud onto a higher bit of grass.  He covered his face and his
horrible wound with his cloak.  He was about to continue on when he
remembered the spear.  He laid his crossbow on the grass by Bax and picked
up the spear and dove into the woods once more.

He came to a
fork in the stream in which a smaller stream ran out of the one he was following
towards the west.  There, in the fork, between the arms of the Y, he found
Mirela.  She was kneeling with her back to him as he came up.  He
called her name.  She turned towards him slowly and rose.  Her eyes
were red and there were dirty streaks on her face.  She was holding a
small gardening shovel and her skirt
was
caked with
mud from the knees down.  All these things he took in in a moment and in
the next moment his arms were around her.  He lifted her off the
ground.  They both buried their heads against the other’s neck.  He
realized then that all the anger he’d directed at Bax was terror at the thought
of losing her.

He set her down
but kept his hands on her shoulders.  “What are you doing out here?”

She glanced over
her shoulder to a patch of freshly turned earth.  “I wanted to bury the
child.”

“But…,” he
began.

“I know,” she
said.  “None of this was what I wanted.  But it was still a part of
me.”

He nodded. 
“Bax is dead.”

“That’s not what
I would have wanted either,” she said.

His eyes strayed
to the little grave.  It sat between the arms of the stream.  He
looked her in the eyes once more.  “He was worried about you.  I
think he wanted to make things up to you; he just didn’t know how.”

She said
nothing.

“Can I help you
here?” he asked.

“No,” she
said.  “I’m finished.”  She pulled away from him.  “We must be
getting back.  Bax isn’t the only one who may lose his life today.”

“You mean you
think they’re headed for the settlement?”

“No, Dane,” she
said.  “I think they’re already there.”

Rawl thought they looked most
like birds.  Their heads were like birds’ heads, with long, pointed
beaks.  Their legs also were like those of birds, long and slender and
scaly.  But their bodies and arms were more like men’s, although they were
much too slender. 
And too tall.
  Rawl
guessed the shortest of the creatures mustered in the field was taller than the
tallest man in Dane’s company.  They were entirely black.  The kind
of thing you imagine to be engraved on the altar of a blood cult. 
Something about the way they moved made Rawl queasy.  Watching one of them
walk in profile taught him why.  Their legs bent backwards at the knee
instead of forwards like a man’s.  This also made him think of
birds.  But he saw they had arms and hands (clawed he thought, though he
could not see clearly for the distance) instead of wings.  Their bodies
from the legs up were covered in coarse black, but he did not know if this were
feathers or hair or spines.  Each creature carried a flail in its left
hand and a sickle in its right.

Rawl spotted one
creature in the center of the meadow which was different from the others. 
It was shorter and squatter and its head was naked like a vultures. 
Draped about its neck were tattered pieces of cloth.  Had Rawl been
closer, he would have seen the cloths had beads and bits of bone knotted into
the ends of them.  This creature held no weapons but was writhing and
moving its arms up and down in sporadic jerks. 

“It’s been doing
that since before you got up here,” Paul said when Rawl indicated the creature.

The other
creatures stood in silence, watching the wall.

Bailus was
watching the writhing creature, too.  When he had called the men to the
wall, he had turned back to the meadow and found he was looking straight into
its eyes, as though they were standing right next to each other.  And then
it had spoken to him.  Not in an audible voice but inside his
head,
and he knew it was the creature and that this
vulture-headed thing was the leader of the others.

Would you
like to know what happened to those who walked those walls before you?
the
voice said. 
Would you like to know how they
died?  Would it surprise you to know their women and children endured more
than the men?  Lay down your arms, gray-head, and you need not know the
pain they endured.

Bailus was no
mystic, but he knew in that moment how to respond to this thing.  He
thought back at it. 
Go to hell.

The thing in his
head laughed. 
Old dirt-son, where is it you think I come from?

Bailus broke off
his gaze, and when he looked back at it, the thing had begun to writhe. 

“They don’t have
any ladders,” Paul said.  “I wonder what they plan to do with the walls.”

“I wish we had
the ballista from the ship,” Rawl said.  “That would push them back to a
respectful distance.”

Paul kept his
eyes on the creatures.  “I’d swap ten such ballistae to have you at my
side, little brother.”

“Well,” Rawl
said, “I’d rather catch it like this, facing them in broad daylight, than get
shot in the back when I stop to take a leak on patrol.  And having you
beside me isn’t so bad either.”

Paul smiled.
 Then he spotted something moving into the meadow and his smile
evaporated.  “Look at that.”

“Well, I’ll be,”
Rawl said.

Rundal, Crane,
Smith, and Gundar stepped out of the trees on the north side of the meadow and
joined the ranks of the creatures.

