"It started around three years ago..." Duckworth Bowe said as he tore off a chunk of bread and dunked it into his homemade stew.
The meal wasn't much, but the Doctor believed it was at least something to line their bellies for when they left later. The night had
arrived properly and now he figured it was time to tell the tale. "...I'd been out collecting fuller's earth for one of my experiments,
when I came across -what I thought at first, was an old miner's cemetery".
Peggy Powler spooned the vegetables around on her own plate as she listened and decided not to look to Bowe's daughter accusingly.
If the Witch's recollections were correct, Barren Wayz had popped up when a large seam of Benzonite quartz was discovered over ten
years ago and the ruckus for such a mineral at the time ensured a boom town could be quite lucrative for those who support the everyday
living of those that dug the stuff out.
Of course, their were accidents and people died. Miners -too quick on making a fast frollis and not concerned with safety, would burrow
into the rock of the foothills and not appreciate what weaknesses they were creating. As the interest in the quartz and the access to it
waned, the town shrank and a place of rest for these diggers would be left behind.
Sarah nibbled at her own meal and kept her eyes from catching the Witch's cold gaze. She shouldn't have done what she'd did and now
she was squirming in her own self-guilt. Whatever her father had found out there, was out of her own league and even when she'd visited
the place where he'd mentioned, it just seemed like a forgotten graveyard that had been ravaged by predatory animals.
Although... Paxo, her coy-wolf had whined and refused to enter the little shrub-lined basin.
"I thought the fororn place had become a foraging-ground for the critters that live out there and so I decided to give the deceased some
respect..." Duckworth had continued around a mouthful of pottage-soaked bread "...I replaced the makeshift coffin lids and re-interred
their remains". His audience remained silent as he prepared his thoughts for what was coming next.
...................................................
When the weird-looking creatures came cavorting out of the night, the young girl called Peggy Powler believed she'd walked into a
nightmare and it just couldn't be real, it just couldn't be. The great Myrddin was already shouting at the top of his lungs strange spells
that the novice Witch had never heard before and Duckworth was still creating the large circle of Haven that he'd told her about earlier.
The man who'd shared the barn with the seventeen year-old was now pouring a special mixture of what a lay-person would suggest was
a white powder and what looked like beads of coloured glass around his recent swain, the incantation-bellowing Myrddin and himself.
Peggy didn't think Duckworth was going to make it in time and so, picked up one of the small sacks that they'd had brought out earlier
and began spreading the odd contents.
It was a hybrid of aragonite and what some call 'snake-stones', an evil spirit-banisher mixed with the calcite to bolster the commonplace
powder used in majick. Good stuff, if you can make a circle of it before the Dancing Dead get to you. But at the time, the teenager just
did as she thought was correct and hoped on Herne's great ragged horns that she didn't end-up as one of them.
They had met in Hatton in the Corn's village square just after she and Duckworth had gratefully accepted poorly-carved wooden mugs
of -what looked like, hot chicory from a little woman who'd also left a small bag of unknown contents near the village well. If the already
-waiting bearded wizard had wondered why his apprentice and the newcomer had arrived together that morning, the stoic sage had
kept his musings to himself.
Now, he was busy giving out his instructions to five men who nodded excessively to every word Myrddin said. The middle-aged yeomen
carried shovels and mattocks on their shoulders and left after a couple of minutes of the magician's tutelage. Turning to his dutiful doublet
of tenderfoots, he had asked them to bring the four sacks of substances and follow him to a nearby field.
All very military-like, the inexperienced Peggy had mused. But later, she would reprimand herself for that juvenile way of thinking.
The day had been long and the village-men had toiled hard to dig the long trench where corn used to sway, the Powler girl had repeated
the words given to her by Myrddin and had been advised on their correct pronunciation. There was no fuss of social standing or feelings
of resentment regarding dictatorial oversight, things needed to be done to stop the approaching evil and lives were in danger.
As the light faded and the diggers called out their gratitude as they scurried back to their homes, it now could be considered that Myrddin,
Duckworth and Peggy were equals. But considering what was climbing out of some coffins right now, parity was the least of their worries.
Then they came.
At first, the approaching deformed dancing corpses were attempting to sing from dirt-filled diaphragms and as Peggy focused on spreading
another inner-ring of the sacred gilings into the grass of the meadow, she had to moil her grit not to just break out in tears.
