The Dead God Series Collection

Chapter 1-2

The enthusiasm of the promised day off had decidedly waned by the time both fields were sown. The sun had sunk low on the horizon and the surrounding features in the landscape had become fuzzy silhouettes. The forest to the east of Bywater was a single indistinct menacing mass of trees, whilst the village itself was defined by flickering lights in house windows.

By the time Torben had cast the last handful of the seed for the day, Master Amos was already unhitching the oxen and getting ready to lead them down to the farmstead. Wordlessly, Torben followed the old man down the hill towards the edge of the field. When he reached the bottom, Master Amos was trying to chivvy the oxen through the gate and onto the road.

‘Bring the last of the seed grain down with you,’ he called over his shoulder as they lumbered towards the farm.

Torben hefted the last two unopened seed-grain sacks onto his broad shoulders and climbed the stile out of the field and onto the road. Master Amos and the oxen, though not far away, had already become indistinct in the fading evening light. Torben set off for the farmhouse. He could feel the fatigue of the day gnawing at his muscles, especially in his shoulders, which were straining under the weight of the sacks. Nevertheless, the further that he went down the road, the easier the last part of the day seemed to become. With each passing step, he realised that the sooner he reached the farmstead, the sooner he was free … for a day, at least.

He began to pick up his pace and was soon jogging down the road, the weight on his shoulders completely forgotten. He quickly caught up with Master Amos and the oxen, and sped past them, his feet thudding loudly on the dirt track, his mind focused on his temporary freedom.

Master Amos watched him whizz past and disappear round a bend in the road. The old man sighed heavily, hoping that Torben wouldn’t do anything too stupid that evening. The last time he’d gone to the Rusty Sickle, the tavern in Bywater Village, he’d spent nearly three months wages in one sitting. There was nothing to be done, though. Torben would make his mistakes and he’d have to figure a way to rectify whatever resulted.

As the oxen shuffled into the farmyard, Amos watched Torben open the byre doors, ready to receive the two hulking beasts. With a couple of carefully aimed prods from the staff and encouraging clicks of the tongue, Amos guided the oxen into their stalls. Torben had already laid out their evening fodder and was hovering outside the byre, watching Amos intently out of the corner of his eye. He was clearly waiting to be dismissed. Taking no heed of the restless youth, Amos went into both stalls and carefully fussed over each ox. They were the key to his livelihood; without them he wouldn’t be able to run the farm … without them, he’d be finished.

A pointed cough from the byre threshold indicated that Torben’s impatience was reaching a breaking point. Amos didn’t turn around, but raised one hand in the air as he continued to intently inspect a hoof. That was all the permission Torben needed. When Amos straightened and turned, he caught a glimpse of Torben disappearing into the farmhouse. ‘Gods watch over you, boy,’ Amos whispered under his breath. ‘I pray you don’t need their help tonight’.

Mrs Amos didn’t need to be told where Torben was going when he entered the kitchen. His beaming smile said it all. The young man nodded a greeting and closed the door behind him. He turned to climb the stairs.

‘So, Amos decided to let you have a little time to yourself then?’

‘Aye, he did’ Torben said, regarding Mrs Amos patiently. He’d been hoping he’d be able to slip in and out of the farmhouse without being accosted, but clearly that wasn’t to be. He could already see the makings of a temperance lecture in Mrs Amos’ beady eyes.

Despite her obvious age, the woman was still sharp as a pin and her eyes, which flashed with keen intelligence, peered down the length of her long, hooked nose. Even though his size and bulk made him seem overly large, Mrs Amos had a knack for making him seem small. She knew exactly what Torben’s plans were for that night, and she didn’t approve.

Torben could feel her steely gaze pierce him, probing for a sign of potential mischief. Subconsciously, he shuffled nervously and, in a matter of seconds, she’d managed to reduce the tall robust man into a tiny guilty child, and he hadn’t even done anything … not yet, anyway.

‘And what are you going to do with yourself tonight, young man?’ Mrs Amos’ voice held an icy tone. ‘Will you be going into the village?’

‘Aye, I reckon I might. Just to stretch my legs, change of scenery, and all that, Mrs Amos.’

‘I hope that you’ll carry yourself with more dignity than the last time you went down to that … tavern.’ The word seemed to physically pain her to utter, and it was quite plain that she didn’t approve of such places.

tavernTorben didn’t reply and averted his gaze. He knew that there was nothing he could say that would placate her, and he’d learned from experience that the best thing to do in such a situation was to play mute.

Mrs Amos turned, picked up a poker from beside the fireplace, and set to work tending the blaze. ‘If it had been up to me, I certainly wouldn’t give you time off. We’ve barely got enough time as it is to do everything that needs doing, without you gallivanting off to drink yourself senseless.’

Slowly, Torben began to edge towards the stairs; he daren’t turn his back on Mrs Amos, lest the sudden movement prompted more scolding.