“What’s that
supposed to mean?” Bailus said.

“I think they’re
sending us a message, sir,” Paul said.  “If we surrender, they’ll spare
our lives.”

“Spare our
lives?” Bailus snorted.  “I wouldn’t surrender to these things to save my
soul.”  He turned to Rawl and Paul.  “Look, these ninnies can dance
around all they want out there, but as soon as they come in range, you send
them screaming into the abyss.”

“Yes, sir,” the
twins said. 

And that was
when Rawl felt the first rain drop.  It was a huge, heavy drop that struck
his arm, which rested on the battlement before him, and splattered his
face.  Then the skies broke loose.  Paul had taken off his oilskin
cloak and set it against the wall at his feet.  He quickly tucked his bow
under it.  Rawl had no cloak and so no way to protect his bowstring. 

“You don’t think
he was…”

“Doing a rain
dance?” Rawl finished.

Paul moved
closer to his brother.  It was hard to hear over the downpour.  “I
never really believed that stuff.  But we haven’t had a drop since we’ve
landed and this is awfully bad timing.”

“He’s almost as
good as Elias,” Rawl said grimly. 

The shaman, for
Rawl was now quite sure that was the role of the vulture-headed creature, had stopped
moving.

The rain fell
until water stood in the ruts and low places of the courtyard.  The planks
of the wall-walk were slick and shining.  And then, as suddenly as it had
started, the downpour stopped.

The shaman
creature was moving again.  It was thrusting its hands over the field in
sweeping circles with its palms down.  Then it would close its hands and
raise them towards the sky.  It repeated this several times. 

A very strange
thing began to happen.  It seemed at first that the ground of the meadow
was vibrating or shaking or even boiling.  Then small dark objects began
to rise from the grass.  They rose first around the shaman’s legs and then
all over the field.  Some were small, the size of hen’s eggs, others the
size of a man’s fist, and others bigger still. 

“Are those
stones?” Rawl asked.

“Rawl,” Bailus
said, “Check the armory for any spare bows.  The ones up here are wasted
now.”

“Yes, sir,” Rawl
said and ran for the stairs.

Paul continued
to watch the vulture-headed leader.  The creature began to make squatting
movements as though performing calisthenics.  It would crouch, and then
slowly, as though with great effort, rise up, raising its open hands above it
as it did.  It did this many times and each time the stones rose higher
above the field.  When the stones disappeared against the dark sky, the
motions ceased but the creature’s hands remained extended above its head. 
The shaman then made thrusting movements with its hands towards the wall, palms
open.  It would quickly draw them back to its body and repeat the pushing
movement.  The shaman gave one final thrust of its hands and then its arms
dropped limply to its side and it staggered forward.  Two of the warriors
caught the sagging body before it hit the ground.

“Well,” said
Paul.  “That was the darnedest thing that I ever did see.”

Even as he
spoke, the air filled with a humming, whistling whine.  Bailus grabbed
Paul and shoved him roughly down and against the wall.  “Cover,” he
shouted.

***

Rawl turned the
armory inside out but only found a single spare crossbow.  In searching
for others, he did find a hip quiver full of bolts.  He strapped this at
his side and ran back into the courtyard.  He heard Aaron shouting from
his cell.  “Let me out.  Please let me out of here.” 

Rawl felt awful
for him but had no authority to do anything.  He was halfway to the stairs
when he heard Bailus shout, “Cover.” 

He was running
too hard to hear the whine of the incoming stones but guessed it was some
threat of inbound missiles.  Clutching the bow to his chest, he took a
running slide through the mud and slipped between the wheels of a wagon just as
the first stones struck. 

They made
strange thwip-thump noises as they smashed into the mud about the wagon. 
Rawl heard the clatter of others striking the walls mixed with anguished
cries.  He was on his back, and as he lay looking up at the bottom of the
wagon, a stone crashed through two planks of the wagon bed and lodged there,
inches from his face.  The whole barrage lasted only a few seconds,
replaced by silence and soft groaning from the walls.  As Rawl crawled out
from under the wagon, he heard his brother shout, “Here they come.”

***

Paul had spent
the barrage smashed between the corner of the battlement and Bailus. 
Bailus’s shield had been slung over his back so that the rocks glanced off of
it like blows on a tortoise shell.  As soon as the sound and feel of
falling stones ceased, Bailus jumped to his feet, pulling Paul up with
him.  Paul’s first glimpse back over the parapet showed him the black
creatures running full tilt at the walls.  They were halfway across the
meadow already.  “Here they come,” he shouted. 

