Atherol clutched his spear tightly in his left hand as he stared out into the darkness over the palisade parapet. He stamped his feet against the cold of the bleak midwinter’s night. He sighed. Danger was often not far away from Myreton and he was the veteran of a dozen clashes against the foul creatures of the marshes who constantly raided Sumersæte’s smaller settlements. He took a moment to clutch his amber pendant and offered a small prayer to the gods.
“Not tonight,” Atherol muttered to himself.
Myreton’s Reeve had given orders to be on the watch from within as well as without after two of the young lads from the village had disappeared on consecutive nights. The Reeve believed that the village’s boys were daring one another to brave the fens in the dead of night. Atherol shook his head at their youthful recklessness – even the Watch didn’t venture beyond the walls after dark. The other boys had been questioned but they swore they didn’t know anything about the disappearances. The Reeve had his doubts and had tasked the Watch with apprehending and detaining anyone attempting to leave Myreton by night.
Atherol began to trudge back along the parapet, his eyes sweeping over the village. Most of the small cottages were dark but lights still shone brightly from the alehouse. Wisps of chimney smoke crept up into the air, adding to the ever-present veil of smog that clung over the marshes.
Atherol looked back over the bog. Something caught his eye. He stopped and strained his eyes into the darkness. There it was! A small pale green light glowed faintly in the night. He stared at it, trying to work out what it was.
Atherol felt something lurking behind him; he turned but nothing was there. Yet, still he felt its presence. At the back of his head, above his neck, he felt it grasping him. Rotten tendrils crept around his head, filling his eyes and mind with a malignant, putrid liquid of black phlegm mixed with virulent pus and clots of dark blood. His mind swam. Where was this filth that was surrounding him, drowning him, coming from? Atherol dropped his spear and tried to run but the oozing corruption filled his mind with seeping visions of decay. It was coming for him and there was no escape. Atherol dropped to his knees, his fingers clawing his eyes as he wept.
Edyth sat up in her bed. Cold sweat dripped from her. Atherol. Her thoughts instantly turned to her husband. It was his turn on the walls tonight. Edyth stood up, feeling strangely uneasy. She pulled her night robe around her and quickly moved to the cottage door and opened it. She listened. The night was quiet other than the faint laughter coming from the alehouse. Nothing seemed amiss. Edyth shook her head, trying to shake the feeling of dread that had awoken her. The night was still. Everything was fine. Edyth shut the door and turned back to bed and tried to sleep.
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