Before the sun had made its way over the tips of the eastern pines, Giles had collected enough provisions from the farm to last him a week. He had taken it all through the window, fearing to remove the furniture he had discovered barricading the front door.
Before he finally had finished his preparations, stripped himself of his old clothing and tossed them down the well. Within the house, Giles collected a new attire. Simple, and dull. He gave little thought to it other than if it fit him. While he kept the sword, tucking it beneath his new tunic, the spear he left behind stuck in the dirt at the back of the barn.
The horse proved itself easy to handle. Now, sitting on its back, centered on the road between the barn and the farmhouse, Giles looked up and down the road. First from where he had come, then back to where he had originally been going.
He had not planned on finding a steed or provisions to help him along his journey. Under any ordinary morning, the man would feel the world to be his for the taking. But when he looked back, the memory of the men in the wagon filled his mind. Spreading the story of the strangely dressed man with a spear and sword.
The road winding up the hill and into the woods above felt now barred from him. As if it vanished upon reaching the treeline. His gaze followed the road back down the hill, beneath the horse's hooves, and off ahead. Two men. To men who were previously ahead of him on the same road, now turned into shattered bones and squelching flesh. His hand gripped the sword beneath his clothes, and spurred the horse forward.
Through the fields, then forest and out again to rolling hills and grass lands. A road that had, at first, kept him on his toes with travelers now devoid of all life. Above, the white clouds fluffed and grew as giant white titans in the blue sky, catching the shades of sun and moisture, and far off behind into the South poured its content in a veil of translucent dark gray.
Wind kicked up through the bobbing grasslands, whipping green blades back and forth against their anchor and tugging Giles' new cloak against his lean body. No bird, bug, or man were to be seen or heard beyond this point, and at all times Giles tasted an earthy moisture upon his tongue.
Three slopes he went up and down, each time wondering if he might see a distant figure when reaching the top. Each time, his isolation further solidified itself. A truth that should have given relief, felt unearthly strange, and hitched in his throat as a painful lump. On the last peak, he wondered if any other person lived in the whole country beyond that farm.
Then, he looked down, and saw it.
A short stretch from the base of the hill, a river ran cutting through the countryside. Its water, calm further up from where it came, rumbled off into white jutting crashes the further down it went. On its opposite side, the land grew rather flat for a time before ascending in one more rise.
Connecting the two lands, Giles spied, a stone bridge, large enough for perhaps one wagon at a time. It had fine stones coming up as a railing on either side, and it curved below finely to let the water pass beneath. Where each end met with the road, lanterns hung from fine posts, though they were unlit.
No travelers passing or guards standing post. So, Giles urged his horse to descend the slope.
As they trotted downwards, he took note of a magnolia that stood some short distance off from the bridge's other side. Its branches stretched out far, shading the surrounding area and puffing out to obscure the view of the grassy hill rising behind it. Its trunk twisted and thick hinted at an ancient lore surpassing even the first settlers of the land.
Eyeing the top of the branches, Giles noted something out of the corner of his eye moving fast. He snapped his head to the left and locked his vision on the movement. Across the river, on the grassy slope, a dog dashed through the grass. Some sort of mutt. It sprinted with every ounce of its being, away off to the left and over the hill.
Where had it been, he thought. Was it laying in the grass? Had I spooked it? Must have. What on earth was it doing here all alone?
He had been so fixated on the mutt that he took no notice that the horse now clopped upon the stone bridge. He would have perhaps gone on not knowing had the jolt of its halting not sent him careening.
"S'the matter with you?"
The steed stood motionless. Its ears forward, and head up high. Giles looked up searching the bridge, needing only a moment before he spied what caused his animal's fear. He squinted hard, unsure of what he might be looking at.
"Hello? Hello there?" There came no answer.
Where the magnolia stood fattest at the trunk, its shade had totally blocked the sun's assault, bringing a blackness to the world beneath it.
There, he saw it standing.
Out from behind the trunk, it jutted its head out with its long stretch of a neck, much how a horse would. The shade obscuring any details, silhouetted by the bright slope rising up behind it. A hand steadied it as it leaned its neck slightly out further, then stopping upon noting Giles now spotting it.
The world went silent.
"I say hello?" Giles felt his own spit catch in his throat as the words came out. "How are you this day?" He glanced down at his weapon, hoping they had not noticed his hand gripping it within the tunic. "Oh, no I am no danger, I assure you." The longer he looked at the dark figure, the less he felt like speaking. "I come back from that way."
He turned slightly and pointed behind him.
Though the motion took his view away from the figure for only a moment, when he looked back at it, it looked to have stepped out a bit further than before.
