Three Tree - Chapter 2 (The Watcher)

For Simon, the morning came swift.  His head throbbed with a dull ache, and his blood-crusted pillow served as a nagging reminder of last‘s nights unpleasantries.  A soft drizzle tapped at the wooden shingles above, as a cool breeze pushed through narrow slits between the boards.  The smell of grass and rain-soaked wood filled the dim room.  Simon shivered, and tugged the sheets up over his bare back.   
         “Tawley left some clothes for you on the chest,” Tees said.  He was fully dressed and sipping coffee from a mug. 
         “It’s raining,” Simon croaked.
         “Not hard.  But I think it will get worse.  The earlier we get to the crop, the less we have to worry about it.  Besides, Dughar will be making his rounds.  Maybe we can be done before he finds you.”
         Simon grumbled, stretched, and kicked off the sheets.  “If I know Dughar, he’s probably slept at the crop just to keep from missing us.”  Simon was nearly right.  When they had made their way along the westward path, Dughar was waiting.  He sat on top of a tired, black steed, his long stick hanging loosely from his gloved hand.  A wide-brimmed hat kept rain from his eyes, which watched Simon from the moment he came into view.
         Tees spoke to Simon, but kept his eyes forward.  “Just remember.  He works for the king.  He is a codger, sure enough, but he has his own code to abide by.”
         “Why are you telling me this?”
         “Because your tongue is sharper than your wits at times.  The less you speak, the better.”
Simon yawned and scrubbed at his tangled hair.  From the top of the slope, he could see well over the Blacktree.  The forest seemed as quiet and tired as he did.  A thick mist stood still amongst the trees, giving drink to the glistening foliage as far as his eyes could see.
         He walked slow, fixing his sight on the brooding eyes of Dughar.  A few paces from the horse was a two-wheeled cart and inside, two hoes.  Simon plucked the longer handled hoe from the cart, and heaved it hard into the soil.  Still, Dughar watched him, his eyes prying deep, waiting for a mistake.
         “I think you’re digging in the wrong spot,” Tees said.
         Simon huffed.  “Does it matter?”  As far as Simon could tell, there were no markers set to where the digging should take place.  Finally, after several moments of  aimless tilling, Dughar slid across the belly of his horse.  He open the flap of a large, leather sack, retrieving a hammer.  Simon watched from the corner of his eye, but did not ease up on the ground.  Again, the groundskeeper lifted the flap, this time returning with a hand of white-washed stakes.  He walked silently pass, nearing the edge of the thicket.  He was a tall man, with large hands and veins that wrapped his arms like thin snakes.  His back was broad and flat, and his neck was brown with hard labor under the summer sun.
         Dughar hammered one stake into the ground, rose, spit, and moved along the thicket nearly thirty paces before crouching again to a knee.  He moved in slow, careful stages, each of which made Simon more uneasy than the last.  In a short while, he had managed all four stakes into the points of a rough square, the unseen line between them began a mere two steps from where Simon had begun his excavation. 
         Simon stood, leaning on his hoe and feeling tired. 
         “You’ll need to patch them holes,” Dughar said at last.  “The crop starts there.”  He pointed his hammer at the far corner where the first stake stood white against the grass.
         Simon shook his head, but stopped after a warning glare from Tees.
         “Yes, sir.”  Tees said.
         Dughar no longer watched Simon, but kept a careful eye on his hammer.
         Simon felt his stomach churn.  He flattened the dirt with haste, and headed for the marker.
         “You forgot the cart,” Dughar said.  Though his face seemed like lines etched in stone, his eyes twinkled with satisfaction. 
         “Tees, get the cart.” 
         Tees frowned and opened his mouth, but Dughar spoke for him.  “No.  I told you to do it.”
         Simon shoved his hoe hard to the ground and walked briskly for the cart.  Then he heard something.  A crack from the woods.  He turned, and saw nothing, though Tees must have heard it as well, because now he was peering deep into the thicket.
         Dughar whistled.  “Let’s go, boy.”
         Now at the cart, Simon lifted the two pulling shafts with trembling arms, though he wasn’t sure why his arms were trembling.  Suddenly it came to him that he and Tees were the only ones working the crop, or anywhere for that matter.  “Where is everyone?  Surely were not to go about this alone.”
         “I sent the others home.  Storm’s coming.”
         Simon felt his face burn red.  He knew now that this was no more than a game to the Groundsman.
