The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 06

For over an hour, Hafred led his highborn companions through woods that would be difficult to navigate even by the light of day. The pervasive darkness of the night and the fact that he had now trod further under those trees than he had ventured in many a year did not bode well for his sense of direction. Yet there were subtle signs that he was on the right track. An old, dry streambed offered a clue where higher ground might lie, and he followed it upward, ever upward to where the trees thinned and the ground grew steep and rocky. The ridgeline from which the Broken Stone jutted forth had fewer trees than the surrounding woods, and soon the sky opened up above them, offering a clear view of the stars and moon. The Broken Stone was a dark blot, a void of blackness against an otherwise bejeweled canvas.

With less foliage, the cool night's breeze passed freely amongst the trio, tousling Hafred's hair as it carried the chirrups of night insects, and the faint squeaking and clicking of bats as they swarmed through the air on their nightly hunt. From time to time, Hafred could have sworn he saw distant fire amongst the trees, in the midst of the forest on the opposite side of the ridge from the village. When it was brought to their attention, however, neither Lord Rufus nor Prince Cantrol seemed in the slightest bit interested.

As they approached the Broken Stone, the silvery moon peeked out from a skidding cloud. The wan light it cast only made the scene before them all the more ominous. The stone loomed as a dark specter above the hilltop, easily five times the height of a man. Around its base, a blood red soil stood out stark from the surrounding grassy terrain. Nothing grew in that patch of ground, as if nature itself had rejected the unsettling chunk of glistening gray rock.

From afar, the Broken Stone appeared an uneven, jagged outcropping weathered by natural phenomena. In such close proximity, however, its true nature became clear. The ragged outline it presented to the distant eye was not due to actual breakage, but rather to the numerous figures carved in bas relief along its surface. The relentless toll of the elements had worn most of the features from the individual figures, but the general shape was that of a mass of humanoids, writhing about one another in torment or ecstasy, and stretching their arms out in pleading gestures.

Despite the bulk of the figures on the rock being human, there was a certain inhumanity about the shape of the monument as a whole, as if those tortured beings represented over its surface simply concealed some manner of creature beneath. Something which, if it were to scale with the human figures that covered it, would stand well over a hundred feet high. Here and there, the unwholesome glint of a sickly slick looking yellow stone peeked out from the gray facade, like glistening amber eyes peering out from the mass of misery.

It was an unsettling sight, a hideous tribute to some dark god from ages past, and the suffering displayed by the weathered figures spoke of the malevolence of whatever creature had inspired that alien artifact.

"By the gods, what a monstrous memorial." The Prince's whisper was breathless, but so still was the air at that point that he could be heard readily. Rufus hastened to put himself and his horse between the Stone and his lord, as if the object were some mortal threat. A thing that might come alive at any moment.

Hafred fidgeted as he stood near the edge of the red soil, a line upon the ground which he dared not cross. Of all the talk of enchantresses and witches, of all the strange things he had seen at the sage's house, this horrid structure disturbed him most. For the first time, he regretted having the idea he might take up with the King's Men. "I think," he began in a soft tone, "if anyone had known this is what the Stone truly looked like, it might have been torn down long ago."

Rufus nodded grimly, then turned his eyes away from the stone, and toward the shadowy forest which lurked further down the slopes of the hill to all sides, as if too timid to approach the stone properly. "I do not see this Grove which Crow spoke of."

It was dark indeed, and even without the shadows of night, it would be difficult to tell whether any of the surrounding forest was especially thicker than the rest. A certain sense of dread settled over the smith's apprentice. Had they come all that way for nothing?

With a heavy heart and weary sigh, Hafred shook his head. "If only we could get up higher, maybe we could spot something from above."

As soon as the words left his lips, the young man regretted them. A skulking, sidelong glance confirmed he'd earned the stares of both Rufus and Prince Cantrol. Without a word, Hafred turned his eyes back up to the dreadful stone looming above.

The arrow wound at his back gave a twinge of protest just looking up at it.

"I think that's a fine idea," Cantrol started.

