Song of Albion 3 - The Endless Knot by Stephen R. Lawhead

Author:Stephen R. Lawhead [Lawhead, Stephen R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Historical, Mythology; Celtic, Imaginary Places, Voyages to the Otherworld
Published: 2012-01-16T00:02:24+00:00

I shivered at the words but, to steady my own trembling hand, bent down, picked up the sentry's fallen spear, and gave it to him. "Bring Tegid at once."

Roused by the commotion, others had gathered around. Some murmured uneasily, but most looked on in silence. Cynan appeared, took one look and cursed under his breath. Turning to me, he said, "Who found it?"

"One of your men. I sent him to fetch Tegid."

Cynan stooped. He reached out his hand, thought better of it and pulled back. "Mo anam!" he muttered, "it is an unchancy thing."

Tegid joined us then. Without a word, he stepped to the fore. Scatha followed on his heels.

"What has happened?" asked Scatha, taking her place beside me. "What. . ." She took in the sight before her and fell silent.

The bard spent a long moment studying the misshapen heap before him, prodding it with the butt of his staff. Turning away abruptly, he came to where Bran, Cynan and I stood. "Have you counted the horses?" he inquired.

"No," I said. "We did not think to-"

"Count them now," Tegid commanded.

I turned and nodded to two men behind me; they disappeared at Dflce. "What happened? What could..

." I strained for words, "what ould do this?"

211

STEPHEN LAWHEAD

Before he could answer, someone shouted from the hillside below. We hurried at once to the place and found a second display just like the first: the body of a horse. Though, like the first, it scarcely resembled a horse any more.

The dead animal's hide was wet, as if covered with dew, the hair all bunched and spiky. An oddly colorless eye bulged from its socket, and a pale, puffy tongue protruded through the open mouth.

But the remains were those of a creature starved to death whose corpse has collapsed inward upon itself-little more than skin stretched across a jumble of sharp-jutting bone.

The horse's ribs, shoulder blades, and haunches stood out starkly. Every tendon and sinew could be traced with ease. If we had starved the hapless beast and left it exposed on the hilltop all winter the sight would have been no more stark. Yet, as I knelt and placed my hand against the animal's bony throat, the sensation was so uncanny my hand jerked back as if my fingers had been burned.

"The carcass is still warm," I said. "It is freshly killed."

"But I see no blood," Scatha observed, pulling her cloak high around her throat.

"Och, there is not a drop of blood left in the beast," Cynan pointed out.

Appalled by the wizened appearance of the animals, it had not occurred to me to wonder why they looked that way. I considered it now. "It looks as though the blood has been drained from the carcass," I said.

"Not blood only, I think," Bran mused, answering my own thought. So saying, he lifted the point of his spear and sliced into the belly of the dead horse. There was no blood-no bodily fluid of any kind. The organs and muscle tissue were dry, with a stiff, woody appearance.

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