The Forgotten

If I hear one more of those idiots complaining about the damp and how cold it is, how it gets into your bones, I’m going to break someone’s face. Damp isn’t the same thing as cold. Not even fucking close.

Cold is when the wind slices into your eyes, making them water, and your eyelids start to freeze shut. Cold is the burning pain that follows the numbness, followed by a complete loss of feeling, and possibly the loss of a limb. Cold is when the skies are so clear that even the snowflakes decide to fuck off for the night.

That’s fucking cold.

Wrapping the fox furs tighter around my face, I glare out beyond the palisades at the mounds of snow covering the land beyond it. Squinting, more like it, but I do my best to glare at the untouched snow. It has an otherworldly glow, the cracks of moonlight filtering through the bare trees, reaching their bony fingers towards the sky. Limbs of evergreens are piled high with the blankets of snow from a storm that lasted three days, effectively burying us all inside the village.

We have no need for travel at this time of year, however, so the snow piled against the gates isn’t much of a problem. Digging out the houses was the main issue, but not one of much concern, as all of us had been living in this godforsaken place long enough to know it came with the territory.

As did the wolves. Which was why I was sitting crouched on top of this blasted palisade wall in the middle of the night, freezing my balls off.

The torches along the wall don’t give off much heat, and as the palisade is made of consecutive wooden spikes, they’re not supposed to. Would be a helluva lot warmer, though, with the entire damn thing on fire. I clench my teeth in a tight smile underneath the furs. Had to fantasize about something to keep me awake.

There were other men on the walls, spaced at even intervals. So not much in the way of camaraderie was to be had, seeing that we’re all bundled to within an inch of our lives with only our eyeballs visible. Not much in the way of conversation either, when you can barely hear yourself think over the howling wind.

We’d be a damn easy target for those barbarian archers.

I frowned at the thought. We would be, that was, until we had slaughtered most of them. It was bloody, and swift. For weeks afterwards I didn’t think I’d ever get the metallic tang of blood out of my nose, out of my mouth. I had nearly shit myself the first time one of their warriors came at me and was mostly convinced I’d survived out of sheer dumb luck.

How the hell had those people survived on this land for so long? Maybe we should have asked them before we started taking their women and killing them off. That never sat right with me. None of it did. They had looked even more scared than I had been facing down that warrior, and I had nearly soiled my heavy woollen pants.

Underneath the layers that never quite seemed to keep out the cold, I shuddered. But it was the memories of when we had first arrived that had me shaking this time.

They had come in droves, with their eerie howls and tattooed faces, brandishing carved stone spears and blades. We had never seen anything like it. None of us had been expecting anything like it either, and we had nearly been exterminated for it. If our reinforcements hadn’t arrived in the nick of time, we would have been.

Pushing them back came easy then, and we hunted them down like animals afterwards, every last one we could find.

Peacetime followed, with our families arriving from across the water, women, children, craftspeople, and livestock. The elders wouldn’t, or couldn’t, make the trip. Seven months at sea and weeks of hiking inland were perilous even for those of us who were hearty and hale.

We built our community little by little, starting with the surrounding palisade wall. The tiny mud-packed homes with thatched roofs were next. A far cry from the lean-tos we stayed in when we first arrived. Crops had been seeded in warmer weather, and our livestock count was growing. We had settled into a solid routine as a community, each of us helping one another whenever and however it was needed, and it was quiet for a time.

Until the wolves came.

“They came in the dead of night, like gigantic wraiths cloaked in shadow, bigger than any man ever laid eyes on!” Charlie was always keen to say.

Charlie boy was a teller of tall tales, but how the lad would know what these creatures looked like when he barely reached the height of his mother’s hip was any man’s guess.

It was suspicious, though. They left no tracks, no marks, no sign that they had been here other than the mangled corpses they left behind. Or the drag marks in the snow of the ones they take with them. Not one of us had ever seen one up close, not even those of us who patrolled the wall. It was strange. Unnatural. Like those devils they had talked about in the old country, preying on innocent, honest folk and their children, their homes.

A snort nearly escapes me, but I hold it back. Snorting in this kind of weather almost always hurts, like sucking ice shards up your nose, so I go back to my stoic vigil of staring at trees and shadows.

The idea that devils are among us is ridiculous. Folly, as my Mam would say. Nearly as ridiculous as the fairy tales they used to tell us as children to ensure that we never swam in the lakes alone, or stuck our filthy, grubby fingers into Gran’s fresh-baked pies.

A chill ran up my spine, and I stared at the shadows between the snow-laden boughs harder. Probably would have been easier if I hadn’t had a fifth of whiskey before my shift, but what else is a man to do in this kind of frozen hell?

The wind picked up, gusting harder than before. I braced myself against the pillar, effectively preventing my drunk ass from tumbling off the wall. Looking over to the torches, I froze in place, hoping it was the whiskey.

The lights from the tall torches were flickering, flames fanning out sideways before they each started to go out. One by one, the torches guttered and died as patches of the wall and grounds around it were pitched into blackness.

Ululating, baying howls broke the silence. Cries seemed to come from all directions, cascading out through the forest and over the walls like a phantom touch.

Darker patches of shadow rapidly begin peeling out of the trees, lurching forms that move at a loping pace towards the wall. The movement is strange, and the shapes almost appear to be using two legs, and not four. Some of them drop to four limbs, but only for seconds at a time, clawed talons digging into the earth to propel them forward.

My knees start to shake, and I tighten my grip on my longspear like it’s a lifeline. I’ve never seen anything move like that, lurching like that, and certainly never a wolf.