They were horrible, broken puppets that were once beloved humans. Revolting bone-figures capering in rags, some stumbling and losing
mummified limbs, others still with crumbling earth falling from their eternally-open mouths.
Looking up from her task -as one of the palled forms hopped close enough to see its withered innards, she saw the dancing cadaver blow
apart as Myrddin pointed towards it. "Abito Defuncti Daemonium" he proclaimed in High-Speak and as the grey ashes were caught on the
night's breeze, the next emaciated automaton staggered forward to take its place.
Duckworth was reading from a small book he'd fished out of his pocket and finishing her side of the circle, she quickly hustled beside him
and began to declare the strange words on the pages. Peggy's tone was of terror, but it was in harmony with the man she shared warm hay
with last night. Together they were Myrddin's choir and the great Warlock conducted the symphony of the Damned.
...................................................
The Doctor picked up the half-empty plates and waited for the apparent questions to come, he scraped the remains of the meal into the
wooden bowl Duckworth had personally carved for his furry friend watching from near the cabin's rear door. Since Paxo didn't race to gulp
down the food, the chef for that evening wondered amiably if the word 'friend' was a tad too strong.
"Did you find the contaminator?" Peggy asked as she rose to pay for her supper by washing the crockery, but Doctor Bowe held his hand
up. "For what Sarah did today, you -my good lady, and myself will be enjoying the desert night, whilst my daughter pays a debt".
The person in question remained silent, but nodded in her punishment.
Duckworth sighed as he verified his insignificance beneath the spectacle of stars, it so big and we down here -he thought, are so small.
"It's been two years since I visited that remote gulch and I left when I realised that my constant burial actions were useless" he said to
the woman beside him admiring the same panorama. "I stayed there many nights and never saw the devil that was responsible for the
awful displays..." he added and looked to the gritty-sand at his feet. "...The old ways have left me Peggy, my poem was a cry for help".
Peggy nodded out into the desert and wondered what fates were in motion to have a Tinker acquire the scroll, for it to land at Myrddin's
door and for a certain Witch of Underhill to be intrigued enough too investigate further.
Adjusting the strap of her satchel, that particular sorceress replied "then, Ah' think it's time we cleaned this mess up too" and watched her
long-ago lover return to the cabin to get his coat.
The meal wasn't much, but the Doctor believed it was at least something to line their bellies for when they left later. The night had
arrived properly and now he figured it was time to tell the tale. "...I'd been out collecting fuller's earth for one of my experiments,
when I came across -what I thought at first, was an old miner's cemetery".
Peggy Powler spooned the vegetables around on her own plate as she listened and decided not to look to Bowe's daughter accusingly.
If the Witch's recollections were correct, Barren Wayz had popped up when a large seam of Benzonite quartz was discovered over ten
years ago and the ruckus for such a mineral at the time ensured a boom town could be quite lucrative for those who support the everyday
living of those that dug the stuff out.
Of course, their were accidents and people died. Miners -too quick on making a fast frollis and not concerned with safety, would burrow
into the rock of the foothills and not appreciate what weaknesses they were creating. As the interest in the quartz and the access to it
waned, the town shrank and a place of rest for these diggers would be left behind.
Sarah nibbled at her own meal and kept her eyes from catching the Witch's cold gaze. She shouldn't have done what she'd did and now
she was squirming in her own self-guilt. Whatever her father had found out there, was out of her own league and even when she'd visited
the place where he'd mentioned, it just seemed like a forgotten graveyard that had been ravaged by predatory animals.
Although... Paxo, her coy-wolf had whined and refused to enter the little shrub-lined basin.
"I thought the fororn place had become a foraging-ground for the critters that live out there and so I decided to give the deceased some
respect..." Duckworth had continued around a mouthful of pottage-soaked bread "...I replaced the makeshift coffin lids and re-interred
their remains". His audience remained silent as he prepared his thoughts for what was coming next.
...................................................
When the weird-looking creatures came cavorting out of the night, the young girl called Peggy Powler believed she'd walked into a
nightmare and it just couldn't be real, it just couldn't be. The great Myrddin was already shouting at the top of his lungs strange spells
that the novice Witch had never heard before and Duckworth was still creating the large circle of Haven that he'd told her about earlier.
The man who'd shared the barn with the seventeen year-old was now pouring a special mixture of what a lay-person would suggest was
a white powder and what looked like beads of coloured glass around his recent swain, the incantation-bellowing Myrddin and himself.
