That’s what happened here. We lost six children all told, and after that, no more babies were born. It was not down to any conscious decision; it just happened that way. No woman wanted to live through the pain of losing a child, not to those monstrosities. I suspect one or two may have fallen pregnant; no man can live without a woman’s company, at least no normal man. But there are ways and means. None gave birth.
One by one the villagers died. Some of old age, some of illness; some of starvation, for our livestock sickened and died and there was no longer anything to hunt. There were those who preferred a sharp blade to living with the knowledge of what we had done. At times I thought I might do the same. I’d like to say I am still here out of some sense of defiance, a determination to outlast our bastard offspring. I’d like to claim that. But in truth I cannot. I was too afraid to take my own life, even if it would have been just another sin to add to a long list of sins.
I buried them when they died. I have been alone for so long I have forgotten how many years it has been since I spoke to a living soul. I have prayed for you to come this way, Dodinal, or someone like you. Someone with the courage to root out the evil and destroy it. Someone who is not afraid of the darkness that surrounds us all. That is why I keep the fires lit, you see; I am afraid of the dark and what dwells in it. Sometimes I hear them calling out to me: the tortured spirits of the children we let the creatures take, the restless souls of every man and woman who ever lived and died here.
Now I feel I am ready to join them. I will look after your friend until you come back. If you do not I will take him to your people, then return here. One night I will not light the fires. Instead, I will lay on my bed, and close my eyes for the last time.
Only with my passing will this village be rid of its shame.
10Grey eyes and a high forehead were much-prized in medieval women. Wealthy women would even pluck or shave their heads to raise their hairlines, in some cases as high as the crown of the head.
TWENTY
Dodinal slept uneasily and was awake before dawn. Leaving the others to their snoring, farting slumber, he went outside and breathed deeply, to clear his lungs of the stale reek of so many men in such a confined space. He sat before one of the fires, now burned down to glowing embers but still giving off enough heat to hold back the early morning cold. Before settling down for the night, he had noticed a whetstone amongst the old man’s weapons stash. Sitting by the fire, he now used it to put a keen edge on his sword, lost in reverie as he ran the stone along the blade, as he had done so many times before.
He knew he should hate the old man. As the last of his people, he must carry the blame for what they had done, the great sin they had committed. Yet he recalled, too, the old man’s words. It was as if it were happening to someone else, and I was a reluctant observer who could not turn away. Dodinal understood. It was how he had felt all those years ago, when the rage had first overtaken him as he searched through the smouldering remains of his village, when he had hacked an injured and defenceless man to bloody shreds.
Incest. Murder. Different sides of the same coin.
He heard the creak of hinges and turned to see Hywel making his way carefully out of the hut, prodding the ground ahead of him with a spear, wary of obstructions. Dodinal got to his feet to help him. “What are you doing? You could trip and bang your thick head again. Then what would become of you?”
“Stop fussing,” the tracker said, making his way steadily towards the fire. “I’m feeling better. I can even see you. Sort of.”
For a moment Dodinal was silenced. It was not impossible. Head injuries were unpredictable. Even so, it sounded too good to be true, Hywel regaining his vision just as they were readying to leave. He raised a hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Hywel waved away the question. “I said sort of, didn’t I? You’re a blur. To be honest, all I can see is the shape of you against the glow of the fire. But that’s more than I could see yesterday.”
“Not enough, though. Not to come with us.”
“I know, I know,” Hywel said, trying to sound unconcerned and not making a particularly convincing job of it. “My head still throbs. I think I’d better sit down before I fall down.”
They sat together, not speaking, staring into the softly glowing embers as though they held some mysterious secret. Finally Hywel let out a long, hard sigh. “I’m not very good at goodbyes.”
Dodinal kept his eyes on the fire. “Me neither.”
“Then let’s neither of us say it. I’m not going to ask to come with you. I’d get myself and the rest of you killed. No, I’ll stay here with the old man. I’ll pray for you and await your return. And if you don’t, I’ll accept his offer to take me home so I can tell Rhiannon and the rest what you did to try to help us; the sacrifices the two brothers made, too. Funny, I never really took to that pair when they were alive. Now they’ve gone I miss having them around.”
Dodinal said nothing. Then he frowned as Hywel’s words sunk in. “How did you know the old man said he would take you home?”
“Just because my eyes were closed didn’t mean I was asleep. You’d be surprised how much you hear when people don’t think you’re listening.” Hywel’s tone grew serious. “Keep your wits about you, Dodinal. Find the boy and get away as quickly as you can. Don’t try to be the hero and take them on. Better to live to fight another day.”
“Getting away in one piece will be a task in itself. Even if there only eight of them, they still outnumber us two to one.”
“You sound very calm. Aren’t you afraid? I would be.”
“Yes, I’m afraid.” The fear was there, gnawing away at his guts. “Fear is healthy. Fear keeps you vigilant. When the time comes, I’ll be ready.”
“Not too ready, I hope. I know you, Dodinal. You creep through the forest like a ghost. Wherever they are, you can be in and back out with the boy before they even realise he’s gone. Unless you’re disturbed, there should be no reason for you to confront them. If you’re tempted to avenge Idris and all those other poor bastards who died, just remember Owain will be relying on you for his life.”
“I wouldn’t be going after them if it wasn’t for the boy. My first concern is getting him out in one piece. I won’t even think about what else I should or should not do until he is safe.”
“Forget anything else,” said Hywel. “Just get back here so we can all go home together. I’d sooner walk through the forest with my victorious friends than that old man. He gives me the shivers. You heard that story of his. How can he live with the shame?”
“Don’t be so hasty to pass judgement,” Dodinal said, picking up his sword and resuming his slow, methodical sharpening. The scrape of metal on stone echoed around the narrow valley so that it sounded like a host of men preparing for battle. “Many people have secrets.”
“Yourself too?”
Dodinal said nothing.
“Perhaps one day you’ll tell me.” Hywel stood, yawning as he stretched. “I’ll go and wake the others. I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting to hang around here any longer than you have to.”
Dodinal watched Hywel until he disappeared inside the hut, then finished sharpening the sword. Finally he held it straight out and plucked a hair from his beard, draping it across the blade. The hair split in two, the severed halves spiralling slowly to the ground. Satisfied, Dodinal sheathed the sword. Even the gargoyle creatures with their leathery hides would be no match for it.
The sky grew brighter. From inside the hut he could hear a chorus of coughing and raised voices, throaty with sleep and smoke. He made his way back in and was pleasantly surprised to find a pot set over the fire and a faint smell of food in the air. “It’s not much,” the old man said, squatting alongside the pot, stirring its contents. “But better to leave on a full stomach than an empty one.”