"I, uh, I am passing through these parts. Stayed with a farmer just some ways back, last night. Do you know him?"
The horse breathed a lowed snort, and took a step back.
The lie came out with no thought put behind it. And it sent the image of the body laying before the well crashing through his mind. Then the priest. Then the hand print.
An odd idea crept into his mind. An idea he did not wish to accept.
"Well, I suppose-" The sentence drifted off, Giles unsure where to take it. He swallowed hard.
"There he is, mama."
Resonant, and airy it came forth. A hint of uncertainty, as if it had never spoken the words before. Then, under where the brow ought to be set, Giles spotted a pair of eyes glared out, wild and hungry.
Giles felt his spine stiffen, and the hairs upon the back of his neck rise. His hand, against any better judgment or awareness, gripped the sword under white knuckles and drew it forth, pointing it towards the figure.
"I meant you no trouble. I only desired to cross the bridge and be on my way. Stay where you are, and I will make no move to harm you."
The words came shrill, and even their owner failed in believing them. All the same, he kept the blade held out towards the shadow.
"At the door." The voice hesitated at each new word, but sounded still with much effort as it spoke.
Giles felt a heat come over his mind. Something deep within his species. A primal familiarity. It spoke. It made words. It watched him. But nothing in his own mind told him that what stood beneath the shade of the tree was of his own kind. And for this feeling, he could only form a simple stupefied question.
"What are you?"
Once his words ended, the horse gave into the terror that had grown within its simple mind. With a wild jolt, it leapt high, bucking Giles backwards and flinging him off. In the process the sword in his hand loosened from his grip and went sailing over the side of the bridge's railing.
His back hit the ground and knocked the wind from his chest, followed by his skull cracking itself against the stone. Giles felt his vision go blurry and a surge of all encompassing pain jolted through his body.
Above him the horse bucked about and wailed in a mad frenzy before taking one final unwitting leap, and flying over the edge of the railing, and landing back first upon a large stone splitting the river's current. For a moment there came sounds of splashing before the gurgling water took the animal down beneath its flow. And silence rained over the countryside once more.
Hot tears of pain swelled in the man's eyes as he lifted himself onto his butt. Taking one hand, Giles pressed it against the back of his head and drew from it bright wet blood. His vision swayed.
"Come back."
Its voice brought his mind back, and he stood, planting one foot further back. Giles looked to the tree. It stood fully away from the trunk, still engulfed in its shadow. For the first time, he could now see its figure. On all fours it moved like a spider.
"Dear God." The words gasped from Giles' throat, as images of his own corpse shredded and laying bare upon the bridge filled his mind. Of some other man stumbling upon his dead bleeding body, only to observe closely before moving on with their journey.
Then the visions of his life came through to his mind's eye. Of villages, and boats casting off into a sunset sea, and of soldiers marching through red stained grass. He saw himself there now, only this time he alone, left crumbled into the field as they all marched on.
"Papa."
The voice's final word spurred Giles on. And, no longer thinking of any attempts to move ahead, he turned heel and ran back across the bridge.
His hope, already flickering away, went out to go out all together upon hearing the hate filled within the howl that came from behind, followed by the thunderous pounding of stomping feet and slapping hands upon grass, already covering the distance between them.
He looked ahead seeing the hill he had come down. No city, and no person near enough to help. Once a cause for giving him hope for the future now condemned it.
But, thinking as fast as his panicked mind would allow, he ducked to the left and ran along the edge of the river. Ahead he saw it. The white waters thrashing about. If he could just make it.
The slamming of feet on stone behind, then on grass. It gained, every moment. Giles felt his heart near to bursting from his chest, and his breath drew sharp into his aching lounges. The howl sounded off once more, and he thought he felt the brush of fingers against the loose back of his tunic.
Jump now or die. He jumped.
The water totally enveloped his being, and still he sank lower. The river stung his chest with its frigid pulsing current. He fought against it as it attempted to bring him down to its bottom. Muscles strained as he motioned his legs and arms to propel him upwards, but no matter how hard he tried, he only grew further from the surface.
Crack!
His arm smacked against something hard, and his whole body followed pressing hard against a rough surface. A rock. The realization gave him the idea of using the pressure to inch his way up, up, up. Daylight filled his eyes as his face broke through the surface, sucking in the air desperately.
Giles clung to the rock, coughing and sputtering water that pounded against his head, threatening to submerge him once again. He turned to look over his shoulder, best he could. He caught a glimpse of it, running over and behind the hill. In the direction he had been traveling. The sight of it made him lose his hold, and back into the current he went, but this time able to stay above the water.