"Indeed. It shows initiative, bravery, ingenuity," Rufus continued. "Good luck on your climb, Hafred. Make us proud."

Hafred's shoulders slumped with the weight of resignation. There was no way he could avoid the task the two men he was so looking to impress had set him, when they spoke so directly. He offered a numb nod to the two, before daring to cross the line of red soil surrounding the base of that terrible monument. A deep, unnatural sense of primal dread filled him as he did, though he could not place the source. For a long moment, he stood in the moon-cast shadow of the vilely carved stone, holding his breath and expecting the worst.

After all too many beats of his racing heart, Hafred realized that he hadn't burst into flames. Nothing had reached from the darkness to smite him down, the world kept turning about him. He lifted his gaze and exhaled slowly.

A last glance back confirmed that the others hadn't dared cross the boundary of the red soil circle, leaving him alone to brave whatever the Broken Stone may hold. There was a hint of pity in Lord Rufus's expression, but also a certain scrutiny. It seemed that this was to be a test as surely as anything the prince's bodyguard might have thought up himself.

Hafred turned back toward the grim stone, then made his way around the base with careful steps. Eventually, he came to a more gently sloped side, though it would still be quite a task to haul himself up the face of it. With a shift of that satchel which contained potions and a meal that his belly even then grumbled for, he cleared his arms and began his ascent.

The carved human figures littering the stone made for easy handholds, but the texture of the stone itself was unpleasant. Smooth-worn by the weather of untold centuries, and somewhat slimy to the touch, the carvings were somehow warm, as if still radiating some ghostly remnant of the heat of the day which should have been long quenched by the night's hours.

His back gave a twinge each time he lunged upward, though the pain soon faded to a dull throbbing. Up along the sloped surface of the monument he went. Hands gripped moist, slick figures, and the breeze intensified as he clambered up beyond the level of the trees which lined the ridge. Hafred thought he saw movement amongst the figures which he was so reliant on for purchase, but put such fantasies out of his mind, lest he miss a beat in his climb. Besides, the impression that those figures might actually be writhing under his grasp was less unsettling than the fact that the amber gemstone eyes staring up from beneath them were all the more evident the longer he looked at them.

Fortunately for him, he was able to put such thoughts out of his mind, at least until he got near to the top of the stone. But then, just as he was high enough that a fall would most certainly result in broken bones, disaster struck.

While Hafred was looking to the stone to pick his next handhold, one of those balefully staring eyes blinked. The action was unmistakable, something he couldn't write off as his imagination.

His cry was stifled only by a sudden terror and revulsion. He froze there against the side of the stone monument, paralyzed between fear of the very thing he had climbed and the terrible descent awaiting if he should let go. Below him, the dark haired Rufus mistook his sudden hesitation for having spotted some clue of their destination.

The older knight called upward, "Well? Which direction is it?"

The call was enough to break the spell of terror that those upward staring, living yellow eyes had instilled within the young man. He forced his own gaze upward, and out over the surrounding canopy of trees, not expecting to see much. Fortune, however, was with him, for not far to the north he spotted a place where the trees grew ever taller and thicker, and something disturbed the foliage there. The corner of a stone wall, the edge of a tile roof, and a dip amongst the trees indicating some sort of obstruction all told of the presence of some sort of structure amongst the ancient trunks, however ruined it might be.

Hafred raised one hand, and pointed in the direction of the ruin. "T...there, I think. It's not far at all."

"Right then," Rufus called up once more, "come on back down, easy now." As if the youth needed any encouragement to abandon that hateful perch.

The smith's apprentice began his descent, shuddering whenever he caught sight of those eyes. This time, however, it was not just the shifting stare of the eyes he had to worry about, but also the visible writhing and grasping of the carvings. Tiny hands reached out toward him, little limbs twined and clutched at his fingers as he made his way down. It was as if the statue, or whatever it was, was reluctant to let him depart.

The unnatural horror of the living monument was but the capstone of a night that had been filled with magic and terror in equal measure. At any other time, Hafred would have shrieked and leapt to his doom, but with the Prince and his bodyguard watching every movement he made, pride itself kept him from screaming out at the movements under his hand. It was a tenuous thread of sanity to cling to.

