He did not say if you return, but he might just as well have.
Dodinal looked at Emlyn, Hywel’s closest friend, and was more than a little relieved to see the bowman nod his approval.
It made sense. As much as they liked him, there was no denying Hywel was a dead weight. He would hold them back when they needed to hurry. He would be no use in a fight, and could not defend himself from attack.
No, it would be better this way. At least they knew one of them would survive the journey. Maybe one day, if his sight recovered, he would make his way home and tell the villagers what had happened.
“We accept your kind offer,” Dodinal said. “Seeing as we will be away with the dawn, perhaps you will tell us now where to find the creatures, to save us having to disturb you before we leave.”
“You first,” the old man said. “Tell me what brought you here. Not just you, Dodinal, though I sense you’re different from the rest. All of you. What happened to bring you to this cursed place?”
Dodinal saw no reason to complicate matters by telling of his own past. So he began at the point where Ellis had arrived in their village and recounted the tale from there on as quickly as he could. The old man listened intently. His eyes clouded with pain when he heard how they had found the missing boy’s body in the snow. His face twisted with anger as Dodinal described the attack on the village and the ensuing slaughter, followed by the taking of the two children.
When the story was told, the old man sat in silence. Then he slowly shook his head. “Dear God, it’s worse than I thought.” His words were thick with emotion. “And it’s all my fault. All our fault.”
“Don’t blame yourself.” Dodinal failed to see how one frail and elderly man could have been responsible for any of it. “Please, just tell us what you know so we can sleep. They are so far ahead of us we will have to leave as soon as it is light. Even then, I fear we might be too late.”
“I’ll stand first watch,” Madoc volunteered.
“And I’ll stand second,” said Emlyn.
“No need,” the old man answered wearily. “The creatures will not trouble us. They have not bothered me for so long now, I suspect they have forgotten I even exist. No, they will be long gone now.”
“Then why light all those fires?” Gerwyn asked.
“Because I don’t want to be alone in the dark, that’s why, not with the restless spirits of the dead haunting these hills.” He looked deep into Dodinal’s eyes. “You saw the graves, didn’t you? Have you not asked yourself why one man is alive when so many are dead?”
Dodinal nodded, feeling an icy trickle down his backbone. “The creatures did this to you?”
The man’s laugh was brief and harsh. “No, we brought it upon ourselves. This village died of shame. You want to know what those things are and where to find them? I will tell you. Then you will understand why I am the last man alive, here in this place of ghosts.”
NINETEEN
My mother gave birth to three daughters before I was born. Two of the daughters died of fever. The eldest also fell ill, but she was strong and survived. Her name was Megan, and we were as close as any brother and sister could be. If anything, we were closer than most. I was small, the runt of the litter, but if any child threatened me or pushed me around, Megan had a way of finding out, and she would make them sorry for whatever it was they had done to me.
In those days, the village was thriving. There were fish from the lake and the river. We kept cattle and sheep and feasted on meat from the goats, hares and deer that were plentiful then, and crops that were grown in the fertile land around us. We wanted for nothing.
Each autumn and spring, we would load up our carts and set out for the forest, where villagers from across the region would gather to trade. And more besides; my mother said that when a son or daughter was old enough, it was where they were taken to meet a wife or a husband. Otherwise they would end up marrying their cousins and their children would be soft in the head. It was God’s judgement.
All my young life I had thought of Megan as nothing more than my sister. Until a certain age you do not see boys or girls, only other children like yourself. Megan was Megan, and that was that. But then, one summer, that terrible summer when the barking of the dogs brought madness and death, I saw her for what she was; a beautiful girl on the cusp of womanhood. I was fourteen, Megan two years older. For the first time I began to notice the soft golden sheen of her hair, the gentle swelling of her breasts, her clear grey eyes and high brow.10
Don’t misunderstand me. I did not desire her, at least not then. Rather, I was sad, for I knew that, come the autumn and the next gathering, my parents would take her with them in the hope of finding her a husband. I also knew there would be no shortage of suitors. She had a sweet nature and her voice fell as happily on the ear as her form did on the eye. Any young man fortunate enough to talk to her would be smitten in an instant. That day was fast approaching.
Every morning we would do the chores assigned to us, and then we had the day to ourselves. It had been a hard winter, if not as hard as the winter just gone. We relished our freedom, and loved being able to run as far as we wanted after the long months in the snowbound valley, trapped in our huts while the roaring wind shook the timbers.
On that hot August day we decided to climb out of the valley, higher into the hills, to the lake and the woods that surrounded it. We often went there to fish or hunt for hares. Not because we needed the food; more because it gave us something to do, away from the others.
Away from him, I thought, although I did not say so aloud.
Megan led the way, as usual. As I followed I found my eyes drawn to her buttocks, swaying as she walked. As young as I was, I understood that was not how brothers were supposed to look at their sisters. I walked with my head lowered so I was watching the ground rather than her.
Eventually we reached the woods. It was cool in the shade of the trees after the sun’s fierce onslaught. We were both dripping with sweat and stopped for a while to catch our breath.
Megan was wearing a thin white dress in the heat, a gold braid tied around her waist. When she reached round for her pack, the dress stretched across her chest so that her nipples were clearly visible through the fabric. Embarrassed, I hurried on ahead of her, as if impatient to get to the lake. My face felt hotter than the sun blazing overhead. I had not experienced feelings like that before; they left me bewildered and more than a little ashamed.
I reached the lake, a great burnished shield in the sunlight. It was hot beyond the shadow of the trees but the breeze that came off the water caressed and cooled my skin. I removed my pack and began setting lines, using slivers of meat as bait. I did not turn around when I heard Megan approach.
“Why didn’t you wait?” She sounded hurt.
“Sorry,” I said. “I thought you were right behind me.”
It was the first time I had lied to her, and I felt certain she would see through it. But she smiled and tousled my hair. The touch of her fingers sent a thrill down my spine. “Daydreaming again. I’m surprised you didn’t keep going until you walked into the lake.”
With that she put down her pack and rummaged around in it until she found her own lines. We worked together in silence for a while. Then, once all the hooks were baited and cast, we retreated to the trees and sprawled out in the shade while we waited for the fish to bite. All the while the sun beat down on us mercilessly until we started to feel our skin burn, and we knew that before long we would have to give up and return home.