Alone in the Graveyard
Submission for IronAge Media's prompt "The Calm."
A woman darted from shadow to shadow, trying to stay hidden from any unseen eyes that might be watching her progress. Through the graveyard near this old cathedral was the easiest way into Northund from her homeland. There was a man she intended to pay a visit, Galin was the name. Many tales were told of him, surely all lies or half truths. In some of the tales he was an old man, some a young man, some said he was intelligent, some said quick fingered, and, the most ridiculous of them all, was that he was not a man at all, but the most beautiful maiden any had ever laid their eyes on.
Yes, Anya, the name she currently was hiding under, had heard many things, including that he was a very dashing man. She admitted that was part of the reason she had accepted this task. But no, her purpose was to steal the little green dagger Galin was said to have in his possession. Her master, a hooded man whose face she had never seen, told her that Galin had the dagger, and that it was powerful. He it had been who had tasked her with stealing it. More than once she wondered if this was some fools errand and if Galin was just a legend.
The reason she had been picked for this job, or so she had been told, was that everyone thought her father had been turned into a bull, and that she and her mother had disappeared, so no one would miss her disappearance. How he had found her family she did not know, but he had taught her many things, so she did not regret that he had found them.
The hooded man had warned her to be wary of the graveyard, and if she wasn’t carful, no one would see her again. He didn’t say why, but Anya suspected it was probably ghouls he was thinking of. She was in the graveyard now and had yet to hear anything. She wasn’t worried. She saw she would have to cross an expansive graveyard, cross through the cathedral, and then cross an even bigger graveyard to get by. That was when Anya heard the moans. “It’s just the wind,” she murmured, not believing in magic or the undead. If she had believed, she would have been more careful.
She began to pick her way through the graveyard, not knowing the looming cathedral in front of her was in fact dedicated to the goddess of death, Mykitralna; a place where dark gatherings had done unspeakable things. Nor did she know that so much black magic and so many unholy rituals had been preformed that darkness had permeated everything around, making the bodies buried there come to life.
The sky was growing darker, and it smelled like rain. A wind suddenly blew up, tossing her clothes about herself, and the sprinkling came after that, light but drenching. Leaves from the dying trees were thrown all around her. One caught between her lips. She spat it out.
Anya sped through as fast as she could, hoping to get it over with, and find somewhere dry to rest, unaware of all of the noises she was making. She didn’t notice the rocks getting kicked around. She didn’t notice the cracking of sticks as she trod on them. She didn’t notice her heavy breathing. Nor did she notice the . . . other sounds. Sounds not coming from her. Sounds coming from . . . others things.
She made it into the cathedral and saw all the dark, unholy instruments, statues, and books. She almost cried out in terror, but was able to hold onto her sanity enough to know that if anyone was there, she did not want to meet them, and that if they heard her, it would not be good. She stole through the abandoned cathedral, promising herself that she would visit a holy shrine to clear this evil one away from her spirit and body.
Once outside, Anya saw that the graves here weren’t as old as the ones on the other side of the vile structure behind. And she noted with growing horror, that some of them had empty depressions in front of them. As if they had been dug up or dug out of. Then came another moan. This time distinct and definitely not the wind. Giving a scream, she bolted, luckily in the right direction.
Figures enveloped in shadows began their advance on the strange woman. Skilled and trained as she might be, Anya was unprepared for an assault by the undead. She pelted as hard as she could towards the edge of the cemetery and Northund beyond. Just as she thought she might get away, three more of ghastly creatures appeared right in her path. They were hairless, grey things, with white eyes and slobbering mouths. They were groaning and coming right for her, leaving Anya with no doubt as to their intended purpose.
Turning, she dashed back to the cathedral, but remembered why she had been fleeing from it. She chanced glances to her left and right. Woods on either side, and emanating from the woods came sounds from things far worse than what were currently hounding in around her. Anya stopped. She didn’t know which way to go. She finally decided what was best was to push through and get past the cemetery as she had originally been doing.
She had deliberating too long; something grabbed hold of her cloak. The rain was pouring harder now. Pulling away from the fiendish creature, which smelled as though it had jumped into a bog filled with the carcasses of a thousand beasts, Anya escaped. Her cloak was now gone, still in the claws of the unspeakable terror, leaving her cold and with less protection from the rain than before, but she was safe for now. She used her freedom to make a run for it.
All at once the foul smelling things were on her. She dodged her best, but it was a difficult undertaking. Seeing an opening, she slipped past two of them. As she was nearing the edge of the graveyard, she tripped over something. Whether it was a grave, a root, or a rock, she hadn’t seen. Her head cracked hard on gravestone, and she felt blood dribbling down from her forehead. A moment later a cry rent from her lips as something sharp dug deep into the back of her leg. The pain was unendurable, and she did not want to know whether it was claws or teeth which had sunk into her flesh.
Kicking out, Anya got up, and limped away, running as well as she could with an injured, bloody leg. Looking back, she breathed a deep sigh of relief as she left the graveyard, and the monsters, behind. Returning her gaze foreword, she let out another cry dismay before she slamming into a tree. She fell stunned to the ground.
As she came to, she raised her eyes and saw a well-aged old man who couldn’t have been younger than eighty, looking down at her with a kind smile. At his waist was a ravishing little dagger in a green sheath with intricate silver work. His clothes were extravagant and expensive, yet simple. This had to be Galin. “What’s a pretty little maid like you doing in a place like this? If you aren’t careful the ghouls will eat you. Come, my village isn’t far. That dragon is still there, so if that’s what you have come for then I had a proposition for you."
The End, God bless
Read on to chapter one, as this became a prologue of sorts. Into the Mines part one can be read here. Enjoy!
Just got done reading this, hope there's a part 2 coming up!