Whispers and visions assaulted his senses, and though he was unsure whether the others could make them out, their presence was distracting enough that Hafred couldn't risk finding out. It took his full concentration to focus through the images, through the dozens, hundreds of hissing voices assailing his mind. Hand after hand, foot after foot he made his way down.

He couldn't understand the language they spoke, but the meaning rang clear in his mind. Champion, they called him, but he didn't understand what he was supposed to be the champion of. Some order of knights, of protectors, that much at least was clear. The images swirling within his mind were distressing and puzzling. He saw himself, in the uniform of the King's Men, sword in hand. Then again, in some unknown armor. He saw Jenrea, luxuriously clad in a crimson gown, her face cold and her skin pale. There was a vision of a lone, crumbling stone spire in a tangled wood, then darker scenes. Creatures of shadow skulked through city streets toward some great and glorious castle. Fires stained the night sky red, and then a great winged shadow reared up in the sky, blotting out stars and moon with a sinuous neck and clawed, spread wings.

It was only when Hafred's booted foot touched the ground that the images faded, and he saw too that the eyes and the animated figures had ceased their movements. He trembled like a leaf, and the prince and his knight watched him with some concern.

"Are you alright, boy?" Rufus rumbled the words out, his eyes fixed upon him with concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Hafred certainly felt like he'd seen a ghost. He was in a cold sweat, his entire body shook, and he knew he must be pale as the moon above. Still, he waved the knight's concerns off. The last thing he needed was for them to think him some superstitious bumpkin.

Though it seemed as if Rufus was going to press the matter, the prince unexpectedly saved him with a sudden call.

"Ho there, someone moves near the trees!"

Hafred and Rufus turned their gaze where Prince Cantrol pointed, but little could be seen besides shadows. However, just as he was about to give up, the youth did see a glimpse of movement. A form, hidden and shrouded in darkness, just a wisp of curved body disappearing back into the trees. It seemed a womanly form, but he couldn't be certain.

"It's gone in the direction you said the grove was," Rufus sounded grim, but at least he confirmed that Hafred hadn't been seeing things.

"Let's be on our way then." The Prince seemed more curious than resolute, his own eyes still peered off after where the figure had vanished.

Although the distance was short, the terrain drew the hike out for another half an hour, through rugged slopes and ditches, and tangled undergrowth. The trees about them grew ever taller, ever broader, until Hafred doubted that any of them could circle the base of any one trunk with both arms. Thick foliage above swallowed the moon and starlight alike, plunging them into a perpetual midnight. The deepened darkness did little to quell the terror that the Stone's unnatural qualities had left him with, and soon Hafred was jumping at every little unexpected movement amongst the trees.

And despite his paranoia, he knew that there was in fact something out there. Something shadowy that kept pace with them amongst the trees, something all three of them had seen while still at the clearing. Now, amidst the gloom, it was harder than ever to make out what was real and what was imagined, what was a threat and what might just be the trees themselves.

At some point, the Prince drew his enchanted sword, and the magical light cast by the blade peeled back the curtain of gloom somewhat. It wasn't much, perhaps half the strength of a proper torch, but compared to the pitch blackness it was a welcome boon.

Although the glow made movement through the tangled undergrowth somewhat easier, Hafred was anything but pleased. For one, it was certain that the shine marked them as targets to anything that might be lurking there in the shadows. Such a light might be seen from a great distance amongst the twilight eaves of those ancient trees. There was also the matter that the steady shine from the enchanted blade lacked the flicker and dance of proper torchlight. This made it all the more difficult to rationalize the shifting shadows that seemed to flutter at the edge of vision.

The first signs that the grove was once inhabited came in the form of a few scattered stones, remnants of a short wall that had long been toppled. But a few yards further, the towering trees began to give way to what might once have been an open yard. Now, a tangled riot of wild-grown herbs and shrubs gone to weeds competed for space amongst widely separated stepping stones. The stones themselves still formed a reasonably navigable pathway from wall to building.

