Begin pt 9
The approach of a rider intruded on Ichabod's chaotic thoughts. He looked up
with hope and fear warring in his expression. However, the figure which materialized
out of the storm was not a dark rider on a nightmare steed. It was instead a
slight girl with a sweet heart shaped face and a wild mane of golden hair escaping
from a fur-lined hood. She was mounted on a plump white mare and riding to beat
the Devil. It was, in fact, the last person on Earth Ichabod had expected or
wanted to see. It was none other than Katerina Van Tassell.
His heart clenched and his throat seemed to constrict. At her hurt and confused
look, he found himself torn between sweeping her into his arms and begging forgiveness
and shaking her until she told him the truth. She pulled her mount up to a halt
just in front of him and fixed him with a questioning gaze. He could not seem
to find the words of common courtesy with which to greet her. He just returned
her stare measure for measure. The awkward silence spun out until both grew
uncomfortable.
Katerina was the first to shatter the stillness scolding him in an eerily mundane
tone of voice for leaving without telling her, for coming back to the Hollow
alone, and for worrying her sick. She dismounted and caught his arm urging him
up off the wet ground. Numbly he obeyed. Recent events took on an unreal feeling.
It was as if he was moving through a thick mist isolated from the world around
him moving to a will other than his own. Not until he felt the warm, coarse
hide of the mare under his hand was he able to shake the feeling and return
to his senses. Roughly, he pushed Katerina away from him. As if on cue, the
heavens chose that moment to open drenching them both instantly.
Katerina's wounded look changed to one of concern. "We need to get you back
to the village, some food and warm clothes will make you feel better. You'll
catch your death in this weather." She felt his cheek and forehead. "You must
have taken a fever already to have wandered out here." Her eyes seemed to light
from within at the idea.
He knew too well what Katerina was trying to do. She never really changed at
all. She was almost childlike in that way. She would brush aside anything that
did not fit into her perfect little world just the way she thought it should.
She seemed to feel that if you did not acknowledge an unpleasantness it could
not exist. She would bundle him off back to New York and use whatever means
necessary including her magic to convince him and herself that nothing was ever
wrong that this had all been a fever dream or a side effect of his insomnia.
Then she would see that everything went back to normal, at least on the surface.
She would lie to herself until she believed it and expect him to do the same.
He could not let that happen this time. He had bowed to the will of others all
his life, no more. It was time he chose his own path. He would not live a lie.
The truth had to be revealed now, no matter how painful or ugly. He recalled
his words to young Musbath so long ago. It was true, sometimes Evil was at its
most treacherous when it wore the mask of virtue. His mind made up, he caught
her tiny wrists firmly as they withdrew from his face.
"No, I do not have a fever, and I am not returning to the Village. We are going
to settle some things right here and now."
Katerina stepped back as if she had been slapped. Her face went from concern,
to surprise, then hardened into a determined look he was very familiar with.
She put her hands on her hips and was about to reply harshly when her eyes lit
on the heavily embroidered cloak now soaked black with rain. They travelled
down to the ripped shirt visible under his vest and the dark bruise just below
his collarbone. A look of horrified understanding crossed her features and she
actually backed up a pace.
Ichabod saw recognition and revulsion fill her eyes and desperately changed
the subject catching her off guard before she could begin either accusing him
or demanding an explanation. He made his voice as harsh as he could and allowed
anger to sharpen his words into a weapon.
"This symbol you drew the day we were here, the day you burned the will, it
is a love charm not a simple design, is it not? Did you bespell me then? Have
you kept me under your spell all this time, made me your slave with your white
magic and your lies? If you ever cared for me even a little, tell me the truth,
Katerina. For the love of your very soul, confess now."
"Bespell you?" Katerina's voice rose a level of shrillness that would have been
most fascinating under other circumstances. "Is that what he told you, that
murdering demon?" Anger blazed in her eyes. She seemed to loom in the bright
slashes of lightning in spite of her slight stature. At that moment, he would
have been hard put to guess which of his lovers would win in a bare fisted fight.
"No, this told me." His voice was cold as he pulled the thin book from his pocket.
