Revenant by Fergal F. Nally

Author:Fergal F. Nally [Nally, Fergal F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fergal F Nally
Published: 2015-03-08T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23: Saxavord

Jack swore.

Raven was gone.

He had a bad feeling. Darkness was approaching, Sabine was still hunting, their party split. Something was wrong. He dropped the firewood and went over to where Raven had been, he saw her footsteps in the earth; nothing out of the ordinary.

Then he saw it. He froze.

A few feet away on a fallen leaf was a drop of fresh blood. Jack took out his blade and listened intently. He looked round, covering the area systematically, nothing. He widened his sweep and saw another blood stain and this time, drag marks. He debated, time was critical, he could not afford to wait for Sabine, she might not return for another hour, by then the trail would be cold and darkness would reign.

He bent his head and followed the trail through rapidly fading light. He was relieved to find that instead of fading the tracks were easy to follow, whoever had taken Raven was not trying to hide their route. It occurred to him it could be a trap, but he had no choice as Raven was in obvious danger.

He moved swiftly and silently through the woods. Something was out of place, not right. He focused and after a moment realised it was the silence; too still, not a bird stirring, not a breath of wind.

All was quiet.

He held his blade in front of him, ready. He shivered. His breath misted the air. What was happening? He felt cold. Tired, as if the life was being sucked out of him. He looked ahead and saw a shadow move through the trees, he wrenched himself awake and threw himself forwards in pursuit.

Jack winced, he had betrayed his cover, his headlong dash was noisy, twigs and fallen branches snapped beneath his feet like broken bones.

The shadow ahead stopped and waited.

Jack slowed and strained his eyes against the gloom. He noticed the trees had thinned, he was in a glade. He looked around frantically for an angle, an advantage. He noticed a pattern to the glade, his mind struggled to make sense of what he saw. Shapes danced around the periphery of his vision as his eyes darted back and forward.

The riddle revealed itself. The glade was ringed by ivy clad standing stones. It was an ancient site, lost, reclaimed by the forest and nature. The inky shadow was watching him from the edge of the stone circle.

Jack waited. A standoff, who would blink first? A trickle of sweat ran down his back. It was surreal, his mind flashed back to a gloomy evening in Fallujah, city of death, a similar standoff with an insurgent, a boy no more than twelve or thirteen. A boy with an R.P.G., he had shouted at the boy to stop, to put the weapon down. The boy chose not to.

He had taken the shot, he had to. The shot that would stop the boy and his trigger finger, dead. The only shot that would count. The boy’s head disappeared in red mist. He had stopped the boy with the R.

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