Shadowland Read Online Free

that his leggings were torn
and when he glanced down, could see a dark stain of sticky, wet blood, flowing
down his leg. Below them, the wolves scrabbled at the tree in frustration,
whimpering and occasionally growling softly.
    ‘We have to get higher,’ urged Usher, feeling above
for another branch. They made their way upwards and as they did, the leaves
thinned, the light improving slightly, and in the highest branches with the
tree swaying under their weight, the night sky finally opened up to them. They
could see the village. Too far away to call for help but still not much more
than a stone’s throw distant. People were strolling about and the glow of
cooking fires cast a warm light between the huts where chickens pecked at the
ground and a goat was calling plaintively for its kid; it all looked so
inviting.
    Usher shivered and tried to get more comfortable.
‘We might be here for a while. I think those wolves are still down there.’ He peered below through the shadows. There was nothing
to see in the darkness, but he could still sense the movements. He glanced across at Cal. ‘Thanks for helping
me. If you hadn’t pulled me up, that wolf would have gotten me for sure.’
    Cal smiled at him and nodded,
then stared into the village. Old Jonkey, the hunter, had finished his day and
was coming home on the southern path. His bow was over his shoulder, a string
of three fat ducks hung at his side. His hunting dog, an old flea-bitten hound
that had long seen its better years accompanied him, its tongue lolling
happily. The pair stopped to talk to someone the boys couldn’t see and Jonkey
handed over one of the ducks in exchange for a reed basket of vegetables.
    ‘Jonkey!’ shouted first Cal, and then Usher, trying to get the old
hunter’s attention. ‘Jonkey, up here …Jonkey!’
but the old man didn’t as much as glance in their direction. With the various
noises coming from closer in the village, it was obvious he couldn’t hear them.
They watched for a while as he chatted, then saw him turn abruptly as something
caught his attention, then something strange happened. He dropped the ducks to
the ground, brought up his bow and shot an arrow into the darkness of the
trees. A moment later, as he was stringing another arrow, he fell to the ground
clutching at his stomach with the old hound standing over him barking angrily
into the darkness.
    Usher and Cal gazed transfixed as shadowy figures
crept out of the forest into the light of the nearest fires. Warriors wearing
rough leather kilts and loose-fitting shawls, their faces shadowed in a
distinctive way that every village boy knew from fireside accounts to be
painted blue.
    ‘They’re Picts,’hissed Usher, through clenched teeth, ‘but what are they doing here in the
village, so far south?’
    The Picts began moving amongst the huts, breaking
the calm of the night with howling war cries as they threw burning torches onto
thatched roofs, driving the confused occupants shrieking outside, where they
were cut down without thought or mercy. The
fires spread quickly and the screams of the terrified villagers rose to join
with the bloodlust-howls of the attacking warriors. It quickly deteriorated
into a scene from some awful fevered nightmare.
    ‘We have to get down there,’ cried Cal, hysteria edging his voice. ‘Those are
our families!’ He glanced below into the darkness, trying to decide if the
wolves had gone but sounds of movement frustrated any question of descent. He
grabbed at Usher’s arm and began to sob.
    ‘Usher, why are Picts attacking into the Weald? Surely,
there must be a Roman villa to sack. Why an Iceni village? We have nothing!’
    To sit in the tree, only able to watch their friends
and family driven from their huts and murdered, was more than the boys could
bear, but bear it they had to, as below them, the wolves began to howl confirming they were still trapped.   
    They watched as a young woman ran from a burning hut,
her hair smoking