The bullet damaged cover could not be mistaken. Her own gift served as mute
accuser to her deception. "It's all in here, page twelve diagram C, but you
knew that didn't you." He cast the book of magic to the ground at her feet.
She stared at the book, but made no move to rescue it from the rain and mud.
Then she seemed to crumple before him. Anger and indignation fled leaving her
defeated and trembling. "I...It was...I didn't mean to hurt you. I just wanted...a
chance to show you..how I felt." Her blue eyes brimmed with tears.
Ichabod believed her. This was the Katerina he had thought he knew, the one
he still cared for in so many ways. He could hardly blame her for trying to
hold onto something she really wanted. She was a Van Tassell after all, and
blood will always tell. He could not let her know that yet, though, he needed
to know one more thing. He felt a pang of conscious as he used her guilt and
remorse to trick her. Forcing bitter anger into his voice, he pointed to the
symbols drawn in ashes and demanded she tell him what the other rune meant.
Confused, Katerina looked at the second image in the ashes. The rain was blowing
hard, blurring the edges of the runes. They were both still clear enough to
be read though. She traced the second sign with a tiny finger that was steady
and sure in spite of the emotional outburst and the icy torrent. "I didn't draw
this one. It's a personal symbol. The person that drew it meant it as a protection
and a guide. I didn't do this. I don't know who did, I swear it." She rose slowly
from the ground shivering. Ichabod, lost in thought, did not see her heart broken
look melt into a mask of jealousy and rage.
Ichabod was not surprised by the revelation. He seemed to hear his mother's
admonition to remember echo in the howling of the wind. He had to find out where
the Horseman had gotten the pin, who had carved both he cardinal and the figure
into the back.
Katerina's low rhythmic voice drew him back to the present. She was speaking
in a dangerous sing-song tones her words spilling over each other and running
together. Her azure eyes flashed with wounded pride and betrayal. It took him
a moment to make sense of the incoherent sounds.
"It's that monster, he's the one who has bespelled you. I did what I did out
of love. He plans to take you straight to Hell with him. He plans to isolate
you from the ones who care about you. He wants you for himself, for his own
sick pleasure. I'll take care of that. I know how to stop him forever. It's
so obvious. Why didn't you think of it before with all your big city education
and science. There are people in town that respect my family and me enough to
help me. There are those with a debt to pay to that demon. We'll dig up his
damned bones and bury them in holy ground. Let's see him rise then. Let's see
who you run to when your demon is burning in Hell where he should be."
Ichabod felt an icy hand close around his heart. He had no doubt at all that
she would do just that or die trying. What if she was right? The Horseman had
not been able to cross the Holy ground around the church in town. Fear paralyzed
him for precious moments. Too late, he reached out to seize her. He managed
to catch her elbow, but she wrenched away and swung up onto her white mare.
Without another word, she raced back in the direction of the village leaving
him alone in the cold rain.
Ichabod fell back to his knees in the icy mud fighting panic and tears that
threatened to suffocate him in their battle for control of his throat and lungs.
He had truly and unequivocally ruined everything now. He had to warn the Hessian
quickly and find some way to stop Katerina. He would not blame the Horseman
for parting his head from his shoulders after his stupidity had created such
peril. He did not want to see Katerina killed nor did he desire to lose his
dark lover to a scorned woman's jealousy,or the fires of Hell, not when he had
only just found him. Tears spilled from his eyes and ran down the sculpted planes
of his cheeks to mingle with the icy rain. His stomach was a fiery knot. He
had to control himself. He had to do something now.
The sound of hoof beats behind him froze him in place. She could not be allowed
to see how much her threats affected him. He had to convince her somehow that
she was wrong. Even if it meant leaving him forever and returning to the lie
and the endless, sleepless nights. Better he suffer than be the cause of eternal
torment for the one being he had ever loved. That thought shook him to the core.
He did love the Hessian. The revelation gave him the strength to gather himself
and school his expression. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to face
her. Before he turned his ears caught the creak of wet leather then the distinctive
chiming of spurs.
