As they moved forward a rising night wind stirred the fog into billows that broke over the barrows. Hadrian saw hundreds of mounds, each large enough to hold a thousand bodies. A few were still marked by ancient weapons; tall spears draped in empty armor and swords supporting torn helms and split shields.
They walked slowly now, looking for something none of them quite dared imagine. The wind continued to rise. Behind them the trees began to moan and in front of them the last of the fog was pushed aside
The sound of the trees became a shriek rising in sympathy with the scene the retreating fog exposed. The moon washed out all of the colors, but only the blacks and whites and grays mattered. Fifty yards away, just beyond the weed choked channel, a shifting gray mass lay in the hollow between two barrows. Tendrils stretched from it to the nearest barrows and then down into the rich soil. It had the general appearance of a giant, ghostly hand, its bony fingers clawing at the earth.
Shelia dragged them down into the tall weeds by the edge of the road. As they watched the fingers pulled backwards dragging forth long streamers of gray and white, smudged with the blackness of the wet ground. The strands doubled and redoubled upon themselves, making thicker, more distinct digits. The dark soil stood out on the pale surface like cancerous lesions.
Now the digits reached out to more distant burial mounds, like the roots of some foul tree. As they reached each mound it boiled outward as the bones of the ancient dead suddenly pushed themselves to the surface.
The wind grew thick, swollen with the odor of decay. Already a half dozen of the barrows had broken open and the bones of a thousand slain warriors strained under the moon as a single entity. Another thousand would join them before Shelia’s shivering group could even reach the muddy channel. She decided then that there was nothing they could do, not here and not alone. They had been witnesses and that was all. Now it was time to fall back and ready the defenses. Perhaps, with sufficient warning it would be possible to hold the bridges.
Excerpt from The Seventh Bridge (Amazon.com: The Seventh Bridge eBook: Terence Soule: Kindle Store)
They walked slowly now, looking for something none of them quite dared imagine. The wind continued to rise. Behind them the trees began to moan and in front of them the last of the fog was pushed aside
The sound of the trees became a shriek rising in sympathy with the scene the retreating fog exposed. The moon washed out all of the colors, but only the blacks and whites and grays mattered. Fifty yards away, just beyond the weed choked channel, a shifting gray mass lay in the hollow between two barrows. Tendrils stretched from it to the nearest barrows and then down into the rich soil. It had the general appearance of a giant, ghostly hand, its bony fingers clawing at the earth.
Shelia dragged them down into the tall weeds by the edge of the road. As they watched the fingers pulled backwards dragging forth long streamers of gray and white, smudged with the blackness of the wet ground. The strands doubled and redoubled upon themselves, making thicker, more distinct digits. The dark soil stood out on the pale surface like cancerous lesions.
Now the digits reached out to more distant burial mounds, like the roots of some foul tree. As they reached each mound it boiled outward as the bones of the ancient dead suddenly pushed themselves to the surface.
The wind grew thick, swollen with the odor of decay. Already a half dozen of the barrows had broken open and the bones of a thousand slain warriors strained under the moon as a single entity. Another thousand would join them before Shelia’s shivering group could even reach the muddy channel. She decided then that there was nothing they could do, not here and not alone. They had been witnesses and that was all. Now it was time to fall back and ready the defenses. Perhaps, with sufficient warning it would be possible to hold the bridges.
Excerpt from The Seventh Bridge (Amazon.com: The Seventh Bridge eBook: Terence Soule: Kindle Store)
