17th November 1102

Harndall’s gaze was repeatedly drawn to the leering skulls that perched high on the shelf above the coffin. They grinned blankly at him in the darkness, the empty sockets where their eyes had once been following his trembling movements. His skin prickled, the drying blood sticky, pulling at his face as he grimaced.

Meanwhile, with Kelgar’s help Lochan was slowly opening the coffin, inch by terrifying inch. At any moment Harndall expected to hear the dreadful squeak of unoiled hinges, the creak of ancient wood and then there would be more blood, but it would be the blood of his fellow men.

With the lid finally propped open and not a sound of protest Harndall peered into the dark hollow that was brimming with slumbering evil.

Lochan slowly leaned towards the prostrate figure, raising the stake high in his steady hand.

With a great, ripping snarl Cebrien launched himself from the coffin. He collided with Lochan, almost knocking the duke over with the force of his cold, dead body. Lochan gasped as the air was knocked out of him, tottering for a moment, finding purchase and fumbling for his sword. Kelgar ran towards them, his sword already raised in a swinging arc, but Cebrien swatted him away as though he were no more bother than a fly, his arm sweeping back to grasp Lochan by the shoulder.

Harndall saw the pallid fingers tensing like the writhing knots of a snake and heard the dreadful popping sound of tendons ripping as Lochan’s arm was pulled from its socket. Lochan groaned in agony, the limb hanging uselessly at his side, dangling obscenely like the limp arm of a rag doll. Harndall almost expected to see stuffing peeking through from beneath his armour.

“You fiend!” Osras roared, rushing towards the snarling beast with Noah at his side.

With a deft flick of his hand Cebrien sent them both sprawling leaving them stunned on the floor.

Harndall steeled himself for attack, about to dart forward when Cebrien turned his icy, blood-red eyes on him, “Stay, holy man. I am not to harm you.”

He turned back to the Duke.

“What you think?” the creature hissed through bared fangs, “you think to kill me here, in sleep. You, weak and pathetic… a mortal.”

The last word came out almost as a moan, it echoed through the cavernous room.

“You are wrong mon ami. I cannot die!” he spat shaking Lochan so hard that his head lolled back and forth as though it were no longer attached to the strong muscles of his neck.

Harndall willed his legs to move, to carry him forward to the Duke’s assistance but he was frozen in place, as surely as if he had suddenly sprouted roots winding their way down into the rotten ground, tiles buckling beneath him.

“You think I didn’t wish for it, you. Alone. Pour toujours dans l’obscurite“.

He grasped Lochan around the waist, hoisting his feet from the ground. They kicked feebly against the strong velvet-clad legs as Cebrien squeezed so tightly Harndall could see the metal of the Duke’s breastplate warping out of shape.

They were almost motionless, Cebrien’s cheek pressed against Lochan’s chest as though in an awkward embrace. The only sound the panting and gulping as Lochan struggled for air, the hand that held the stake weakly beating at his attacker’s arms.

“You see if you like also this darkness mon ami.”

Harndall was writhing inside, desperately fighting the force that held him place. He could see that Lochan was fading, the blood draining from his lips as the life was crushed out of him. He glanced down at the limp blood soaked body at his feet.

“Mella,” his voice came out as no more than a croak but the creature’s head turned as though he had screamed it at the top of his lungs.

“What you say holy man?”

Harndall’s gaze wandered to the crumpled figure half hidden by the coffin.

Cebrien’s nostrils flared as he suddenly detected the thick odour of blood that hung in the air. His eyes following Harndall’s gaze widened in sudden comprehension. An alien howl of pain ripped from his throat, echoing around the room so that it was amplified into the rage of a hundred hellish beasts.

He turned suddenly, throwing the motionless body in his arms into the coffin and closing the lid with a thud.

He staggered toward the body, his feet slithering in the pooled blood as he fell to his knees beside her.

“Merila, mon amour, ma pisliskurja. Look at what they have done.”

His entire body was trembling like the flames flickering behind him though there was no air in the dank crypt. Harndall saw that the creature was weeping, tears of blood that stained the pallid skin of his face an inky red. He found his mind turning to the tales of the alabaster statue of the virgin, said to weep blood on the day of the death of Christ. Here before him was a mockery of that innocence, tears of blood running down the marble skin of a monster.

“Ma belle, look at this. Ah God, you forsake me once more.”

His hands were gently stroking the skin of her face, smoothing back the dark hair that was tangled with dried blood.

“Your beautiful neck, look what have they done” he murmured leaning down to kiss her blood stained lips.

He slowly began to rise to his feet, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips.

“I can taste you” he half sobbed.

He carefully wiped the tears from his eyes, leaving a bloody smear on the fine lace of his cuffs.

“You will suffer this holyman. I see you, her blood is upon your face,” Cebrien turned towards him, his face twisting into a menacing scowl.

“I will bring you her pain and much, much more.”

He growled deep in his throat, and then he was upon Harndall, his arms wrapping around him as though slipping the noose around his neck. With a snarl the hands tightened, the rope snapping into place and Harndall was fighting for his life.

He opened his mouth to pray, but the sound was choked out of him by the tightening fingers. He gulped, trying desperately to take even a small amount of air into his lungs, but the cold hands only squeezed harder. The ringing was growing in his ears, his eyes swimming red, blood, blood everywhere. Her blood on his hands, the stench filling his nostrils, his blood bursting the dendritic vessels in his eyes as it squeezed into every dead end in search of oxygen.

The world began to grow dimmer, the light of the flames retreating away, the sounds muffled, his struggles almost at an end. And then her face swam into vision, her wide green eyes peeping up at him from beneath her wimple. Her silent sorrow as she shuffled through the chapel, carefully lighting the candles with timid, trembling hands. Mella, her life, ripped away by a monster, her death taken away from her by his own hand.

He found a sudden and powerful strength in his rage, rage at the world that had been so cruel to her, rage at the creature that had made her into something terrible and wrong. He struggled wildly, like a cat in a bag, plummeting towards the depths of the river.

Cebrien grunted as he tried to elbow him in the stomach. Harndall reached clutching at his neck, fumbling at the iron hands that were closed around his windpipe. His desperate fingers brushed against something solid, tucked neatly into the folds of his robe. He grasped it in his weakened hand and with a final burst of strength turned and drove the splintered point of the cross deep into Cebrien’s belly.

The animal screamed in agony and rage, the hands loosened immediately from Harndall’s neck and went to the tiny cross embedded in his stomach. Harndall gasped, gulping air that was beginning to stink of sizzling flesh into his burning lungs.

With a hissing, spattering sound like ignited oil and a shriek of pain Cebrien removed the small item and flung it at Harndall.

Harndall reached towards him, his hands grasping for the creature’s shoulder but with a revolting popping noise it fell away, covered with dark coarse hair.

He raised the cross to drive it in again but the black dog was already thundering up the stairs. Harndall could not follow, his legs giving way beneath him as he crumpled against the wall clutching the tiny cross to his chest with a murmured prayer of thanks dancing on his bloodstained lips.

Murchadh, Shildfrith, The Church, Ulcar