"Christiaan," he whispered then rose to his feet and threw himself into the
waiting arms of his lover.
***************
begin pt 10
The Hessian held the slender boy tightly. Ichabod was relating the events of
the past few moments in an desperate voice. He knew the matter was urgent but
he could not take his eyes off the small book lying forsaken in the mud, the
sign of his victory. He grinned fiercely against the boy's wet hair trying to
hide his euphoria as he listened to Ichabod's broken synopsis of what had transpired
between him and the girl.
He knew well that he should be taking action, planning a course of defense,
but a strange tightness in his chest made the danger distant and unimportant.
Everything that mattered was here and now, in this very moment. This was the
culmination of his life and death, the salvation he had not thought to find,
his only glimpse of Heaven. It would not matter if he faced judgement in the
next heartbeat as long as he could hold on to this one as long as possible.
The boy's violent shivering was what finally propelled the Horseman into action.
Effortlessly, he swept the human into his arms and carried him to Daredevil
over his protests. The horse stood uncharacteristically still and even bowed
one long leg to make lifting the boy into the saddle easier.
Once Ichabod was settled, he mounted behind and spurred Daredevil back toward
the Tree of the Dead. The trip through the forest was over in moments, and the
Stallion was flinging himself fluidly into the grasping mouth of the portal.
Inside the comparative warmth of his abode, the Horseman helped his mortal lover
from the saddle and held him until he was steady on his feet. Daredevil moved
forward to sniff at the boy tossing his head defiantly when he saw his master's
measuring look. The Hessian shook his head. The animal had come to care for
the lad. In life, the damned horse had never been willing to tolerate another
person's presence within kicking or biting distance of his master. Daredevil's
easy acceptance of the situation was somehow disquieting.
The horseman reached to unfasten the sodden cloak, but was stopped by an icy
hand. "The pin," Ichabod's voice was rough from the weather and the tears, "where
did you get that?" The Hessian slid the pin from the cloak, letting the heavy
weight fall to the floor to vanish soundlessly, and held it toward the fire.
"It was my father's and his before him. This is our family crest. My father
was a wealthy land owner, a lord you might say, in the Hesse-Kassel region of
Germany, my homeland."
"What does the symbol on the back mean?"
The Hessian turned the pin over frowning. "That is a strange tale. It was winter
and my battalion was sent to subdue a town near Jamestown. The battle was fierce
and bloody." A savage grin lit the Horseman's face. "I was locked in battle
with a pair of guardsmen on foot. They were the first real soldiers we had met.
Most of the men we fought were poorly armed peasants and even women and children."
"I moved around for a killing blow to one of the men, but before I could land
it, a bright red bird shot up from the brush between Daredevil's hooves. He
started and I pulled around in time to catch the second guardsman before he
buried a knife in my back. His companion grabbed me from behind ripping the
cloak and pin from around my neck."
"I searched the field when the battle was over and the town put to the torch,
but it was too thick with bodies and debris. I thought both lost for good. Then
we were ordered to move out."
"It was winter and bitter cold so we sheltered in a small village two days to
the West. The people there were loyalist and welcomed our British commanders
with open arms. The Hessian troops they merely tolerated as a necessary evil.
Most avoided us, not speaking or meeting our eyes. We had to tend to our own
food and wounds. That is why it surprised me so much to hear a girl call me
by name. I was on my way to the livery to see to Daredevil when she stepped
out of the shadows in front me. She was a tiny thing with long brown hair and
huge eyes that seemed to command her whole face. She was dressed very plainly
in homespun material and she wore neither coat nor shoes."
"I was an outsider even among the other mercenaries who feared me as much as
my targets. I was even then called the Horseman. No one on this shore could
have known my name. I asked her how she knew me, but she just smiled and held
a bundle up to me. It was my cloak, cleaned and mended with this pin lying safe
on top. When I asked how she came to have it, she just smiled again in her strange
way and shook her head."
