The sun rose the next morning amidst a clear blue sky as a cool breeze gently swept the countryside. In the village of Tresham, the people arose and began to go about their ordinary daily labours. Yet there was an uneasy sort of tardiness which seemed to possess the villagers, and many of them tarried, pausing at every turn to speak anxiously to one another. By the time the red glow of dawn had passed away the village green was dotted with small knots of people conversing with one another as their tools rested idly beside them.

The people were uneasy. Gurth’s men had been on the prowl for days, seizing food stores and waylaying farmers. Several people from the village had already been taken and thrown into the slave pens, and the people were now afraid to go into the fields, lest they themselves also fall prey to Gurth’s marauders. Not that there was much reason to work the fields anyway, for many of them had been burned to the ground by Gurth’s men, and whatever was left would surely be seized or destroyed soon enough anyway. Food was becoming scarce and the people were growing more hungry by the day. Yet there was a queer uncertainty about their mood this particular morning, teetering back and forth between dread and hope. For on the previous day, not long before sunset, an omen had appeared in the sky:

The Dark Comet.

That’s what people were calling it, at any rate. It had passed over briefly, casting a fleeting shadow across the village as it did so, like that of some monstrous bird. Several persons swore to have seen the object itself, a dark square which had passed low over the village. One woman even claimed the comet had been a black shield ridden by seven men. What the comet had meant no one could guess. But everyone took a pop at it anyway, proffering all manner of suggestions as to the omen’s portent. Opinion had largely become divided between those who believed the omen spelled doom for everyone and those who were cautiously hopeful that the comet was a sign that deliverance was coming. The people debated these things in animated tones, speculating back and forth between the prospects of various potential fates, until at last the reeves emerged from the manor house and began shooing the people out of the green and hustling them off to work reluctantly in the fields.

Of course, unbeknownst to the villagers, the thing they’d seen in the sky had in fact been a carpet, whose passengers were ensconced at Mortimer’s Mill and were at that moment commencing their own particular tasks for the day.

Skyes had arrived on horseback early in the morning, and was followed not long after by Little, who came on foot along with his two sons, a pair of sinewy lads of thirteen and fourteen, each with a quiver of arrows and a longbow which was only slightly lighter than that of their father. Everyone already knew what was expected of them, and it didn’t take Hae-jin long to set everyone to order and see them off on their respective tasks.

Bartholomew and the Littles were dispatched to scout the roads, keeping watch for Gurth’s men and carefully observing their movements, while the Bird was to do the same from the air. Meanwhile, Mortimer had been sent to the village to gather news from further abroad, taking Tom with him. Gurth’s men were already known to be seeking Joan’s whereabouts, and as such it had been decided that Joan should remain hidden at Mortimer’s Mill and direct the activities of Ursilda and the Wogs, who had been tasked with digging out a hidden cellar beneath the barn. The great Bear had spent the morning burrowing a gaping cavern in the dirt as the Wogs busied themselves shoring up its roof and walls and carting the dirt away as discreetly as they could and depositing of it in the woods. As usual with anything involving Wogs, there was a good bit of quarrelling, particularly as regards the overall quality of the excavation. The Wogs complained that being experienced mine workers they had professional knowledge of the matter, and that the disgraceful hole the Bear was digging was the most dreadful and unsafe thing they’d ever seen. Ursilda retorted in turn that she had dug a hundred dens for a hundred winters, and the Wogs had no idea what they were talking about as usual. For his part, Hae-jin had borrowed Mortimer’s horse and had spent the morning riding the countryside in the company of Skyes, acquainting himself with the lay of the land.

It had been agreed that Hae-jin was to rendezvous at noon with the Bird at Mortimer’s Mill, as Hae-jin wanted a preliminary report from the Bird’s vantage point as soon as possible. The morning passed and just as the sun reached its zenith, Hae-jin and Skyes rode into the mill yard and dismounted. In addition to the war gear he had worn on the previous night, Sykes was now bearing with him a great knobbly war bow nearly as tall as himself. Hae-jin meanwhile carried only a heavy staff, having lost his own sword days ago at Harin’s Vault. Otherwise he was dressed in the same Zhongish clothes had been wearing for days, and both men now wore cloaks and hoods to conceal their unwonted appearance to the casual observer.

The two men entered the barn, where in one corner there was now a massive hole, from which Ursilda’s great posterior protruded gracelessly as bits of dirt were tossed out behind her. From beneath, the voices of the Wogs could be heard complaining loudly that the entrance was still too small.

Joan was sitting in one corner on a stool, watching the proceedings pensively. She arose when she caught sight of Hae-jin, and made her way quickly to his side.

“Thank heaven you’re back. Have you seen any of Gurth’s men?”

