The Dark Rider Book One: Snow, Time, Bones

Part 22

Iain Dyfed's bent back came into view on the other side of the hedgerow, yellow polo shirt covered in mud-stains from his fingers. He whistled an old hymn through his teeth that Warren had forgotten the name of.

"Dad!" he yelped. "Hi!"

Iain straightened and glanced over his shoulder. "Afternoon. Hello, who's this?"

Mr. Rye's breath landed on the back of Warren's neck, cold and sweet like meat rotting in an abattoir. "One word wrong, and you won't breathe another."

He swallowed and tried not to shake. "Dad, this is Mr. Rye. The school guidance counsellor."

"Oh ah?" Now Iain stuck his hoe into the mud and threw a handful of nettles into a waiting wheelbarrow. Evidently, the tractor was still not fixed. "What's my son been doing now?"

Mr. Rye hesitated before answering, an unpleasant smile of amusement on his face as he watched Warren watching him, knowing he could tell his father about the late-night break-in. In the end, all he said was:

"Nothing at all, Mr. Dyfed. I'm new to the area, and your boy kindly offered to take me on a walking tour. So, this is your farm, is it? Very nice."

"It was larger in my father's time." Iain rubbed more dirt onto his forehead and regarded Mr. Rye with a slight squint in his left eye. Warren noticed that subtle sign of affection and groaned inwardly. The Dark Rider was trying to make friends with his dad. And it was working. "Now we have a few horses and a couple of empty fields, a tractor that won't start and crops rotting in the ground unless I pull them up with my own two hands. We did used to have sheep, so we did, and a sheepdog too but we had to sell the crowd of the former and something has befallen the latter. I'd sell the horses but they were a soft spot of my wife's... she always said she'd start up a riding school for the village children. Never happened."

Mr. Rye had frozen, trying not to look bored. "Oh, yes?"

"Yes. I tell you what now, why don't you take young Mr. Rye inside and give him a glass of juice or something, Warren? It's a heatwave and us adults are sweating half to death."

"I won't be staying long." The Dark Rider spoke like oil through Mr. Rye's mouth. Warren placed a hand on the front door as if in a slow, horrible dream.

Kay opened it and stared at them. He was dressed in a pair of Iain's old jeans and a chunky, maroon and yellow striped sweater much too large for him. On top of that, his pale, disturbed face floated, his big eyes fixated on Mr. Rye.

Mr. Rye blinked at the attention. "Hello?"

"You!" Kay barked, feeling for a sword at his hip, his hand coming away empty. "You... you're... you are supposed to be dead!"

"Boo," the Dark Rider said flatly. "Get out of my way, whoever you are, and let me in. I have to collect something."

"You will not touch such a holy object," Kay fumed, not budging. "The Charm of Ihesu should not be touched by hands such as yours. You would soil it."

"Another friend of yours, hmm?" Mr. Rye sneered at Warren. "Get him out of my way or I'll run him straight through."

"With what?" Kay laughed. "Your enormous nose?"

"Where's George?" Warren said. "Did he get home OK?"

Kay didn't answer. He continued to glare at Mr. Rye and Mr. Rye glared back. With Warren's father nearby, they could do nothing but trade insults. The Dark Rider slammed a hand palm-flat against the middle of Kay's chest. The blow didn't knock him over but his face took on a greyish tint and he staggered sideways. The Dark Rider - King Ythr, trapped in Mr. Rye's body - took the opportunity and pushed past him.