Apprehension crawls its way up my spine, gentle as the legs of a spider. We shouldn’t be out here. We should hide as fast as we can and wait til it passes, whatever it is. A coward’s thoughts, to be sure, but I can’t ignore the feeling in my gut and the one crawling over my skin.

We won’t survive the night.

A form appears at the edge of the trees, barely visible in the moonlight and the limited light of the torches. Too tall for any beast. The hooded figure moves at a sedate pace behind the creatures rushing the wall, its head moving slowly to scan the surrounding area before it lifts its gaze and looks straight at me.

The last of the torches flicker in a final dying gasp, and we are pitched entirely into darkness. Even the light of the moon seems to fade, until there is nothing left but shadows.

Screams tear through the silence. Men’s high-pitched cries turn into gurgling gasps, and they’re soon drowned out by a pounding like axes splitting into wood.

The creatures scale the walls, their too-long limbs dragging their lurching bodies up the sides of the palisades, claws wrenching apart wood and metal. Sharp cracks of wood splitting reach my ears just before I realize there’s one coming directly below me. I turn my spear to stab the thing back down to the ground, but it’s too fast.

It catapults into my chest, knocking me straight backward into empty air. I feel my arms flail at my sides, swiping my spear at the thing in a last-ditch attempt to fend off the creature.

The impact as I hit the hard-packed snow stuns me, staring wide-eyed at the darkened sky. My jaw works, trying to suck in air, but nothing inflates my lungs. Terrible pain lances my ribs, and I continue trying, willing my lungs to work, but -

Nothing.

I can’t breathe.

The creature’s face enters my vision, and it occurs to me vacantly that I might shit myself, and wouldn’t that be a way to go?

The hairy, half-formed creature has an elongated snout, patches of fur partially covering its body and limbs, revealing shreds of too-pale skin where it looks like flesh has been torn away. Its eyes glow in deep, recessed sockets, the colour a faded yellow-white of aged bone.

But it’s the smell that would make me gag if I could get a breath down. Sulphur and spoiled meat that’s been left in a hot storehouse too long. The kind that wouldn’t stand a chance against the flies and maggots, the kind that contaminates everything around it.

Split lips peel back to reveal jagged teeth, longer than a man’s fingers and serrated like a saw. The thing’s head rears back, snarling, opening its jaws wide.

“Hold.”

A rasping voice cuts through the night air, the sound like two boulders grinding together.

The small breath I manage nearly chokes me with the stench of the creature, now frozen in place. My eyes skitter to the side, towards the sound of the voice, not wanting to know what could make a sound like that.

Dark robes enter my vision, fluttering around the feet of the one who had spoken, and was slowly making their way to my prone body. The creature still hadn’t moved, as if it had been turned into a statue. Froth drips from its extended jaws onto my face, and if I had the capacity, I would have rolled over and retched.

The hooded figure bent over, reaching out with a pale, bony hand to grip my throat and plucked me off the ground as if I weighed no more than a child.

“You,” the figure hissed, tilting its head. “What is your name?”

The sound of the thing’s voice set my teeth on edge. Fingers scrabbling at the ice-cold grip around my throat, I kicked my booted feet out towards the figure, but connected with nothing. Panic struck, and I could feel my eyes starting to bug out of my head. I fought harder, renewing the struggles to free myself, starting to feel lightheaded. I was going to die. I was going to die.

Kicking out in desperation, I finally caught the edge of the figure’s robe, but still it didn’t move.

The figure seemed to stare at me from the shadows of the cloak, and then reached up with its other skeletal hand to pull back its hood.

The scream trying to claw its way up my throat withered and died.

It had no eyes. Burnt out pits replaced where its eyes should be, and the nose was nothing more than two uneven slits. Lank, dark hair fell to its shoulders in clumps, revealing a pale skull, and the patchy, dessicated flesh beneath. Tattered slivers of skin were the last of its lips, pulling back across its maw, revealing sharp, needle-point teeth glowing milky white in the moonlight.

“What,” the thing brought its face closer, “Is your name?”

I couldn’t answer. The grip on my throat was too tight. Suffocating. There were no thoughts left in my mind. Only pure, blind terror.

The creature took notice of my predicament and released its grip on my throat, dropping me to the ground. My legs gave out, knees cracking off the ice-covered earth.

It followed me down, lowering its hideous head to eye level.

“Well?” It said.

Shuddering and sucking in a sharp breath, I gasped, “What are you?”

Perhaps the thing was unused to being questioned. Perhaps nobody had ever tried speaking to it before. There was a long pause before it answered.

“The one whom the others before you served, but has been long forgotten.” Another pause. “They knew better than to forget.”

Silence, again. Then it repeated, “What is your name?”

Tongue lifeless and heavy, I stuttered, trying to drag in enough breath to form words.

“I -i-t’s S-Stephe -“

One skeletal hand shot up and covered my mouth. Tears welled in my eyes as shooting, icy pain shot back into my skull, eyes rolling to the back of my head. Ragged nails clawed across my mouth, bringing the bony fingers together as though they were going to tear off my lips. The knobbed fingers pinched together in front of my mouth and pulled.

“Yes,” the grinding voice said, “very good.” There was a soft blue tendril of light in its fingertips as it continued to pull.

The lipless mouth seemed to grow into a wide rictus smile, showing even more rows of needle-sharp teeth. It brought the tendril to its unhinged jaws, opening wide to feed the light between its teeth and down its throat.

Its teeth snapped shut.

Searing pain tore my mind apart, the scream finally clawing its way free of my throat. The last thing I saw was the burning pits of the creature’s eyes before my body collapsed, skull cracking off the frozen earth, as the world went dark.