"When she did speak, her words made no sense to me. She said to remember that
cardinals are free and death is never the end. My first instinct was to seize
her, demand she explain, but something stopped me. There was an innocence about
her, a childlike happiness. To touch her would have been wrong in a way I did
not have words to explain. I could not speak harshly to her or frighten her
into telling. I reached for my purse to find her a coin and when I looked up
she was gone as silently as if she had never been there. I followed her naked
tracks through the snow until they just disappeared. I found these carvings
that night."
He shook off the dream in time to catch the mortal as he fainted.
Once again the Horseman carried the unconscious boy to his bed pausing to carefully
strip away the wet, muddy clothes before covering him with the quilt. He felt
a brush of velvet against his neck and looked up into Daredevil's red eyes.
An idea came to him then, the seed of plan. He brushed wet hair back from the
boy's face, tenderly.
Mounting the Warhorse, he prepared to face the world above and the raging storm
once more.
********
begin pt 11
Ichabod slept and dreamed of cardinals a pampered pet flying from his hand into
the hazy, New York sky, a toy that twirled and spun, a frightened bird beneath
the hooves of a great warhorse, a simplistic etching in silver. His mother's
voice haunted him whispering her warning to trust his heart and never forget.
Again and again, he seemed to see red blood flowing across the floor of the
rectory, red as a cardinal's feather.
His own scream shook him from sleep. He bolted up into a pair of comforting
arms. The Horseman held him close rocking him gently until the last shreds of
the nightmare dissipated. Ichabod rested his head on the leather clad shoulder
of the Hessian. "She knew you would find me, somehow. She told me to remember,
to trust my heart."
"Remember what, mein hübscher Junge?"
"The symbol on your pin, my mother told me to remember it. She said to trust
my heart. That was her that brought it to you that day. It must have been. She
sent that cardinal to divert you, she made sure cloak and pin made it back to
you. She wanted me to see it and know that it was right."
"Right?"
"Being here with you, loving you." The arms holding him tightened painfully,
but Ichabod did not notice. Too many things were coming clear at last. "She
knew about you, she knew I would be afraid to trust my heart. How could she
not have known what my father would do."
"Your father?" The Hessian's voice was a little unsteady.
"My father killed her." Haltingly at first, Ichabod recounted the entire story
of his mother's torture and death. He had to stop occasionally to swallow the
lump in his throat and choke back tears, but he continued. He explained the
unconditional love he had for his mother, her innocence, her joy, the pain at
finding her dead at his father's hand bound in an iron maiden for witchcraft.
As he spoke, it became clear how much of who he was had been determined by the
driving need to separate himself from both magic and religion. He had run frightened
from the control of two forces that seemed so intent on destroying each other.
It became easy to see that his fascination with science was his way of dealing
with the anger he felt and the betrayal from the father he had looked up to
for so long.
Gradually the words began to come easier and the pain began to recede. The Hessian
listened quietly without judgement holding the mortal boy. When the words finally
ceased he was still crying, but the tears were a release they had never been
before. Emotionally exhausted, Ichabod slumped in his lover's grasp and let
the years of suppressed tears flow unchecked knowing he was safe and protected
and best of all, not alone.
Ichabod jerked upright, eyes widening in panic. "We're not safe here. We have
to do something, we have to stop Katerina before she unearths your remains."
He tried to rise but iron arms pushed him back into the bed. "Shh now," the
Horseman's voice was passionate. "I have a plan. I have no intention of losing
you, pretty one, when I have only just found you. This is what we must do."
The Hessian detailed his plans as pulled the quilt up over the pale skinned
boy.
Ichabod listened carefully with growing respect. The plan was simple enough
to work, the only flaw he could see was that it relied on him. He firmed his
jaw. He would not fail in this. "It will work." he whispered, "I will not let
her destroy you out of jealousy."
The Horseman caught his face and tilted it up to the firelight. His grey eyes
were dark and intense. "Did you mean what you said before? Do you love me?"
Ichabod met those eyes and held them. "I love you, Christiaan."
For a moment the Hessian just held him as if he could stare straight into his
soul, then he pulled the boy hard against his chest in a crushing embrace. Ichabod
felt sharp teeth graze his neck and bared his throat to his inhuman lover. Hot
lips found and ravished his own opening his mouth, tasting him.
