A Sightless Place: The Prelude to No Light in August. Read online

  A Sightless Place

  By R.L. Robinson

  A Sightless Place

  Copyright © 2014 by R.L. Robinson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art: Niall Parkinson

  Cover and Ebook Design: Christine Clukey Reece

  Kindle edition in Times New Roman font.

  A Sightless Place

  It was not the first village to be burned, and it would not be the last. It was the way of things; folk expected it.

  They rode in as the sun was rising, cresting the span of rolling hills so the light was at their backs. One man named Ranald, older and with three grown daughters, tried to make a stand. A pitchfork isn’t much use against mail and plate; he managed a swing at one of the horses before its rider shoved a sword through his guts.

  From that point, it went more or less as one would expect.

  ~~~

  Cassiel grabbed the peasant’s collar and hauled him halfway up. Blood burbled between the man’s lips and his eyes rolled in their sockets. There wasn’t much fight left in him, so he did the man a favour and cut his throat.

  “Well, this was a fuckin’ shameful performance from this bunch of dirt fuckers.” Though named for an angel and almost as beautiful as one, his features had a cruel cast. Foul words seemed odd coming from him, but his companions accepted it as a matter of course. “Where’s Niall?”

  Emil leaned against the wall of a house, cleaning his needle-like sword with a rag. “Over there,” he said and nodded up what passed for the village’s street.

  Niall had a woman by the hair, tugging her to who knew where while her father hung back.

  “Bloody fool.” Cassiel dropped the dead man and waved for Emil to follow.

  “Where’s your gold?” Niall screamed, blade raised to the woman’s face. Her father was frozen between two possible courses, neither of which would end well.

  “Look around you, man,” her father managed to say. “What do you think we are?”

  Niall didn’t take his eyes from the woman, but yanked her hair so his face was only inches from her own. “You think I don’t know,” he snapped, his eyes narrowed. “You’re Tsigan, I know you lot ferret away gold wherever you can.”

  “Not us,” the woman breathed.

  “Niall!” Cassiel still had his sword drawn, while Emil tested the edge of his own in a casual way, flicking his thumb against it. “We don't have time for this carrying on. Job’s done, and it’s time we were out of it.”

  Niall looked at Cassiel and Emil, then looked again at the woman he was holding and threw her to the mud. He stood over her, the point of his sword drifting slowly downward until he sheathed it, slamming it into the scabbard with a thwack.

  Cassiel suspected there was more on his mind than just gold; he felt the same way, but there really wasn’t time. The army wasn’t going to wait longer than it was supposed to and he didn’t fancy being stranded in a country they’d just burned. Anyone left alive could take to hunting stragglers.

  Niall backed away, striding past Cassiel without a word while the old man went to his daughter. For all that she’d nearly died, there was a look of undisguised hatred on her face.

  “Fuckers!”

  Emil flicked his thumb a final time against the edge of his steel. “Aye, we are, love, but ain’t no sense holdin’ a man’s work against him.”

  It wasn’t like they’d killed that many; most had sense enough to run for it when they’d ridden in. In Cassiel’s opinion – and it was one Niall and Emil shared – anyone who remained got what was coming.

  The girl tried to rise and follow them, but her father took her shoulders and did his best to stop her, though she all but dragged the poor sod along.

  Might have to see to this one after all. Cassiel felt his feet spread themselves in the dirt. Finally, the old man put himself in front of her. To go any further, she would need to knock him down. Cassiel saw the doubt cross her face as she flicked her eyes back and forth between her father and him.

  She can’t do it. Nothing but bluster and rage; no real direction to it and she couldn’t use it on the old man, no way. The fire in her eyes guttered, and her face didn’t so much soften as go slack until there wasn’t anything left.

  Emil appeared with their horses and Cassiel turned to mount. Once in the saddle, he looked down at them. “What’s south of here?”

  “The Ghostwood,” said the old man.

  “Ghostwood?” Niall scoffed.

  “Aye, it’s where the sightless trees are.”

  Cassiel couldn’t figure it; it sounded like just the sort of crap folk would cook up for something they couldn’t explain. No matter – south was where they needed to go. He clicked his tongue and the three of them walked their horses out of the village without bothering to look back.

  The girl watched them leave, her eyes following their progress until they were out of sight.

  ~~~

  Pillars of smoke rose at points all along the horizon, dark signposts to mark the passage of the raiding bands trailing the main army. That each one represented lives lost and homes burned down mattered little to Cassiel, Niall, or Emil. They didn’t see them, not really; putting them out of mind was as easy as a day’s ride.

  When it comes down to it, if you’ve seen one village burn, you’ve seen every village burn in more or less the same way. They knew the smells, the sounds, and the sights; it was what they did. They might have called themselves king’s men, but they were under no illusions about what they were.

