The Darkness Steals The Light - The Elim Chronicles

Light

The first rays of pale sunlight pierce through the rising mists which carry the putrid stench of death. Bloody puddles water the ground with piles of frost-covered entrails that glisten like wet rubies.

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Algwain surveys the farmhouse, now stripped bare and blackened by the blistering fire and smoke. Fragile sunlight shines on his exhausted face through a hole in the charred roof.

The little girl quivers beneath a bundle of filthy rags. He holds her in his arms, and her tiny, bare feet curl in the icy wind. Algwain's gaze lingers on the charred remains of a hand-carved wooden doll in the smoking hearth. He steps between Eindred and Eifear and out through the doorway, emerging into the pale light of the morning. A blanket of ash covers the ground like a filthy frost, the wind rustles through patches of tall, brittle grass; and the cries of approaching scavenger birds punctuate the eerie silence.

Algwain's stomach twists into a knot as he treads amidst the limbs of the dead, scattered like loose stones. A flayed face stares back at him, eyes wide with silent, mortifying screams. He sidesteps the half-frozen body of the soldier, his flayed flesh glistening pink beneath a thin layer of frost.

The soldiers step back from the door, which falls inward with a thump, filling the air with clouds of ash. They collapse onto the floor, exhausted, and stare with bloodshot eyes through the open doorway, out to the rising dawn.

"By the old god—". Eindred stands, then emerges from the charred farmstead and gapes at the harrowing sight of the butchered dead. His shoulders slump as he closes his eyes to the nightmare. A shiver runs down his spine as the stench of death rides on the morning breeze, he retches a mouthful of bile onto the ground.

"Take a breath, Eindred," Algwain shields the girl's eyes, his rough hands pulls her tight against his chest. His eyes follow the frozen trails of blood.

"What evil did this?" Eindred's bewildered eyes search Algwain, seeking answers.

"Let's not linger to find out," Eifear strides out from the smoldering house and joins Algwain's side. "We need to put distance between us and whatever the feck they are."

Eifear lets out a low warning whistle and gestures toward the worn stone path that ascends from the valley. "General, we've got company." His hands instinctively reach for absent weapons.

A chestnut cob pulls a small wooden cart along the pathway. The wooden wheels creak to an abrupt halt. A frail old man leans forward, whispering calming words into the agitated cob's ear. The cob lowers its head, its ears flicking back and forth.

"Men of Galt, I am journeying east on an errand. I shall take you where you need to go," the old man's voice is tired and creaking, his back knotted and bent, clad in filthy, tattered robes that hang from his thin frame. He clings to his tall walking staff with a welcoming three-toothed grin. The old man extends an invitation for them to join him, his cataract eye glows in the pale sunlight.

They cautiously approach the peddler, muttering words of gratitude through cracked lips as they shuffle on weary feet to the rear of the cart. The cart is empty except for four dry woolen blankets and a battered old wooden chest.The cart groans in protest under their weight as they clamber into the back. The old man whispers to the cob, and the wooden wheels lurch forward, clattering over the grass and stone.

Algwain leans back, settling his bulk between his battered soldiers. He tugs at a dry woolen blanket and wraps it tightly around himself. His cold bare feet peek out from beneath the blanket, dangling over the edge of the cart. In his arms, the girl's chest rises and falls. His eagle perches on the cart, carrying a lump of fresh, bloody flesh in its beak.