Excerpt: Under Wicked Sky

No sane man entered the dark forest of their own volition, just like no sane man jumped into a cartload of horse manure to bathe...

Slowly, reluctantly, Shane turned his head once more to the forest. In the late afternoon sun, the parched soil of Dead Man’s Land shone in a dull, sterile white. Beyond it, like black masses of claws sticking up to the sky, lay the edge of the forest.

Buckeye’s smoky hide would give them some camouflage against the trees, and with night coming on it might be possible to hide in the shadows.

Shane’s mouth had become suddenly dry. Tearing his eyes away, he looked around again – more desperately this time. He had to be mad to be considering this. If there were some other way… but there was no shelter within half a day’s ride, no other place to hide.

The trees in the forest ahead of him wavered in the still air, the branches curling and clicking like bony skeleton fingers as if urging him on.

Buckeye snorted and his ears swiveled back, one hoof digging in the soil. Shane knew his time was running short. Any minute now, the King’s Officer’s would figure out his trick, double-back, and be on them.

Shane tried to swallow, but there was no moisture in his mouth. Gripping the reigns, he turned Buckeye’s head straight on towards the dark trees and urged him forward.

A length of two stone throws in and the dry brittle weeds— which had before been nearly thigh-high to a man— thinned and shortened until at last Buckeye was clomping over nothing but broken, bleached bits of shale.

The trees loomed up before them like a black curtain, until Shane had to tip his head straight up to see the very top and they were still so far off he could hardly make out individual trunks.

The way forward was mercifully flat, but for the odd piles of broken rock. Shane clucked his tongue and dug his heels in, ordering the gelding into a tired gallop. He could feel how much this was costing his horse. All of this was coming at the very end of a long day of riding and Buckeye’s steps were a heavy, labored.

Presently, even the broken shale thinned and ended, leading into a long bare stretch. The soil was white, bleached finer than any coastline Shane had ever seen. Odd crystals glinted out of the hard crust like thousands of grains of salt. Shane tried not to look too hard at the tiny skeletons laid out here and there – perfectly preserved rodents, dried husks of toads and even a few birds, their necks stretched back double over their own backs as if in agony.

A piercing whistle shattered the air, not from the forest, but from behind. Shane turned; no less than seven uniformed figures stood back on the road, the setting sun casting blood upon their shoulders. Another troop of King’s Officer’s must have joined the first. He was already too far for the wind to carry voices, but he could see the hesitation in their stance – the aggressive posturing of two formless shadows. Perhaps they were arguing on who would be the ones to follow him.

It was a slight relief to know that trained men feared the forest just as much as he… although they were not the ones riding directly to it.

Turning back, Shane clucked under his tongue and dug his heels in. “Hurry, Buckeye!”

The smoky dun snorted once, but couldn’t manage more than a heavy canter. He was tiring even faster now, faster than he should have even after all of the hard riding. As if whatever had killed those small animals was slowly, but surely pulling him down as well. Buckeye was blowing hard at every breath, a thick lather built up about his neck. Shane gave him his head, kicked but the most he could manage was a trot now, his ears pinned back with the effort.

Shane hazarded another look back: The King’s Officer’s had seemed to have come to a decision – four of them broke with the others and had left the road at last in pursuit. They were not yet to the line of broken shale, but were coming on fast.

The trees were looming just before him now, dark and foreboding. Each trunk stood as large as a house, but for all that there was only enough space for one man and a horse at time to squeeze between them. Small stubborn tufts of grass had broken through the strange white crust, gathering around some of the greater roots like chicks around a mother-hen. It was black as pitch just within the trees.

And only five feet from the forest edge, Buckeye slowed to an exhausted stop.

“What are you doing?” Shane yelled and dug his heels in, hard now, for another glance back behind him showed that the King’s Officer’s were not slowing. “Keep going, Buckeye. Move!”

The horse took a step forward, tossed his head, and then stepped back.

A strange rattle came from the depths of the forest – the sound of wood skittering upon wood. Something in that sound sent all of the hairs on the back of Shane’s neck up on end, and spooked the horse. Buckeye reared, nearly throwing the surprised boy off his back, and had turned in a circle to bolt before Shane yanked savagely to regain control.

“Come on!” he yelled, his voice breaking. And in a panic, Shane dismounted to grab Buckeye’s halter. He would walk the horse in if he had too.

But Buckeye set his feet and did not move.

“Buckeye, please!”

Buckeye twisted his head again, settling back on his hind legs as if to rear again. His eyes rolled, wild and panicked in a way that Shane had never seen before in his steady, dependable mount. He would not move, would not take another step forward. And at that moment Shane knew that if he were going to hide in the forest, it would have to be alone.

“Fine!” he choked, ignored the sudden sting behind his eyes. Buckeye had been a gift to him from his mother – one of the last things she had gifted to him before she had passed. More than that, the horse had been with him throughout most of his boyhood. They had hunted together, learned together and he planned on taking him into war… someday.

Shane stepped back and rubbed at an eye with the heel of his hand to clear his vision. “Fine,” he said again. “Have it your way.” And, pausing only to check that his long hunting dagger still hung off the sheath on his belt, Shane let go of the halter and slapped him firmly on the rump.

The gelding squealed and turned, bolting away back to the road as if all the dark and evil spirits in the world were trying to run him down.

And Shane was left alone at the edge of the forest.

The King’s Officers were still coming fast, but he did not spare a glance for them. He turned around, his back to them, and gazed into the dark, unknown beyond. Another rattling wind echoed from somewhere behind the trunks – like a rattling snarl of some hidden predator.

Shane took a deep breath and let it out. Then, with his hand firmly on the hilt of his dagger, he strode into the dark forest.