Devils on Starfall Isle

3

The night was coming in now, the grey forest that surrounded the little village stained deep blue; the first star had appeared, low in the east. The wind was still sharp, and the ruins of the other nearby huts looked like hands, fingers clawing towards the evening sky. A shooting star tore across the sky.

The grey trees swayed gently in the night breeze, their heart-shaped leaves brown and dry, the occasional one fluttering down to the mud.

She had one more thing to do. She had left it too late, and she chided herself: foolish girl, is this what kills you? She shivered in the cold wind, despite the shawl wrapped around herself, ducked under the charms, and started the slow walk around her hut.

She sung the old songs of sanctity, older than humanity's presence on this little island, older than her, older than the dead around her. She tried to keep her voice steady, tried to walk slowly, tried to scatter the barley evenly, as Tira had taught her. But she could hear the howls, far in the east, call and response, and she shivered again; but this time it was nothing to do with the cold.

She went once round her hut, back to the blazing orange rectangle of the open door, the firelight welcoming; and then she turned for a second circuit, this time sunwise, making the trek the other way, back around the house. She sung as loud as she dared.

There were cracks and snaps from the forest, the noise of branches being torn away. A flock of birds flew overhead, going west. She used every ounce of her self control to keep going slowly, keep weaving the spell. Something was crunching through the brush, a number of somethings; and it was too dark to see them, but she could hear their huffing, their snorting, feel their white-hot hatred.

Three steps, two, one, the orange light from her open door stamping a rectangle on the scrubby grass ahead of her; and then she was in the hut, the door closed behind her. She leant against it, heat hammering.

They had reached the clearing.

She had never seen them, only heard their calls, their screams and roars. On that first night, she had wrapped herself in rags, tried to block out the noise of the horror that was going on outside, while she cried as quietly as she could, sobbing into cloth. Now, though, she was grim, exhausted. Last night she had actually slept while they prowled outside. She didn't have that luxury tonight, though.

Something shrieked directly outside her door; making her jump its hoarse call was sudden and harsh in the silence. A second one returned the noise, some way away; and then a second time, much closer. They must be able to move incredibly quickly.

Hands shaking, she picked up an iron grill. Earlier when the sun was still high in the sky she had made a dozen small, uncooked bread rolls, ready for baking. She slid the grill into place in her fireplace, above her little fire. Then she pushed a second, larger log in to the flames; smoke started curling from it, tiny flames catching on the bark. She needed to cook her bread, but her plan also relied on this fire lasting for as long as possible.

Then she sat in the pool of warmth, the smell of the baking bread filling the little hut with hope. She had already gathered little piles of grass and straw and mud, and they sat on the cold floor, and she pulled them towards her. She picked up a pair of blade of grass. and she wrapped one round the other, starting the process of making more charms, while the things howled in the night.