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The closer they came to the swamps of Hissing Marshes, the less they saw of civilisation. At first, they noticed they needed to hide less and less from patrolling soldiers. Then more things changed. The roads, with their orderly flagged tracks, turned into packed dirt pathways. The last building they saw belonged to a watchman and his family, guarding a huge signal bonfire in case of attack from west. It seemed quite unlikely he would ever need to light it.
Brorzjav's mood continued to dip as they neared the Marshes. They could see the twisted trees, now. The sluggish mists that Brorzjav stated were ever present. A thick, clinging fog that would penetrate the thickest of clothing. Even the horses became skittish as the sights and sounds of the surrounding area changed.
Only the carrion birds frequented these lands. The crows, the ravens, the jackdaws, safe in the knowledge that somewhere, not far from their nesting areas, there would be sweet, succulent decaying food. They hadn't seen a single animal in hours. No stray dogs, no sheep, or goats. Even rabbits seemed to avoid the miasmic reaches of the Marshes.
At almost mid-day, the sunlight seemed dimmed. Its rays turned a putrid yellow colour. Muted and sickly the sunlight almost struggled to shine at all, as though waiting for night to arrive to give blessed relief from the encroaching filth of the hateful place.
Brorzjav scowled as he gazed towards the north, then turned his head to the south. The Marshes seemed to stretch forever, in both directions, spreading the dour atmosphere across great swathes of the land. As big as a nation unto itself, the Hissing Marshes instilled fear and loathing within the hardiest of people. Brorzjav considered himself hardy and he despised the place.
"We'll not be riding the horses in there." He dismounted, glaring at the tree-line, the mists curling up the trunks, caressing and embracing the putrid wood.
"Why? Won't it be better to keep our own feet dry?" Viriili had become accustomed to riding. She enjoyed it and, most like, gave credence to her feelings of superiority. At least, that's what Brorzjav thought.
"Tiera. Your spear." Tiera unhooked her spear and tossed it, flat, towards him. He stepped forward a few feet and looked at Viriili. "Looks like normal ground, don't it, eh? Watch."
He placed the butt of the spear onto a piece of thick, dark green grass. It did, indeed, look like solid ground. Without even thrusting the spear butt down, he let the shaft sink through his fingers until a good foot-and-a-half became swallowed by the swamp. He looked back again to Viriili and saw the required look of shock on her face.
"Patrons!" She whispered, reaching down and petting her horse's neck.
"Aye. And that's not even in the Marshes proper." He threw the spear back to Tiera and headed back to his own horse. "I don't know about you, girl, but I don't fancy having to kill a horse that's broke its leg because I didn't want to get my feet wet."
"Alright, Grey. She gets it. No need to rub it in." Tiera dismounted, her boots squelching into the groundwater as she dropped from the saddle.
"Is there not?" Brorzjav held onto the bridle, preparing to lead the unhappy horse into the mists and deformed trees. "I told you I didn't want to come this way. I told you it was wrong. But, no! You two know better'n me. Silly old goat, eh? Worrying over nowt, eh?"
"I've been through hard areas before, you know." Tiera grabbed the bridle of her own horse, rubbing its neck, calming it.
"I don't doubt it. But you've been nowhere like this. Nowhere." He realised he must sound irritated to them, but he needed them to understand. "There's nothing good in these Marshes. Don't eat anything. Don't let any tree, or branch or even leaf scratch you. Don't drink the water, even if it looks fresh. If you see any creature come towards you, kill it."
Viriili, the last to dismount, dropped onto the soggy ground and grimaced as her legs sank almost to the knees. She didn't have the height to hold the bridle, so clutched the reins of her horse in both hands. She moved closer to Brorzjav and he felt like saying some kind words to make her worry less, but that would lessen her fear. Fear would keep her alive.
"What about the horses? What will they drink?" She looked up at Brorzjav with her cold blue eyes. A little emotion peeking through the cracks of her expressionless face.
"The horses'll drink what they can. Their stomachs can handle worse water than us." Even though he wanted to give them both the hard truth, telling the girl that the horses were still likely to die would, most like, be too much to bear. "And don't waste your own water. Drink sparingly. We don't know how long we'll be in here."
"Have you told enough horror stories, or would you like to go on?" Even Tiera seemed more tense, now. Good. She needed to feel the weight of the undertaking they were about to embark upon.
"Aye. Enough. For now." He turned back to the tree-line and drew in a deep breath. The last clean air he'd taste in a while, he considered. "Let's get on with it. Keep your weapons loose."
Viriili pulled her fighting dagger out of its sheath, a little way, and slid it back. Little more than half the length of a sword, the dagger seemed sword sized in her hands and she had taken to it. The girl felt like a grown-up, wearing it and Brorzjav couldn't begrudge her that. Even though it would be little help in a real fight.
He could have continued with his warnings, of course. Continued to tell them of the things he saw all those years ago. The things in plain sight, like the poisonous plants, and the worse, hidden things. The things that slithered and clutched at unwary legs. The things that slipped and jumped from tree to tree, out of sight, caught only in the corner of the eye. The walking things and the crawling things.
Easing Notch in its scabbard, he realised he had held his breath. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, trying to escape and flee. His mind and his legs would follow, given half a chance. He steeled himself and still couldn't force his legs to step forward.
"It's alright, old man. I'm scared too." Viriili looked up at him and he could tell she wasn't lying.
"And me." Tiera joined in, scratching her nails into her short hair, breathing heavy. "We do understand the danger."
"Aye? Well I'm bloody terrified." He drew in a deep breath through his nose and blew out from his mouth, performing the action twice more. "Let's get it over with."
He forced his leg to move forward, then the other. Soon they even started moving without shaking. Viriili and Tiera began following and he aimed for the nearest, largest gap between the trees. As he moved, the mists of the Marshes began to reach out dirty, ethereal tendrils towards them, as though pulling them forward. Almost playful in a dingy, macabre fashion.
Once past the tree-line, the last remaining light dimmed to a fetid glow through the fog and the canopy of leaves and branches above them. The air seemed to deaden in an immediate blanket of noiselessness. Except, it wasn't noiseless. New sounds wafted through the trees and fog. Strange noises. The sounds of strange insects, wings and legs chirruping and clicking, of honks and reverberating horns of swamp creatures, of hoots and the caw, caw, caws of the carrion birds.
The Marshes were alive and that life scared Brorzjav half to death.
YOU ARE READING
These Old Bones
Fantasy[Book Three of the "Patrons' World" series.] What was he without war? No longer a husband. Never a father. No family or friends to speak of. For decades, war had carried him from one side of the world to the other and back again, but never home. Now...