  Cassiel patted the pouch strung on his belt, if only to make sure it was still there. It held a warrant with the king’s seal. With it, they could do as they please. The terms were, of course, simple and direct.

  “What’s this Ghostwood, then?” Niall asked, crunching an apple between black, stumpy teeth.

  “All the trees have faces carved in them,” Emil said, “with deep, wide holes for eyes.” He stretched his own eyes wide with his fingers to demonstrate.

  “Who made ’em?”

  “Who knows? They been there as long as anyone can remember.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Cassiel put in. “I doubt a bunch of old trees will hold us up any.”

  They agreed and passed the rest of the way in silence, which was only broken by a far-distant scream from one of the columns of smoke and an occasional faint trickle of laughter.

  ~~~

  Whoever cut the faces into the trees did a good job, and a horrible one too, at least to Niall’s thinking. The bark seemed to have been molded to fit the shape of a human face, only exaggerated in ways that made him feel uneasy, and Emil hadn’t joked about the eyes. They were huge, and he guessed they could swallow his arm to the shoulder. Aye, they were big and black. Even with the brightness of the sun, no light penetrated them, as though each pair was made from obsidian glass.

  “They’re all like this?” Niall asked.

  Emil nodded. “Pretty much.”

  Cassiel was unimpressed, staring long and hard into the empty eyes that were looking, but not looking, down at them. “It’s not as if they can see anything.”

  “Don’t loo
k that way to me.” Niall tried and failed to hold eye contact with one of the nearer faces. While not a religious man, he felt something shift inside his chest. Had it reached his throat, it might have become a prayer.

  “You alright?” Emil was looking at him funny.

  Niall shook his head rapidly and rubbed a hand over his own eyes. For a moment, Emil could’ve sworn he saw a look of doubt or consternation pass over Niall’s face, as if he was trying to remember or grasp at something.

  “I’m fine,” he lied. It wasn’t that he’d been trying to grasp something, but rather, something grasped him – a memory of another time and another war. It was an old one, and not one he dreamed about. Though fleeting, it had left a strong enough impression to unsettle him. When he looked again at the trees, Niall felt sure they knew – that they could see into him.

  “C’mon,” Cassiel said as he trotted ahead, and the other two followed a moment later.

  ~~~

  No matter where Cassiel looked, a face stared back. He could see why people believed the trees had souls or intelligence – not that he did, mind you.

  Let wet nurses tell stories about imps and elves and dryads to children too young and too stupid for anything else. A few years in the real world did wonders for belief in such things. The peasants clung to them because they didn’t know any better, which was why he had few qualms about killing them when it came to it. He’d long ago stopped taking any pleasure in the act; it was just business now.

  Something caught his eye and he turned towards it. For a moment, he thought he saw a familiar face among the trees – no, not among the trees, on one of the trees. When he blinked, it was gone.

  Bloody hell. He closed his eyes, pressing them shut until it hurt. When this war was over – and he thought it wouldn’t be too much longer in finishing – he was going to walk into a brothel and not leave until all his money was gone.

  He disliked the forest and its faces. He thought he caught something knowing in them, like they knew something he didn’t, but they were inscrutable and closed.

  Trying to understand trees…fuck sakes.

  Emil looked, but refused to see what played at the edge of his vision. Instead, he tongued the ulcer on the inside of his mouth, the pain offering a kind of distraction.

  ~~~

  “Something isn’t right about this place,” Niall whispered, spitting some dark chew to one side. It stained his lips and rather than wipe it away, he licked it back into his mouth. “Ain’t heard any birds or animals.”

  Cassiel couldn’t fault him. The forest was absolutely still, save for the occasional rustle of wind passing through the canopy overhead. Through the leaves and branches, it was getting dark and too late to double back.

  “Don’t fancy spending the night here,” Cassiel said. “Doesn’t look as if we’re going to have much choice in it, though.” They could push on, but the chance of getting turned around was too great.

  From the saddle, he saw the trees were thinning out ahead into something like a clearing, which looked to be about the best place to make camp. There was still light enough to gather wood and set a fire; experience had taught all three that a hot meal worked wonders on nerves.

  ~~~

  Niall did his best to keep the makeshift camp in sight as he went to gather wood. It hadn’t rained in several days, so there should have been plenty of usable branches and kindling to pick up.

  As before, the trees watched him pass. He could swear one or two appeared to have grins or smirks carved onto their faces. He drew his sword; though it wasn’t a tool for cutting wood, he had nothing else to use. Without looking at the tree’s face, Niall climbed up a little, using lower branches to brace himself against the trunk.