His bow lay
forgotten at his feet.  He slipped his shield off his back and gripped his
spear, and in that time the creatures
were
at the
narrow cleared track of earth before the walls.  They did not slow their
pace as they reached the wall, and as they struck it they did one of two
things.  Some of them, with their weapons clenched in their beaks, sprang
onto the walls and, gripping with hands and feet, shot up them like giant
four-legged spiders.  Had any member of Dane’s patrol been on the walls
save Owen, they would have known what they had seen that night climbing
sideways along the cliff face.  The others kept their weapons in their
hands and, reaching the foot of the wall, leapt upwards, gouged the wall with
their sickles and swung up on them like a lever and in the next instant slung
their flails so that the jointed midsection wedged between two logs at the top of
the wall.  With this hold and sheer momentum, they swung themselves
over. 

Kit Forsythe
stood above the south gate.  As the creatures broke from the trees and
entered the cleared ribbon of earth on his side he hurled his javelin at the
forerunner.  Forsythe’s comrades had boasted he could knock a rising
pheasant or wild turkey out of the air with his aim, but the creature swirled
around the shaft like smoke as the metal tip buried itself in the earth. 
In the time it took Forsythe to recover from his shock and draw his knife, the
thing had gained the summit of the wall.  As it swung down onto the
wall-walk, Forsythe struck it a slash that sent it spinning into the courtyard
below.  But even before Forsythe had a chance to shift his stance, a second
creature landed behind him.  The sickle flashed like a wicked smile as it
came down on his neck.  His head struck the battlement with a crack. 
For a whole second his body just stood there as though it no longer knew what
to do.  Then it collapsed in a heap.

Paul held onto
his spear.  As the first creature swung itself over the wall he positioned
the shaft at a perpendicular to its body so that its whole weight and force
fell on the blade.  There was a horrible crunching-ripping noise and an
even more horrible scream from the creature as the blade passed clear through
the other side of its body.  The death-writhing of the thing was so awful
it tore the shaft from Paul’s hands and spear and creature tumbled off the wall
together into the courtyard. 

Even as the impaled
creature fell from the wall, a second landed behind Paul.  He held only
his shield.  If he’d taken time to think it through he doubtlessly would
have been killed.  But thinking things through was not something of which
Paul was often guilty.  He threw his weight against the creature, keeping
his shield between them as he drove it against the wall.  The thing’s ribs
gave like a chicken’s that had been boiled all day for stock. 
Bird
bones
, Paul thought. 

A third perched
on the tip of the logs above him.  Even as Paul crushed the life from the
second, he saw, from the corner of his eye, the third raise its sickle above
his bared back.  Suddenly, a black blur struck the creature square in the
chest.  It gave a terrible croaking cry and tumbled backwards over the
wall and out of sight.  Paul turned to nod a breathless thanks to his
rescuer, and that was when he saw his brother die.

***

Rawl had paused
to load his crossbow when he heard his brother’s shouted warning,
then
he had sprinted for the steps.  At the top of the
steps, he had bounded over a prone figure which he knew by the shade of its
cloak to be Owen.  As he passed the lower cutouts in the walls, he could
see, in flickering glimpses out of the corner of his eye, the black creatures
charging out of the trees.  He heard screams behind him as he ran. 
He saw Paul skewer the first enemy over the wall and smash the second. 
Then, when he was still 20 paces away, he saw the third crouch on the wall
above his brother and
draw
its sickle from between its
beak. 

Rawl skidded to
a stop on the slick boards.  He knew he only had time for one shot, if
that.  He set his stance, took a deep breath, sighted down the bolt, and,
as he let out his breath, he slowly squeezed the trigger.  It was a
perfect shot, but even as it hit home, Rawl felt more than saw a
shriken
come over the wall behind him.  He spun.  He deflected the sweep of
the sickle with his crossbow but the flail struck him across the face so hard
that his head spun around like an owl’s on his neck.  He dropped from the
wall like a stone.

When Paul saw
Rawl’s body fall limply to the courtyard, he remembered his bow and forgot
himself.  He hurled his shield at his brother’s killer like a giant,
iron-rimmed discus.  The
shriken
sidestepped the spinning shield,
stepped so far it almost fell of the wall-walk, staggered back, regained its
footing and turned on Paul just in time to catch his first bolt through its
throat.

Paul wasted no
time with the steps.  He leapt straight off the wall.  Even as he
dropped, a
shriken
fell beside him, landing between him and his
brother.  He shot at it wildly as he stumbled to regain his balance. 
The creature dodged and darted towards him.  Paul stumbled backwards and,
guided by providence or by sheer dumb luck, he walked into a narrow alley-like
space.  He had been standing above the woodworking shop.  The narrow
space he backed into now was formed by one wall of the workshop and the heavy
boards that had been leaned against it in layers.  He retreated until the
outer wall was against his back.  The
shriken
came after him. 
It had no room to dodge in here.  He killed it easily.