Bones

Mottled pink light of the coming sunrise filtered through thick fog across a small lake. A huddled figure stirred at the base of a giant oak along the shore. The figure was an ancient looking woman, cloaked in a raggedy robe. Stringy hair hung over her creased face and touched the ground as she rummaged in the leaf litter. At last, her dry old hands held what looked like a lump of animal fur. Her thick grey nails tore into the pellet, revealing small bones, ribs, a skull. She examined the tiny rodent skeleton delicately. Running her fingers over the smooth clean bone, scraping into the crannies of each one with a sharp nail. Satisfied, she placed the bones and fur into a basket and stood up. Hunchbacked and stiff, she began to make her way along the shore to a narrow trail that met the lake. The eerie quiet was broken with an owl’s hoot. It was a sound that filled your ears and brought a heaviness to your heart. The woman looked up as a great barn owl flew overhead. Following the raptor with her eyes she watched as it landed high in the branches of the oak. Another hoot echoed across the lake. The sun was rising, burning away the heavy mist that clung to the trees and covered the water. The forager was gone. Birds began their songs, breaking the night into day.

A wooden wagon with a family of three creaked as it went over rocks and sticks of the overgrown road. The horse, a brown mare, trudged onwards with little spirit. A father and mother with their son sat across the front bench of the wagon. Holding the reigns, the tall, broad shouldered man looked like a seasoned merchant. His curly dark hair hung in loose ringlets about his forehead, touching heavy eyebrows, furrowed and focused. The small boy was thin and resembled his father only with his dark curls. His mother was a thin and of a fairer complexion. She hid from the intense sun beneath woolen robes. The family was well dressed in loom woven wools and worked leather. Their faces, however, were weary and bored. They had been traveling for several weeks in hopes of making it through the Singhai Forest. Many families began to move beyond the forest that divided the continent in search of new land at the opposite coast and perhaps a better life. Some said there was more wealth than one could enjoy at the warmer waters on the other side of Singhai. But to cross through the forest was dangerous, and the path around might take your entire life. Few dared the journey to the new lands.

“Whoooooah….easy girl!”

The horse slowed and the wagon halted atop a hill. Ahead, as the road lead down to the tree line, where the vast expanse of dark and dense forest continued. The trees seemed to extend in all directions as far as the eye could see. Mountainous valleys created deep tracks across the horizon. Large bluffs and stone outcroppings shone in the midday sun, their white stone stark against the deep emerald of the forest. This was an old place. The enormous pines predated the first arrival of mankind onto this continent.

“It never ends!”

The boy of about ten exclaimed in frustration as they surveyed the seemingly infinite sea of trees.

“Hush now boy. I think I see something up ahead.”

Nested between several bluffs, there was a lake that could be seen from the hill. Squinting at the lake, the father could barely make out stone and wooden huts. A bit of smoke billowed from some chimney nearby and a faint smell of bread reached their noses. Finally! A place to resupply and sleep in a bed for the night. The wagon began to move again following the road down into the forest and to the lake.

The village market was in full swing. Modest but proud workers of the land and streams displayed their wares and traded with each other. The village was a deeply isolated place, as the surroundings deterred most travelers. In fact, to find such a village in the Singhai Forest would be a surprise to any well traveled person with worldly knowledge.

As the wagon rolled into the small clearing near the market, two men taking note of the travelers, began to head toward them. The boy’s mother, pale and worried, clung to her husband, watching the approaching men.

“Are you sure this is safe? We haven’t any real weapons. Just the axe and hunting knife.”

“Look at these people, Gwenn, they haven’t any weapons either. They may have fish and bread though, and we haven’t had a full belly in days.”

She frowned but agreed as the deep pangs of hunger were hard to ignore. He patted her arm reassuringly and stopped the wagon, waving energetically to greet their welcomers.

The two men flanked the wagon. One, thin and wearing muddy linen clothes, came to the mare and patted their horse to steady the beast. The other man, better dressed and muscular, spoke to them.

“Name yourselves, strangers!” There was a wariness in his tone that made Gwenn squeeze tighter to her husband.

“Good day to you kind sirs! My name is Duncan, I am traveling with my wife Gwenn and our son Randall. We mean you and your village no harm nor violence. We seek provisions and beds if you can spare them. We are weary and hungry from long travel. Any hospitality will be generously repaid, we have much to trade with.”

“Aye, and a good day to you ser. We only mean to know who comes to our lake. Please take no offense. Our community sees few outsiders and we mean to keep what little we have safe. My name is Boyd and this here is Tallow.” He pointed at the other man with ruffled blonde hair.

Boyd nodded to Tallow and smiled at the family, his wary demeanor now fading to reveal a jolly natured man.

“Welcome to our lake. Please stay and rest. We all live modestly but won’t refuse a family in need. Tallow will see to getting you a room and hay for your animal.”

Tallow patted the horse and lead it by the reigns into the village, pulling the family along.

