Treading on Graves - Unfinished

Chapter 3

The only sounds were the clack of knife against chopping board and the crackle of the fire. The scout shifted uncomfortably, eyes still watering, and watched the broad-shouldered shaman add carrots to the pot. His eyes were steel grey, different to the vivid oranges, ambers and browns of most of the rest of his tribe. As well as his natural markings, his skin was covered in swirling tattoos which seemed to dance in the firelight.

The scout felt minuscule under the vast roof of the old church. The Krakowic flag hung liflessly from the lectern, seemingly clutched in the huge brass eagle's talons. A book lay open upon it. Likely a necromantic book to raise the dead with. Some polished clean instrument stood tall, the pipes sinister and aching to break through the roof. The keys grinned at him, each button stared.

"It's an organ, it won't bite," Lech said as he emptied his now chopped vegetables in a pot hung over the fire containing mutton and herbs.

An organ ... the scout imagined the church as a creature, the organ being its mighty lungs.

"What's it for ... sir?"

"It makes music."

So far the scout had been sat here for ten minutes and had faced no hellish trials, only a cup of tea from the old man making stew. He hadn't been asked so much as his name, let alone his reason for sneaking into Krakowic territory.

"We're having a visitor soon. He wanted to tell me something - those signs on the wall are to keep him here and stop him running out and causing havoc."

His stomach churned. He felt himself pale. Would he be used as a sacrifice to whatever Lech would call up from the bowels of the earth? Would he be questioned by it? He let out a wordless moan, clutching his stomach. Lech watched him and stirred his stew.

"He won't bother with you. Far too scrawny, I should think. Just be polite," he said, standing to fetch some books.

Lech was a tall man, and despite his age he stood proud with a straight back. He carried a heavy hardback over with ease, sat down, and read. Just the books were enough to make the scout uneasy - he couldn't read, but knew that words were powerful. The casuality with which Lech read was also a little odd. He had expected there to be more ritual about reading each page, taking in every word.

"What's your name, anyway?" Lech asked.

"Rajmund Lublin, sir."

With a nod, Lech muttered his young companion's name, then went back to his book.

The fire flickered more than normal.

"He'll be here in a minute."

Rajmund whined, pulling his knees close to his chest. He desperately looked left and right for something he could use as a weapon. The only thing he could see was the little kitchen knife Lech had used to chop the vegetables. The old man seemed perfectly calm, reading his book as the fire flickered more. Rajmund's entire body shook uncontrollably as one of the corners of the church sunk deeper in shadow. After a long few clammy-handed seconds, the flickering stopped, shadows faded. A man stood in the corner.

He seemed disarmingly normal, even bored looking. His skin was pale and he was slim. The type that would thrive in one of the cities but never in a tribe. Rajmund shuffled backwards as he approached, heart pounding inside his chest. However, he was ignored. The man began to rapidly talk in some in some unknown language to Lech, who scribbled down notes with a pencil in a notepad. The summoned man began to glance at the scout and apparently ask questions.

"He's curious about you, Rajmund," Lech said, still scribbling away. "Don't be scared. He can't hurt you. He's going to eat dinner with us."

Lech took three battered tin bowls from a shelf by his side, stood, and ladelled stew into each one. Raujmund took the bowl and fork offered to him and hungrily ate. It was filling, full of meat and vegetables. The man, however, stared at his own meal for a little while. He was dressed like a city dweller, probably used to richer food. He ate after a while, though, looking around at the symbols painted onto the walls, and finally back to Rajmund. His blue eyes made the young man tremble. He looked to Lech and spoke.

"He wants to know how you see him."

Rajmund frowned and studied the man.

"I see a regular man. He maybe looks to be 20, or so. He's scruffy looking but well dressed and he has short black hair."

Lech translated, and the other man made a strange chirping sound, grinning. Rajmund awkwardly watched as the two spoke again, then went back to his meal. Swallowing the last leek, he put the bowl aside, and stared at hands. The fire flickered once more, dimming. Tense, Rajmund rose to his feet and staggered back into the darkness, knocking over piles of books as he did so.

It flared again, bright and blinding almost. Rajmund shielded his eyes with a hand, and flashes of colour darted before him. Lech, however, was still calmly making notes and talking to the man. His pencil darted over the page, and then he stopped, snapping the pad shut and standing to shake the summoned man's hand. The man nodded respectfully to Lech, then he gave a small wave to Rajmund. Another quick burst of light and when he opened his eyes, the man had gone once more.