  A few hacks broke first one and then another limb. Swinging his blade forced him to shift his grip, and he caught sight of the face looking back at him. It wasn’t carved anymore. At first, he couldn’t place it, but the ghost of the memory from before trickled to the front of his mind.

  They say you never forget your first time, but that’s a lie romantics tell themselves to make the world seem like a better place. Niall never knew her name, and her face had blended in with so many others.

  How old had he been, eighteen? Just left the farm and signed up with the first company who would take him – a motley crew who asked few questions and paid even less than a town watch. It was the Merchant’s War, only a season long, but enough to blood him so he got a feel for what war meant and where it took you.

  They’d stumbled into a tavern – just a single building on a crossroads. Once the captain took his turn, the others followed. Had he been last? Seemed likely, given how young he’d been.

  She’d stopped screaming by then.

  Niall let go of the branch and fell, landing hard on the loamy ground. The impact knocked his teeth together, and he tasted blood as he bit his tongue. When he looked again, the face was as the others around; sightless, and made only of wood.

  It didn’t matter. Gripping his sword, Niall stood and stepped towards the tree. It stared down implacably as he first raised the blade and brought it down. The edge carved a crescent sliver from the trunk; thick black sap dribbled from the injury he inflicted.

  No, no…that isn’t the way. The body of the tree could take the punishment, he’d likely blunt or break his blade before he’d be satisfied with his work.

  The face? No, he didn’t want to look at it again, fearful of what he would see.

  Niall looked at the roots. They were thick, snakelike things that curved above ground in a nest of twisting forms. Planting his foot on one, he hacked into it. It parted with surprising ease, given its thickness. The edge of his blade struck something underneath, jarring his arm.

  White pain burned through his mind like a hot poker. The hurt was such that he dropped his sword, his hand clasped across his left eye. He didn’t scream, but gasped quickly for breath.

  Blood, hot and thick, spilled through his fingers and ran down his face. When he tried to see, he found he couldn’t. His right eye filled with water, blurring everything around him, and when he opened his left eye, there was nothing.

  Darkness throbbed in the socket; Niall carefully traced his finger along the edge of his ruined eye and felt the sharp prick of something buried there, followed by a jolt of pain that made him wretch.

  Of course. Rocks can be snared by roots. His sword had struck a splinter from one and flung it like an arrow into his eye. Niall had taken wounds before, one or two worse than this, but none so debilitating. If he kept calm, he would be able to make his way back to camp and deal with it.

  He nearly screamed when hands took hold of him, but stopped when he realized they were helping him up. His right eye was still full of water, so the figure in front of him was indistinct, even so close. But, he saw enough – and the scream came back up before one hand, rough and long-fingered, gripped his face across his mouth.

  Through his tear-filled eye, he saw the dark orbs that could only be eyes; eyes he’d seen all day long, only now looming so close they almost touched him.

  ~~~

  Cassiel never had time to notice Niall was gone. As soon as he’d set about clearing the ground, he’d caught sight of the figure he thought he’d seen earlier.

  Emil was taken up with something of his own, so Cassiel never said a word as he cautiously followed after it. If it was who he thought it was, Emil wouldn’t believe or understand it anyway. Even seen from behind and slipping behind and around the trees, Cassiel knew his brother when he saw him. No matter he’d been dead these seven years; no matter Cassiel was the one who’d made an end of him.

  Why had it come to that? Cassiel couldn’t remember exactly, except how it ended. Looking down at his brother as his eyes rolled back in his head and his face turned red, then purple as Cassiel throttled the life out of him.

  Fucker deserved it. The thought was flimsy, without any reason behind what he’d done. He was sure there had been one, or had he just told hims
elf that to ease his conscience?

  Picking up his pace, Cassiel caught his foot on a root and fell, but his fall was stopped by a branch. It didn’t break under his weight, but it bent enough to over-balance him. He managed to push his hands out into the dirt. The tree limb came back up and when Cassiel looked, his brother was gone.

  He felt stupid, hanging there and chasing a phantom. War certainly did strange things to a man, making him believe things that weren’t true. Cassiel knew he wasn’t immune to such things; they’d just never happened to him before.

  There was a dry snap behind him, a twig breaking underfoot. Before Cassiel could pull himself off his unwanted perch, rough hands slid over his head and plunged into his eyes.

  Unlike Niall, Cassiel did scream and scream and scream, but by that time, Emil was already gone to whatever vision drew him away towards the faces.

  ~~~

  The horses wandered out of the woods a few days later, and the three were not missed at the camps along the ford when the army came together.

  In the forest, the faces looked perhaps fresher, as if newly carved. They continued to stare, sightless and unseeing. Waiting.

  END

 

 

  R.L. Robinson, A Sightless Place: The Prelude to No Light in August.

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