Once settled into their tiny hovel at the back of a clay hut, the family headed to the market. There weren’t many stands, mostly vegetable and fish carts in front of homes. Two long tables of breads in front of the bakery filled the market with sweet aroma. A few women sat and chattered while hand stitching clothing, more of their work hanging on ropes extending between trees. The town folk kept to themselves but Duncan could feel their curious eyes following his family as they traded for food and provisions. The day was nearly at an end, the last of the golden sunlight poured through the trees onto the market. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves and the hanging clothes. A soft melody reached Duncan’s ears as he was sizing up a pair of well made boots. He looked about him for the source of this music.

At the very edge of the clearing, barely near the market, an old and bent over lady was sitting on a stump beneath a tree. She had no cart or stand. Instead, in the low branches of the tree hung some sort of trinkets. Dangling and moving in the wind the ornaments created a soft melody as their swaying bumped them against each other. For a reason he could not explain, Duncan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The strange sight of this woman made him feel like he was dreaming. Who was she and how did he not notice her earlier? He set out across the clearing to look at her wares. As he approached an uneasy sensation turned over in the pit of his stomach. The old woman gazed at him calmly as Duncan moved closer. Before he could ask what her name was, he was close enough to see that the wind chimes weren’t made from glass or metal. The intricate arrangements were made of polished bones and animal skulls. Beautiful designs were etched into each set, unique and ornate.

“What is your name and why are you selling such foul and unholy trinkets of satan?!”

Duncan spoke sternly and with conviction. He has seen many witches in his travels. Real ones, dangerous and wicked. He was already determined to expose this one for what she was. The old woman looked up at him, eyes cloudy with age, sunken deep, and gave no reply. She merely nodded gesturing to the bone arrangements as if for him to pick one. Her withered hands went back to her lap, crooked fingers cradling each other. Her long, grey, and pointed nails looked more like talons than nails Duncan thought. On her right hand was a ring with an enormous gemstone, perhaps an emerald that has lost its luster long ago. It was set in a beautiful gold band with elegant swirls and shapes. Much like the ring and the hands, her clothing was dull and worn, from what seemed like a hundred years of life. A dirty green linen dress was mostly obscured by a rough cloak the color of grey clay. The fabrics must have been mended many times over, yet they continued to fray.

The silence lengthened, causing Duncan to grow impatient and irritated. Finally, he raised his voice and demanded that she, a witch, revealed herself to him! Before any further threats could be made, a few of the villagers and Gwenn, ran over to them. The villagers calmed him and Boyd put a heavy hand on Duncan’s shoulder. He explained that this hermit woman has lived nearby in the forest for as long as any of them have lived on this land. Perhaps longer. She meant no harm to him as she caused none to them.

“She has always lived here. A mute as far as anyone knows.” Boyd continued to vouch for the old hag. “Nor does she have much to trade for food with. She makes these charms from owl pellets. Many women in the village believe they to ward off evil spirits. But you know women and their pretty things.” Boyd laughed and noded his head over to the hanging arrangements where several village women and Gwenn were chatting and admiring the bones. “Looks like your wife might like one better than you’d have guessed! Ha ha.”

Duncan ran to Gwenn and whispered to her not to touch anything. He grabbed her arm and was about to start back to their lodging. As they turned about, the old hermit woman stood before them. Her bent over figure, hunched and unsteady, barely came to Duncan’s chest height. With a thin smile, she extended to him an arrangement of bones. It was smaller compared to the other ones hanging in the tree, but by far the most ornate one. Duncan wanted to push the woman out of their way as his wife yanked his arm firmly. He fought back and settled on moving around the hag. The villagers murmured and Duncan felt Boyd’s firm grip on his shoulder again. There was a tension in the air that was unmistakable. It seemed that there was no polite way to decline the strange offering.

Boyd nodded reassuringly as Duncan turned back to him and the hermit woman. “She wants to give you a gift! A token of our welcome. To protect you during your travels. Please take it! Do not offend us, dear guests!”

“Just take it, dear! It is a lovely thing, is it not?” Gwenn’s eyes gestured anxiously at him as the other women whispered loudly, jealous of this generous offering despite his rudeness. Duncan steeled his gaze upon the gift bearer and silently took the bones from her. The villagers clapped and cheered as they gestured for Duncan and his wife to follow them back to the market center.