Hae-jin nodded.

“We caught sight of a group of them briefly about three hours ago. They had two carts of grain with them, and were headed westward along the road to...where did you say it was, Skyes?”

“Elmstead. The Bishop of Larchester has a large granary there, which Gurth’s men occupied several days ago.”

Hae-jin looked back to Joan.

“Any sign of the Bird?”

“No, he hasn’t turned up yet.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t wander off or disappear again. Having him scouting for us from the air is a critical advantage for us. It is imperative that he be reliable.”

Silence hung for a moment. Then Joan reached out and took Hae-jin’s hand.

“Come, walk with me for a while.”

Joan and Hae-jin wandered out into the millyard. In the light of day, Mortimer’s Mill showed much clearer signs of want and neglect. In many places the plaster walls of the buildings were crumbling away, exposing the wattle and mud daub beneath. The barn was built on a foundation of finely cut stone, yet its walls were composed of bare wattle which were devoid of any covering. It was as though the barn had once been a fine structure which had since perished and been rebuilt quite cheaply. The mill itself wasn’t much better. It was a sagging, crumbling heap, the great water wheel bleached and dilapidated as it loomed motionless and idle above a shriveled and dried up creek bed.

Just beyond the wheel there was a small footbridge which passed over the deepest part of the creek. Here Hae-jin and Joan paused.

The creek was mostly dry. It was wide and deep, yet the only water which remained were a few small pools here and there which teemed with small, insignificant fish which schooled aimlessly back and forth between the ever contracting edges of the water.

There was a dry and cracked railing on the bridge and Joan leaned carefully against it as she spoke.

“Mortimer was a rich man once. The mill used to be very profitable, before the Curse of Gurth. After that happened, the water began to dry up. Nowadays the creek is only full after a heavy rain, and even then it’s hardly enough to turn the wheel, and Mortimer has been quite destitute for many years now. The franklins and yeomen are hardly any better off than we are.”

“What do you mean, ‘we’? Aren’t you all part of this same conspiracy?”

“Oh yes, but that’s only because I am a midwife. I birthed all of Mortimer’s children, and I helped bury all of them as well, along with his wife when she finally died too. I suppose I’m all the family he has left, except for young Tom. But Mortimer, he’s a freeman. All of the others are. Sykes and Little are both yeomen, and Mortimer himself is practically a franklin in his own right...or used to be anyway. As for myself, I was born a serf in Tresham, which is part of the demesne of the Bishop of Larchester. I suppose I would have remained bound to the estate had my talents not been discovered. I’ve always had a certain sensitivity to magic. Not much, but just enough. People realized I was of cunning when I was still a little girl, and in those days the king had ordered that all cunning folk should be enrolled and educated by the church. When I was twelve years old I was sent to the Abbey of St. Etheltrude for two years. The monks taught me to read and write, along with a smattering of philosophy and a thorough catechising. After that I was sent home and given over to our village midwife, who taught me her craft. Things weren’t ever the same after that. Technically I am still a serf, but after having been educated by the clergy I felt like I’d become something more, and it’s been rather awkward living among the illiterate villeins. I don’t feel as though I belong to them, but neither do I belong to the clergy. It is as though I belong to no one now. If anything, it is among the yeomen that I feel the most at home. But even with them, I am still technically an outsider.

The freemen and the nobles blame the serfs for bringing the Curse of Gurth on the land, and in some ways they are right. It wasn’t hard for Gurth to seduce us with his dark arts. The common folk have always been inclined to embrace simple magic, whether black or white. I was taught to know the difference, but others of my station neither know nor care. It’s how we’ve always survived.

Look at the fish in the creek below us. Each time it rains the creek fills up and flows again. For a while there is plenty, and the creek is full of life. But bit by bit it begins to dry up again, and the animals leave. First the birds, then the frogs and turtles. But the fish are left behind. The things which have wings and legs can go elsewhere, but the fish cannot escape and must remain until the end. And we serfs, we are like the fish.

Years ago, a fever tore through the village of Tresham, killing many. It mostly took our children, who died within a few days of catching the fever. None of my remedies worked, and I was powerless to do anything to save them. So I sought out Gurth.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Gurth had only recently come to Linster in those days. The last harvest had been poor, and the serfs were suffering greatly. Then Gurth came, and the people flocked to him. And I flocked to him too. Gurth gave me a potion which he promised would cure the children of our village. But it required an ingredient which Gurth did not provide: the life force of another human being, taken through blood.

I had to acquire this for myself, and I knew the perfect candidate for it. There was a monk who lived in a hovel not far from our village. He claimed to be a hermit and lived alone in a cottage well outside the abbey, where he did nothing but grow fat on the tithe. He was as useless a creature as had ever been born; the monks at the abbey disapproved of him, and the villagers hated him. He was perfect for what I needed, if I could only just take a little bit of what was his to give to those who needed it more. It was black magic and I knew it, but I believed I had justice on my side.