‘You were an absolute disgrace the last time you went to that godforsaken cesspit.’ There was no disguising the malice in her voice. ‘I thought I’d never get over the shame of seeing you being carried back, slung over the back of an ox! Couldn’t even walk! How you managed to get yourself into such a state is beyond me.’ She shook her head. ‘None of that would have happened had Amos not left you to your own devices. He’s much too soft on you, but then I always knew he was a cretinous pushover. Thank the Gods that he has enough brain cells to work the farm; otherwise, we’d have been out on our ears long ago thanks to his idiocy …’

Mrs Amos continued to mutter bitterly under her breadth, lamenting the state of the farm, her husband, and anyone unfortunate enough to be younger than herself. As soon as Torben felt his boot touch the bottom step, he wheeled and took the first steps two at a time to be out of sight as quickly as possible.

Unlike her husband, whose gruff exterior belied a genuinely kindly and forgiving soul, Mrs Amos didn’t appear to have a decent bone in her body. Ever since Master and Mrs Amos had taken Torben in as a child, Mrs Amos had treated him with contempt. She’d made it plain on many occasions that her husband should have left Torben in the cold, and not taken on the burden of looking after him. Torben had no idea how Master Amos had been able to put up with his wife’s verbal a***e for so many years, though the lines on his face and his noticeable depressive nature were signs that the old man was close to breaking point. Had Torben been in Master Amos’ shoes, he’d have left the haughty witch a long time ago, but Master Amos would never be able to bring himself to do anything like that. It wasn’t in his character.

When he reached the top of the stairs, the spring had crept back into his step. He strode to the end of the corridor, lifted the door latch, and stepped inside. His room was small and sparsely furnished. Then again, there wasn’t much space for anything more than a bed and small table, which acted as a stand for a washing bowl and a large wooden box. He pressed himself against the rough stone of the whitewashed wall to allow enough space to close the door, and sat down heavily on the end of the bed. It sagged visibly under his weight, and creaked as he started to pull off his boots.

Torben had been sleeping in the same bed since he’d been taken in by the couple, and it was now a good foot too short, barely wide enough to take the breadth of his shoulders. Mrs Amos would never conceive of spending any money on getting the bed replaced.

He pulled his tunic over his head, moved over to the washing bowl, and began to remove the day’s grime from his hands and face. In all honesty, he had no idea how Master Amos had been able to get away with giving Torben the day off. Mrs Amos had made it quite clear that she didn’t approve of the idea, and if she didn’t approve, it usually meant that the idea was immediately scuppered. Of course, there was a strong possibility that the old woman simply wanted Torben out of her sight. Yet one of her favourite pastimes was to scold him for anything and everything, which made it odd that she wasn’t being too obstructive.

When Torben had finished washing, he took a small towel from a hook on the wall, dried his hands and face, and moved to the wooden box. Lifting the lid, he surveyed the contents. Everything that he owned was in the box. He shifted through the few items of clothing at one end, trying to find a tunic that wasn’t too shabby, not that he had a great deal of choice. Apart from the clothes, the box contained a few odds and ends: a couple of well-thumbed books, a money pouch, a small square of mirrored glass, and half a bone comb that was missing most of its teeth.

Torben found the most presentable of the tunics and removed it. Bundled up, it was a bit creased, but that didn’t matter. No one at the Rusty Sickle would care how he looked. He unravelled the thick woollen tunic and gave it a shake, hoping the creases would fall out. As he did, an object fell from the folds and landed with a thud on the floor.

He dropped the tunic and snatched up the item, turning it over several times to ensure that no harm had come to it—the item in question was a silver arm ring which, though dulled with age, glinted faintly in the evening light struggling through the small window. The surface was etched with intricate flowing patterns that swam across the metal and terminated in two knots at the end of each arm. Torben could clearly make out the shapes of human figures and a writhing Wyrm that snaked across the face of the arm ring.

Torben’s father had often told him the story of the Triskedale Wyrm when he was a child. He must have heard the tale a thousand times, but each telling was as fresh and captivating as the last. Every time he recounted the story, he’d lift up the sleeve of his tunic and show Torben the arm ring. On cold winter nights, the flickering light from the fire made it seem like the etched warrior figures sprang to life, whilst the Wyrm writhed and thrashed around them.

Torben picked up the tunic and polished the surface of the metal. When he was satisfied that the arm ring hadn’t sustained any damage, he grabbed a scrap of cloth from the chest and wrapped it around. As he placed the bundle back into the chest, he paused, and slipped the arm ring on his upper arm. It had been made for his father and Torben sensed a definite connection to him as the arm ring sat snuggly on his arm, as it would have on his.

He put on the clean tunic and fastened a belt over the top, then pulled on his boots, still spattered with muck from the day’s work, and made sure the bottom of his trousers were tucked inside to preserve them from the elements. Standing, he grabbed his long, rough leather overcoat from the hook on the back of the door and picked the money pouch from the box.

Opening the door to his room carefully, he listened for signs of life. He could hear Mrs Amos delivering her usual evening lecture down in the kitchen. He’d have to move fast to avoid being caught up in the tirade that she was no doubt delivering to her husband.

He walked quickly and quietly across the landing and down the stairs, without passing through the kitchen, and stepped out into the night. He could hear Mrs Amos calling after him as he strode purposefully across the farmyard, but he kept his head down, and focused on getting away as quickly as possible. He vaulted over the farmyard gate and started down the track towards Bywater Village. The lengthy, winding path was illuminated by the light of the rising moon. He sighed with relief and a smile crept across his face. He was free!