         “Then why are we here?”
         “You’re young.  You can handle the weather.  Besides, I thought you could learn a few things.”
         Simon wondered what things he was meant to learn, but was sidetracked at another shuffle from the thicket.  He looked at Tees, who wore an anxious frown on his face.
         Simon took long strides, moving as fast as he could while towing the awkward cart.  But whatever pace was set, Dughar easily matched it.  He seemed livelier now, like a cat toying with its meal.
         “You’re never too old to learn,” he said.  “In fact, I got a good learnin’ last night.”
         Simon did his best to ignore the bait.  He kept his eyes on the thicket instead.
         “Look’s like my little girl’s not so little no more.  Tells me she’s growin’ up.”  He laughed, looking at Simon like an old friend.  Simon walked faster.
         “I told her good though.  I told her where whores go when they die.”
         Simon stopped pulling the cart.  Something was watching the scene from the thicket.  He wished it were Tawley, coming in with his patrol, but he knew better.  The thing, a black shadow of a man, was much bigger, even, than Tawley. 
         Suddenly, Dughar snatched Simon’s hand and pinned it to the cart.  Simon yelped at the sudden sting of having his wrist bent so unnaturally.  Tees’ appeared stunned, the Dughar’s sudden madness now competing with the horrific sight of the shadow man.
         Dughar, his eyes blazing of blood-lust, was still unaware of the watcher.  He raised his hammer high above Simon’s hand, now white and swollen with his grip. 
         He spoke again, this time hissing through clenched teeth.  “Then I told her I know many grown man who would hang themselves at the neck before laying hands on my daughter.  I see you with your instruments, boy.  You need both hands to play them things.”
         Simon shrieked, though not for fear of Dughar’s hammer.  The watcher, now in plain site, was running at a bear’s pace towards the two men.  It was not a man as Simon had thought, but maybe of a man.  It hit all fours, tearing into the dirt with treacherous, black claws.  Dughar must have heard it, because he turned just in time to see a face full of teeth latch on to his own.  Dughar screamed and fell.  The beast turned loose just long enough for Simon to see the skin of Dughar’s cheek clinging  to its teeth.
         Dughar rose quickly, and slammed his hammer hard into the creature’s right flank.  The watcher showed little sign of it, and went at Dughar once again, this time gnawing at the man’s throat.  Dughar fell against Simon, holding him breathless to the cart.  The creature jerked its head fiercely.  Simon heard a pop, then felt the  body go limp.  The beast did not let go, however, but re-hinged its jaw for a better grip, then dragged the broken carcass away from the cart, and into the Blacktree. 
         Simon lay sprawled on the cart, staring with astonishment at the trail of blood leading to the thicket.  Tees was at him instantly, jerking at his arms, and shouting for him to run. 
         “Simon, we have to go.  Please, Simon!”  His words fell on deaf ears.  Simon panted, struggling to find reality in the wake of the deadly scene.  Had this really happened?
         He moved slowly, feeling as if he were running in a dream, though held captive by his mind.  With a few wavering steps, he found that his feet were at last able to carry his weight.  Tees ran ahead, sprinting as if the watcher were at his back, nipping at his neck with those jagged, blood-spattered teeth.
         Nearing the top of the Slope, Simon was soon able to make sense of his surroundings.  The grass moved beneath him in a verdant blur.  He saw the hulking  Goerem Tree at the far corner of the Valley, near the Backside.  In between were nearly a hundred or more shacks, each as quaint and dull as the one he had left from just hours earlier.  He also noticed the rain, which now poured in heavy, gray sheets, washing tirelessly at the bloody tracks left behind.  Despite the gore, despite the nauseating pain in his wrist, Simon felt himself engrossed in every detail of the Valley. 
         “Where are we going?”  Simon said at last. 
         Tees did not stop running, but slowed enough to shout “to the Backside.  We have to find the Moody.  We have to find Tawley.”
         A sudden, sickening wrench within his stomach caused Simon to stop.  He put his hands to his knees, his eyes wincing and his chin dripping wet.
         Tees stopped too.  He put his hands to his hips and cursed.  “They won’t be there.”
         Simon shook his head, struggling for breath.
         Tees turned, his face twisted with fear.  “Because they are with him!”  He flung his arm out towards the Blacktree.
         Simon rose, a splintering pinch in his ribs now biting deep within his tired body.  “Then where do we go?”