One night I took a knife and crept out to his cottage, bringing some strong ale with me. At first he wouldn’t let me in, saying his vow of chastity prevented him from entertaining a woman in his home, but I wouldn’t leave and at last he admitted me. I then amused him. I entertained him and pressed him with drink until he was asleep, and then I took what I came for. One prick was all I needed to complete my crime of vampirism, and I left my victim sleeping peacefully none the wiser.

That night I went around the village and gave Gurth’s potion to the sick children in our village, and it worked perfectly. All of them had recovered by morning and the fever never returned. But it had come at a price. That same morning the monk I seduced was found dead in his hovel, shriveled almost to nothing. The villagers saw it as divine justice, but I knew better. I was responsible for that man’s death. In hindsight he wasn’t an evil man. He’d never wronged anybody, he’d never even violated his vows. His only sin was being a lazy glutton. And I stole his life from him. I hadn’t meant to kill him, but the guilt is mine anyway. That was more than ten years ago. It wasn’t long afterwards that the Curse of Gurth was upon us. And I, a murderess, am responsible for it.”

Hae-jin looked again into the water, gazing at the fish as they darted about hopelessly in the tiny confines of the shrinking pool. Hae-jin then looked at Joan.

“Why have you told me all of this?”

Joan was looking pensively into the water as well. Now she looked away into the woods as she spoke.

“I’m fond of you, Moon Hae-Jin. I would rather you knew what sort of woman I really am.”

From the direction of the mill there now came a great beating of wings, and with a sudden flurry of golden plumage the Bird was among them.

“Aha! There you are! Sykes said you had gone this way. I’ve been very busy.”

Hae-jin took a deep breath and turned to the interloper. His earlier annoyance at the Bird’s tardiness had now become annoyance at his inopportune arrival. The Bird seemed to have a unique talent for inconvenient timing.

“Well, what have you seen?”

“Gurth’s men are everywhere. They keep mostly to the roads though, which is helpful. Once you know what to look for they’re rather predictable. It shouldn’t be too hard to keep track of them.”

“Are they traveling on foot or mounted?”

“Some are on foot, but quite a lot of them have horses.”

“Good. We’ll be needing those.”

“Ahem”

Hae-jin started briefly, as suddenly he caught sight of Bartholomew the Fox sitting primly on the foot of the bridge. Hae-jin felt a fresh surge of annoyance.

“What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting your report until nightfall.”

“Quite true. However, since you and the Bird were supposed to meet at noon I thought that this was an excellent opportunity to speak to you both in private, without anyone else knowing about it.”

“What for?”

Here the Fox rose and turning around he scooped up a small object from the ground beside him, which he carried over in his jaws and deposited at Hae-jin’s feet.

“Last night I found this hidden near the barn. I thought you would want to see it, so I took it and buried it in the field to show to you later. Rather interesting, isn’t it?”

Hae-jin picked up the object and examined it, wiping a bit of the Fox’s saliva off it as he did so. It was a thick flake of jet black stone, smooth, and almost iridescent. It looked very much like obsidian, though there was a certain quality to its color which seemed unnatural and unwholesome, almost sinister, and the mere sight of the thing gave Hae-jin a shiver. Hae-jin proffered the object to the Bird.

“Do you know what this might be?”

The Bird looked keenly at the stone, peering closely at it with an air of both fascination and growing distaste.

“Why bless me, but I do believe...yes, yes I think it is! Yes, yes, I can see it now quite definitely. This thing is a scrying shard. How ever did you find this?”

The Fox twitched his head slightly in a way that looked rather like the canine equivalent of a shrug.

“I smelled it.”

“How extraordinary. And you found this hidden near the barn you say?”

“So what is this thing, then?” Hae-jin interjected. “You call it a scrying shard, what is that?”

“A scrying shard is a fragment of a larger scrying stone. Whoever carries the shard can speak directly to the possessor of the original stone, wherever he may be. The shard itself is a bit small, I suspect that you’d have to put it inside a bowl of oil or water to get anything near the effect of having a full sized crystal, but in a pinch you could certainly use the thing just on its own. It’s a very straightforward method of communication really, and a relatively common one at that, at least among people of sufficient means and the just the right kind of connections.”

“People such as Gurth, you think?”

“Oh yes, I do think so indeed. The dratted thing positively reeks of black magic.”

Hae-jin turned the shard over in his hand thoughtfully.

“Well, if we weren’t sure we had a traitor among us before, we are now.”

“Do you think Watt left it behind?”, Joan speculated.

