Fergal F Nally [Nally - Runestane

Runestane

By

Fergal F. Nally

It begins, watch your back, enjoy the ride

Copyright Fergal F. Nally 2012

The moral right of Fergal F. Nally to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act, 1988.

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Cover design by Beetiful Book Covers

Mist clung to the mans cloak as he stood, waiting. Darkness approached silently. Still he waited. Ahead of him in the distance lay a cabin, a solitary light burning in one window, a small ray of life amongst the emptiness of the night. The smell of moist earth smothered him; he could taste the steely chill of the mountain air.

Embraced by the night, the watcher moved in on the lone dwelling, stealthily. Uninvited. Suddenly, the light from the window died. There was emptiness all around; damp cold seemed to writhe through his bones. Something was wrong, he could sense it.

For a moment, he considered abandoning his plan, but then reality resurfaced. He had not eaten in two days; he had no coin and no friends, nor even acquaintances in this godforsaken region. His sickness was also progressing, slowly gnawing at him, weakening him by the day. He was an outcast, unclean, no one would help him; desperation was his only ally. No, he must do this. He had to do this.

Ashina, Ashina forgive me

He had seen the old man that day, unobserved, from the cover of the forest. He had appeared from the cabin about noon, had gone about gathering wood and drawing fresh water from the nearby stream. He appeared alone; he was alone. This would be easy; still, to avoid unnecessary violence he waited until darkness when the old man would be asleep, before he made his move. A soft breeze rustled the treetops. The stream; black velvet liquid, danced through the night. He crept towards the cabin.

Drawing near to the window, he carefully peered in from the side, a shadow amongst shadows. A small fire was lit, barely a fire, he thought. He could see a table in the centre of the floor, and signs of a recent meal; scattered leftovers amongst some papers on the table. The rest of the room was shrouded in darkness. The old man had to be asleep in the back room.

Etaine, little one, what are you doing now? Etaine my sweet flower

He approached the door. Carefully, he tried the latch; there was no lock, only a simple latch and bolt. Surprisingly, the latch lifted soundlessly and the door opened into the waiting gloom.

He waited, listening, not a sound came from within. The flames from the small fire seemed impotent and on the point of exhaustion, suffocated by darkness. He moved on, into the room and neared the table. The floor was made of stone, and did not betray his presence with any sound. He looked around the room. Outside, the trees sighed and rain began to caress the earth softly.

Is that you Ashina ? Do you call me ?

Hungrily, he snapped up the remaining food from the table: some bread, cheese and a few strips of cured meat. This he washed down with water from a nearby jug. Then an object caught his attention on the table. He felt called to it.

His hand darted out and grasped the stone; it was cool to the touch and transparent, like some large uncut gem. He brought it close to his face and inspected it in more detail. He thought he saw a stirring in its depths, a haziness growing. He was entranced, and watched, captivated.

The clear stone shimmered and grew warm in his hand. He could see shapes moving within. He felt himself somehow being drawn into the stone. This was impossible, a cold icy feeling gripped his heart and fear rose up inside him, fear unlike any he had ever known; instinctual, primal, base. A new awareness swept over him, a feeling of belonging, of ownership, this stone somehow was his, was meant to be his. Or, was he being claimed by it?

Pretty, isnt it? a voice said from the shadows.

The spell was broken, he jumped, startled. All thoughts of attack or escape evaporated when he saw who spoke. It was the old man.

I didnt mean to his words fell, dead, to the floor.

A heavy silence descended. The two men stood staring at each other. The old man broke the silence first.

Ive been waiting for you to come. My time is nearing its end. You have come at last to take possession of the relic.

The thief clutched the shimmering stone to his chest.

The bone weary voice seemed brittle and tight, trapped by life, as if it was no longer of this world. What name do you go by? he asked.

II have no namesince the sickness the thief whispered.

Ah, yes, the sickness that is of no importance for you now, for others, yes, but for you, now, a thing soon to be a distant memory. The old man drew near, and extended his hand, it is time for you to sleep with that, the intruder fell into the arms of oblivion and knew no more.

A light grew in his unconscious state. At first, just a pinprick in the distance. It slowly increased in size. He was drawn to it and felt himself moving through the void towards it. He was being summoned. Curiously, he felt no fear, just a sense of detachment, as if watching through anothers eyes at his own body, small and insignificant, moving towards the now unfolding, expanding light.

Take me home Father, take me home. I have had enough .

Suddenly, he found himself suspended above a vast desert. Below him in all directions black sand extended as far as the eye could see. This place seemed familiar to him, familiar and sad. He was pulled onwards, to the distant horizon.

Once more, white brilliance exploded all around; a new scene unfolded. Again familiar but this time a sense of violation, desecration and devastation pervaded all he saw. His senses were shocked, assaulted with images of unspeakable horror and depravity. He saw faces, some of people he knew in his former life, before the sickness.

This cannot be, it is not meant to be like this

The vision collapsed in on itself. Once again, darkness reigned. A sense of panic, of suffocation grew. He felt sick; a trickle of rancid sweat ran down his neck. Then the sounds came. Lyrical, lilting and liquid softness caressed his ears. He closed his eyes and fell into the sound. His sense of movement stopped, the sound grew dim and receded. He opened his eyes.

Before him was a forest, but unlike any he had ever seen. The trees grew thick and thin crowding the ground, impenetrable in places. They thrust up endlessly into the sky above, looking as if they had always been there, serene and ageless. Moist dankness pervaded the atmosphere. From out of the heart of the forest spilled a path. He chose to follow it.

Sacred Mother I am in your hands. Take me now .

Moving along the path his speed quickened. A sense of urgency overcame him and he broke into a run. Blindly he leapt ahead, seeking an answer to the mystery. With a final burst of energy he pushed through the forest into a clearing. He was faced with emptiness. Nothing awaited him; there was no answer to the riddle.

He tried to move but his feet did not respond. A cloying sense of decay crept around him niggling and needling. Colour drained from the clearing, haemorrhaging into thin air. His heart pounding, he shouted forth into the stillness: what is it, what do you want of me? He fell down and sobbed.