Duncan suspiciously eyed the wretched bone talisman gift as they ate supper in their tiny room. His wife marveled at how oddly beautiful the arrangement was, but her eyes showed fear. Duncan was resolved. He intended on forgetting the bones in this very room when they left in the morning. Even Gwenn confessed she thought the bone trinkets scary, but felt like they could not decline the gift and keep the favor of their hosts. She hung up the bones near the back window. What harm could it do them in one night? They will go to bed and rest at peace. At first light they will leave this odd little village to continue their journey beyond the forest. Duncan blew out the candles and settled in with his wife and son on a long straw mattress. Sleep came swiftly and effortlessly. All was dark and quiet. Moonlight poured through the window, casting long shadows from the bones across the room. The shadows began to move as the bones swayed and swirled around, clanking. Duncan stirred in his sleep. A feverish dream haunted his mind. Violent visions of beasts, larger and unlike any he had ever seen, feasting on entire villages of men and women. Rivers of blood running through the streets. He must wake from this nightmare. How? He tossed anxiously in his sleep. Suddenly, it was quiet. Lush blossoms cover the ground, producing a wonderful fragrance. Succulent fruits ripe for the picking hung on ancient trees. Duncan spun about in wonder. Was he still dreaming? He walked over to a nearby tree. A beautifully green apple hung on a low branch before him. He put his hand around it, feeling how real and heavy it was. Snap. He yanked it off the branch and bit into the fruit hungrily. Sweet juices ran down his chin. This had to be the most delicious thing he has ever tasted on this good earth. As he savored, he became aware of a familiar melody softly chiming. Barely audible but growing in volume. He headed toward the direction of its source. Coming into a clearing, he saw a tree, centered and surrounded by wildflowers. Now he could hear the bones. The same melody he heard at the market! No music. Just rodent bones clanking in that tree! Disgusted, Duncan turned away to find his way out of this hellish garden. Though as he went further from the clearing, the clanking of the bones only got louder. He began to run. In his panic, he tripped over a root and fell to the ground. The garden was spinning about him. The apple that fell from his hand was no longer green but a withered brown core. Rotted and dry. He felt his hands shrivel and the life fade out of him. That witch had poisoned him! As blackness took him, he could still hear the bones echoing in his ears. Duncan woke in a sudden and anxious half-scream. Gwenn leapt to his side, startled. It was just a horrible nightmare. Just a dream. Curse this strange village! They had to get out of there!

It was not yet dawn, but Duncan woke his son and ordered him and Gwenn to pack their things. They would not stay here another moment! He hurried to get their horse and ready the wagon. The air was colder than he expected and a heavy mist had settled over the small village. He could barely make his way to find the stables. Their horse was unsteady and anxious. He gently patted the brown mare and spoke to her as he untied the ropes.

“Shh…there there, girl. We’re getting out of here, don’t worry.”

Crunch.

“Who goes there!?” Duncan hissed at the intruder behind him. With the reigns in hand, he turned to confront his stalker. The blood drained from his face as he saw the entire village, somber and silent, standing before him, blocking his way out of the stable. Their expressions were strange and empty. The previously warm eyes were hollow and without color. He yelled out at them.

“I’m warnin’ ya! Let me go. We…I…my family leaves tonight! Outta my way!!!”

As he shouted, the villagers didn’t move nor did they speak. A sudden pain in his chest bent Duncan over and onto all fours. He began to feel his throat burning. He coughed, grasping at his chest as blood sputtered out of his mouth and onto the fresh hay. He knew then. Whatever energy he could muster, whatever he had in him, he had make it to his family and run. Duncan spat the blood violently toward the blank grey faces at the gates. He leapt up, mounting his horse and whispered to her through a haggard breath.

“Let’s go. One more ride. Hyah!”

He whipped the reigns and they leapt forward toward the villagers, clearing them overhead. Just two minutes is all they needed to get to Gwenn and Randall. Together they galloped back to the hut through the mist. It was nearly sunrise and a pink light was breaking through the tree tops across the lake.

Duncan burst through the door and stumbled into the tiny room where he left his family. He could hardly stand up as he felt his lungs fill with blood. He collapsed to his knees, clutching the door for support. The room was quiet and in the dim light he could not see them. Where were they? He tried to call out to his wife, but his words were blocked by blood as he wretched and coughed. He raised his head shakily and with no breath left, mouthed the words he could not utter, as tears flowed from his eyes. Then at last, he saw them. Their bodies of the floor, the color of life having left them already, their arms and legs stiff and motionless. He gasped and struggling to crawl to them only to fall forward. No, this cannot be. This is a dream. With great effort, Duncan heaved himself upright against the door frame. Weeping, he reached a shaky hand out to his family. Then through the ringing in his ears and the pain inside his head, he heard footsteps behind him. A skirt swished past him and stopped before him. His trembling head lifted to the woman in front of him. A tall beauty gazed calmly down upon his shuddering, bleeding form. Her eyes were a clear and burning green flame just like the massive emerald in the gold ring adorning her right hand, polished and emitting an eerie green light. The witch knelt down to and cradled Duncan’s face with elegant hands. His eyes shook in horror as she smiled a thin smile. As life left Duncan, she kissed his forehead, letting his head drop and his body slump over onto the floor. Red morning light diffused into the room.

The witch emerged from the hut into the early morning and looked about her. The village was no longer anywhere to be seen and the hut was a mere shack. She climbed into the wagon, grabbed the reigns and the brown mare reluctantly moved forward at her command. As she drove away, a huge owl flew overhead, soaring into the forest as a new day was born and the hunt was over.