Shadowchild

Chapter One: 1629 A sinister presence crawled on the cell walls, just as it had for the previous few days, watching the inmates wallow in their own filth like vermin. During this period of observation it would occasionally reach out and touch the soul of a prisoner, focusing on the weak and the dying, granting them the strength to survive in readiness for this day. The squalid room in which they were kept was constructed from the natural resources found within Feckenham forest, which back in the early twelfth century had covered most of Worcestershire, from Worcester’s fore gate to as far north as the Lickey hills. A dense weave made from felled trees formed the prison walls that housed these petty criminals. The inmates of Bennett’s Bower were held captive, right beneath the feet of the ones who prosecuted and sentenced them from the manorial courts situated in the upper section of the prison. Trespass against the vert (the vegetation) and the venison (the game) or possession of hunting weapons or dogs within the forest, these were the crimes for which they were imprisoned. But today was the fourth day since this evil presence had moved in to live alongside them, and their crimes had greatly worsened in severity. The prison guards had noticed several new corpses in the cell on each of the last few days. With an average life expectancy of just forty-three years and the horrendously unsanitary conditions which the prisoners were forced to endure, death within the prison had always been commonplace, but never quite like this. These corpses were horribly disfigured and most were dismembered; man, woman, child it made no difference. Every person in that cell, without exception, was subjected to rape, sodomy, and violence from the other inmates. Simple criminals serving time for simple crimes had become depraved psychotics, so disturbed they even sodomised the murdered and ate their flesh. The guards had expressed extreme concerns to the hierarchy of prison governors about the things they had witnessed, but their deaf ears failed to heed these words as a warning. Instead they chose to brush aside the welfare of the inmates entirely, and indeed the threat to the residents of Feckenham forest. As the governors fed like royalty and basked in the relative luxury their positions afforded them, the inmates below acted as one and faced the wall of the cell, each taking their turn to charge at it, kicking with tremendous force. They focused their efforts in the same area, a joint where two sawn boughs met and signs of rot were visible in the wood. Several inmates shattered bones in their feet and legs, collapsing to the floor, incapacitated by their wounds. The prisoners split into groups of four, using the wounded as battering rams, with each impact the wood cracked a little more, shattering the skulls of the sacrificial, reducing the flesh on their crowns to bloody pulp. The assault on the cell wall seemed barbaric to the guards as they looked on from behind the safety of the rusty bars in the door with a justified apprehension to intervene. The single-mindedness of the inmates was as though they were a single entity in pursuit of a common goal. Before long they were free, scattering in all directions, completely unperturbed by the dead they left behind. * * * Inside the cell fell silent. An eerie, hollow silence contained by the damp wooden walls. Dozens of bodies littered the ground, most freshly sacrificed for the cause and more visible now that moonlight shone in through the opening in the wall. A single child stood slumped in the centre of the cell waiting as the guards outside rattled the heavy lock. The door made a dull thud as it hit the wall and three guards felt brave enough to rush inside now that this young girl was all alone. Together they drew their broadswords, the slaying of the last remaining prisoner their sole intent. Without getting close, the weapons they held dropped to the ground in unison with their screams, their severed fingers still gripping the hilts of their swords as they fell, held in place by the crushed loop of steel that was intended to protect, not harm. Two of the men fled clutching their bleeding stumps, the third crashed to his knees, staring at his hand. He trembled in shock with his mouth gaping wide, his grimy pink skin drained to white. The young girl’s fists were tightly clenched; her knuckles cracked as she splayed her fingers and looked up at him, tilting her head slightly to see through her filthy, matted hair. She was calm and relaxed in a way that simply wasn’t right for a child surrounded by such horror and bloodshed. As she stepped towards him her bare feet were bathed in torn flesh, blood oozed between her toes. The guard’s face felt cold in her hands, she leant his head back to see into his eyes; they were rolled over white in pain and that was before she pressed them into his skull with her thumbs. Beneath his screams was the sound of his eyeballs being crushed, the pain he felt was short-lived, he was lifeless and limp in seconds. * * * The escaped inmates ran through the densely forested areas that surrounded Bennett’s Bower, soaked to the skin after crossing the narrow moat. More guards chased them from the prison, charging the trailing pack with their broadswords drawn and then slaying them where they stood. Despite the times it was a rarity for these protectors of the king to use their swords in anger as they had the chance to on this night; their over zealous desire would be their undoing. The nine armed guards easily despatched the first three or four unarmed and weary escapees, but again as one, the others doubled back behind them forming a wall of filthy, wretched-smelling rags, two men deep. The guards readied their weapons for the slaughter of the onrushing mob that encircled them, so many of their number were female or juvenile; they had dismissed any threat to their lives. What followed could only be described as carnage, so fearless and such was the determination of the group, the guards could each offer only a single flash of their blades before they were overwhelmed. The lucky ones were put to death by their own swords. Timid and frightened captives these savages were no more; this was the curse that the evil in that cell had bestowed upon them, and now they had a feast of fresh meat to satisfy their desperate hunger after living off scraps in their cell. To die by one’s own sword for a loyal protector of the king could be considered as a less than honourable way to meet your demise, but given the choice, the three that were still alive as the prisoners began to feed would have chosen the blade. That’s exactly what their agonised screams implied. * * * Back at Bennett’s Bower the young girl stepped over the corpse of the guard she had murdered, cool and unruffled, she slowly ascended the stairs to the manorial courts above. She was greeted with regarding eyes. Shy of four foot in stature and dressed in heavily soiled rags, her puny frame and withered appearance was all these eyes saw, neglecting to notice the menace staring back. The small collection of governors and noblemen were sent reeling to the floor, their seats whipped from beneath them with a simple wave of her hand. The men who carried them, unsheathed their rapiers; a far more elegant and decorated sword than those carried by the guards, and they rose to their feet confronting the child. The first nobleman to attack was disarmed and beheaded in a single deft movement, leaving only three armed men and the Lord of Coventry opposing her. A second brave man approached the child, more wary after witnessing the ease with which his counterpart was slain. His lunging attack was dodged effortlessly with a twist of her body and he found his guts spilled as she sliced him from groin to sternum.