Peggy didn't think Duckworth was going to make it in time and so, picked up one of the small sacks that they'd had brought out earlier
and began spreading the odd contents.
It was a hybrid of aragonite and what some call 'snake-stones', an evil spirit-banisher mixed with the calcite to bolster the commonplace
powder used in majick. Good stuff, if you can make a circle of it before the Dancing Dead get to you. But at the time, the teenager just
did as she thought was correct and hoped on Herne's great ragged horns that she didn't end-up as one of them.
They had met in Hatton in the Corn's village square just after she and Duckworth had gratefully accepted poorly-carved wooden mugs
of -what looked like, hot chicory from a little woman who'd also left a small bag of unknown contents near the village well. If the already
-waiting bearded wizard had wondered why his apprentice and the newcomer had arrived together that morning, the stoic sage had
kept his musings to himself.
Now, he was busy giving out his instructions to five men who nodded excessively to every word Myrddin said. The middle-aged yeomen
carried shovels and mattocks on their shoulders and left after a couple of minutes of the magician's tutelage. Turning to his dutiful doublet
of tenderfoots, he had asked them to bring the four sacks of substances and follow him to a nearby field.
All very military-like, the inexperienced Peggy had mused. But later, she would reprimand herself for that juvenile way of thinking.
The day had been long and the village-men had toiled hard to dig the long trench where corn used to sway, the Powler girl had repeated
the words given to her by Myrddin and had been advised on their correct pronunciation. There was no fuss of social standing or feelings
of resentment regarding dictatorial oversight, things needed to be done to stop the approaching evil and lives were in danger.
As the light faded and the diggers called out their gratitude as they scurried back to their homes, it now could be considered that Myrddin,
Duckworth and Peggy were equals. But considering what was climbing out of some coffins right now, parity was the least of their worries.
Then they came.
At first, the approaching deformed dancing corpses were attempting to sing from dirt-filled diaphragms and as Peggy focused on spreading
another inner-ring of the sacred gilings into the grass of the meadow, she had to moil her grit not to just break out in tears.
They were horrible, broken puppets that were once beloved humans. Revolting bone-figures capering in rags, some stumbling and losing
mummified limbs, others still with crumbling earth falling from their eternally-open mouths.
Looking up from her task -as one of the palled forms hopped close enough to see its withered innards, she saw the dancing cadaver blow
apart as Myrddin pointed towards it. "Abito Defuncti Daemonium" he proclaimed in High-Speak and as the grey ashes were caught on the
night's breeze, the next emaciated automaton staggered forward to take its place.
Duckworth was reading from a small book he'd fished out of his pocket and finishing her side of the circle, she quickly hustled beside him
and began to declare the strange words on the pages. Peggy's tone was of terror, but it was in harmony with the man she shared warm hay
with last night. Together they were Myrddin's choir and the great Warlock conducted the symphony of the Damned.
...................................................
The Doctor picked up the half-empty plates and waited for the apparent questions to come, he scraped the remains of the meal into the
wooden bowl Duckworth had personally carved for his furry friend watching from near the cabin's rear door. Since Paxo didn't race to gulp
down the food, the chef for that evening wondered amiably if the word 'friend' was a tad too strong.
"Did you find the contaminator?" Peggy asked as she rose to pay for her supper by washing the crockery, but Doctor Bowe held his hand
up. "For what Sarah did today, you -my good lady, and myself will be enjoying the desert night, whilst my daughter pays a debt".
The person in question remained silent, but nodded in her punishment.
Duckworth sighed as he verified his insignificance beneath the spectacle of stars, it so big and we down here -he thought, are so small.
"It's been two years since I visited that remote gulch and I left when I realised that my constant burial actions were useless" he said to
the woman beside him admiring the same panorama. "I stayed there many nights and never saw the devil that was responsible for the
awful displays..." he added and looked to the gritty-sand at his feet. "...The old ways have left me Peggy, my poem was a cry for help".
Peggy nodded out into the desert and wondered what fates were in motion to have a Tinker acquire the scroll, for it to land at Myrddin's
door and for a certain Witch of Underhill to be intrigued enough too investigate further.
Adjusting the strap of her satchel, that particular sorceress replied "then, Ah' think it's time we cleaned this mess up too" and watched her
long-ago lover return to the cabin to get his coat.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.