The building itself loomed amongst the trees, but had obviously fallen to the inexorable claim of nature. Stone walls and wooden beams jutted here and there, though more still had tumbled under the weight of vines and fallen branches. The building stones were scorched here and there, as were many of the beams, telltale signs that the structure had suffered a fire in the distant past. Indeed, even after so many years, the faint scent of ash and charcoal hung in the air, as well as something vaguely flowery.

First Rufus, then Cantrol dismounted, and joined Hafred in his inspection of the silent property. It had clearly been abandoned for some time, and though the house itself had long fallen, enough walls remained that a search would be time consuming. Vines clung to inner and outer walls alike, and small trees and shrubs sprung up through the charred flooring visible within. Here and there, the floor itself had collapsed into a cellar below.

The three men stood in silence for a long while, before the Prince sighed a heavy sigh. "Well, this must be the place. I doubt we'll find the witch alive here."

"Perhaps she had some records that might help," Hafred offered, an idea coming to him. "If witches and enchantresses are often enemies, would it not follow that she had some way to track their kind? Or at the very least some knowledge of their movements?"

"That's... actually not a half bad idea," Rufus admitted, then nodded to the ruins, "We should split up and cover more ground" He then bowed to the Prince, "My lord, you should wait near the front here, I shall search the upper ruins and keep you in sight."

The prince nodded assent, then both men turned their eyes to the smith's apprentice.

"I guess that leaves the cellar to me?" Hafred asked, though he wasn't at all disappointed. Indeed, after his encounter with the Broken Stone, he still felt ill at ease. Perhaps putting some ground above him would help give him a sense that he could somehow avoid its distant gaze. Then again, even the thickest trees certainly hadn't helped in that regard. He knew for a fact that the top of the monument could see where they stood.

Hafred took his leave of the other two after confirming his guess, and trod around the side of the ruin, in search of some way down that didn't involve leaping into the darkness. The scattered walls of the ruined building soon obscured the light of the Prince's sword, leaving naught but a scattered reflection and the light of the stars above, freed of the interference which the thick foliage of the dense forest around them would provide. Old leaves and tangled vines crunched under each step he took, and he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

It was a sense that stalked him even as he put the remains of those stone walls between himself and that distant monument. Those eyes upon him seemed to come from the darkness itself, from the shadows amongst the eaves of the trees, or even from the ground below.

Knowing that the others were but a call away was of no help, and as he searched through the underbrush and gloom, a thought occurred to the young man. If he did find a way beneath the ruined house, it must certainly be even darker below.

The floor of the house itself had collapsed in places, and surely that must allow even the dim light of the stars in, for though such a fall would play havoc upon a human leaping down, light itself had no limitations. Hafred laughed softly, nervously, at his own earlier fear.

A gentle, tittering giggle rose from the shadows about him in answer.

Hafred whipped about so swiftly that he once more strained that still bound arrow wound, and one hand fell to the hilt of his long knife. There was naught to be seen, only the slowly fading scent of some flowery perfume lingered in the air nearby.

With a shake of his head, he pressed on, though now his senses were far more acute. He thought he heard soft footsteps, the ever present echo of his own heavier ones. And then he caught that subtle aroma of some night's flower once more. Each time he paused, but nothing tangible ever revealed itself.

At last, however, his search uncovered the stone lip of the cellar entrance. The doors had long since been broken away, whether by fire or the elements he could not be certain, and vines and weeds choked the upper steps so that the unwary might very well miss the opening. Indeed, it was only through fortune's favor that Hafred didn't go tumbling headfirst down into the depths.

The moonlight above gleamed off of the blade of his knife as he drew it forth. A few quick cuts cleared the worst of the vines from the worn, dirt-scattered steps, and Hafred began his descent. The cellar below the house was unlike any simple storage he had ever seen. Even taking into account the large beams which had fallen from above, the best guess the inexperienced youth could come up with was that the place had once been some sort of laboratory. Shattered equipment lay here and there, old tomes moldered away, heavily damaged by water which had once flooded the chamber. Indeed, it still pooled deeply here and there across the floor.