Hae-jin shrugged.

“It seems odd to me that he would, but perhaps he panicked and neglected it. That is of course assuming that Watt is our man.”

“I can’t believe that any of them would do such a thing!”

“You said yourself just now that the freemen blame the serfs for the bringing the Curse of Gurth. Maybe their lack of sympathy is more profound than you thought. Or perhaps one of them is simply desperate.”

Hae-jin glanced thoughtfully at the dilapidated mill a few paces away. As he did so, he caught sight of Mortimer crossing the millyard. Hae-jin had just enough time to surreptitiously tuck the shard into his waistband before Mortimer caught sight of them and walked over. There was a certain wariness in his manner as Mortimer approached, and he eyed Hae-jin quizzically as he spoke.

“Afternoon, all What are you all doing over here?”

“I was speaking with the Bird. I see you are back from the village?”

“Yes. There’s no news really, except that the people think they’ve seen an omen or something. Nothing at all about the king or the situation at the capitol. I left Tom behind to pick up anything else. I myself was going to go to Elmstead to see if there is any news there. Tresham is such a desolate place. At least in Elmstead there is a proper tavern. If there’s any news to be had, it’ll be there.”

Joan eyed Mortimer keenly.

“You’ve gone a bit out of your way, Elmstead is the other direction up the road you know. What brought you back to the mill?”

Mortimer fidgeted a bit.

“Er, well, I came to pick up my horse.”

“But Hae-jin has it.”

“I know that”, Mortimer snapped, “I remembered that Robin Goodfellow here was going to meet with the Bird at noon. I thought perhaps I could get my horse back now so I wouldn’t have to walk all the way to Elmstead.”

“I’m sorry Mortimer, but I’m afraid Hae-jin will continue to need it over the coming days, at least until we acquire more horses.”

Mortimer threw a sharp look at Hae-jin.

“What do you mean, more horses?”

Hae-jin met Mortimer’s eye.

“I will tell you more about that later. In the meanwhile I will be grateful for whatever news you can bring from the town, but I’m afraid I cannot spare your horse at the moment, Sykes and I will be leaving ourselves again shortly.”

Mortimer grunted derisively, but said nothing and walked off in the direction of the farmhouse.

As Mortimer withdrew, Joan threw a concerned look at Hae-jin.

“Do you think he saw the shard?”

“I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure. However, whoever the owner of the scrying shard is will likely be trying to find some other way of contacting Gurth now that he’s lost the shard. We will need to keep an eye on our friends from now on. I will be departing with Skyes shortly, and I’ll need the Bird to return to the air and continue tracking Gurth’s men. Can I ask our good Fox to dog Mortimer’s footsteps for the moment?”

“You can ask. I’ll probably say yes.”

The rest of the day went as planned, as did the following day and the day after that. During that time Ursilda and the Wogs had managed to hollow out a sizable cavern beneath the barn and even more remarkably had managed to agree that it was a more or less sound piece of construction. In the meanwhile, Hae-jin felt that he had gathered enough information about the surrounding land and the movements of Gurth’s forces that he could begin real action. It was now time to strike back.

The sun was lowering on the horizon as a column of armed men marched dolefully along the road between Tresham and Elmstead. There were seven men at arms on horseback, all wearing the the scarlet and black livery of Gurth. The design looked rather like a horseshoe from a distance, but it was in fact a pair of scarlet shackles connected by an arched chain. The soldiers were leading a wagon full of grain, along with a wretched group of farmers bound together on a rope like a string of fish. They were coming upon a line of poplars beside the road, which caught the sun and cast a macabre shadow like a barred window over the sorrowful procession.

Suddenly there was a cry, as one of the men at arms jerked and fell off his horse, clutching at an arrow which was imbedded in his breast.

More arrows poured forth from the treeline, and as this was happening a tremendous bear burst for from out of concealment with a bellow followed by several Wogs making bloodcurdling yells. Pandemonium ensued as several men now joined the melee from behind the trees.

In a few moments the contest was over. Two more of the men at arms had been unhorsed and killed, while the others had fled in disorder down the road, abandoning their prisoners and booty.

Hae-jin strode confidently down the road towards the cart, where the Littles were busying themselves releasing the farmers. The Wogs were busy looting the dead men at arms of their weapons and armor. Joan was trying to contain one of the horses which had been abandoned by Gurth’s men, while Sykes had already mounted another of the horses and was attempting to chase down a third. Things had gone exactly as planned, and Hae-jin was quite pleased.

Hae-jin now approached the farmers, who were trembling with a mix of fear and bewilderment. He paused to look each man in the eye before he spoke.

“You are all free to go. Take your grain and be gone. And tell all you meet that it was Robin Goodfellow who saved you.”