The Horseman's voice was a fierce hiss against his mouth. ""Mein Ichabod, ich
werde Dich nie alleine lassen!"
"What does that mean?" Ichabod's breathless question ended in a gasp as those
possessive lips moved down his bare chest to the hollow of his navel.If the
other replied, Ichabod did not hear it as a fiery wetness closed around his
sex and thought fled completely.
The Hessian brought him to a shuddering climax before stripping out of his own
clothes and stretching out full length over his lover. Ichabod felt the hard
muscled body press down on him from above. One powerful arm snaked around his
waist supporting him. A throaty, unbearably intimate voice whispered into his
ear, "Ich liebe Dich, mein Kleiner. I love you, my little one."
Ichabod moaned as much from the words as from what the Horseman's long fingers
and mobile mouth were doing to his body. He wrapped himself around the larger
body tangling his hands in the wild mane of hair as dark as his own. He did
not bother to muffle the scream of pain and desire as the Hessian entered him
filling him, making them one flesh locked in a rhythm beyond life and death,
beyond time. His fingernails drew long scratches across his lover's back. Calloused
hands caught both of his stretching his arms above his head and lacing their
fingers together bringing their bodies even closer.
The Hessian had never seen anything more beautiful or desirable in his life
or death. Ichabod lay beneath him pale as moonlight and slick with sweat, his
head thrown back and mouth open in pleasure, their hands locked together. He
would have wept if he had tears to cry. He had been wrong, this angel did not
belong to him. No, it was he who was possessed. This child, this warm, living,
thing commanded him as surely as if he held the skull in his slender hands.
Ichabod shuddered beneath him pushing both of them over the edge.
They collapsed together exhausted. The Hessian held Ichabod carefully listening
to his breathing become slower and more regular. He was about to slip out of
bed when a sleep-heavy voice stopped him. "This won't go away when I wake up
will it? This isn't just a dream?"
""Es ist wirklich. Meine Seele gehört dir, mein Liebling...This is real,
pretty one, and I will be here when you awake." He smoothed the damp hair back
from Ichabod's face. "Sleep for tomorrow shall not be easy for you."
Ichabod watched in a drowsy haze as Christiaan disentangled himself and rose.
A long box that looked suspiciously like a coffin lay before the fire. A skull
lay atop it. Half of its teeth had already been filed to points. The Hessian
went to work on the remainder. Catching the boy's curious gaze, he held the
skull up for inspection. "The Reverend Steenwyke." Ichabod let his gaze drift
to the other items strewn out on the floor, a dirt encrusted shovel, a pile
of human bones without a skull, and what could only be the skull of a horse.
He thought to himself that this crazy plan might just work if he did not botch
it up. He slipped away into a deep and dreamless sleep.
1)Mein hübscher Junge = my pretty boy 2)"Mein Ichabod,ich werde Dich nie
alleine lassen!" = My Ichabod, I will never leave you alone. 3)"Es ist wirklich.
Meine Seele gehört dir, mein Liebling = This is real. My soul belongs to
you, my darling.
************
Begin pt 12
The Hessian shook Ichabod awake far too soon. He rose, painfully aware of every
aching part of his body. His hair was a tangled mess and his stomach complained
stridently. When he spoke, his voice was irritable. "Don't you ever sleep?"
The Hessian laughed. It was a good deep sound that brought a smile to the boy's
lips in spite of himself. "There are better things to do with the night." Ichabod
felt his cheeks warm. One long finger traced the contour of his jaw before cupping
his chin. Warm lips brushed his gently, teasingly. He could not help groaning
as they pulled away eliciting a pleased smile from his lover.
He looked around. The coffin still rested by the fire and a heap of moldering
clothes lay neatly atop it. There was no trace of the other remains from the
night before. A thought struck him. "How did you get, Steenwyke's skull? Wasn't
it buried in the churchyard in holy ground?"
The Hessian laughed again, but this was a bitter sound more like a growl. It
sent a shiver down the Constable's spine. "He was in a pauper's grave. The Reverend
must not have found time to bless it before his death. The townspeople knew
well what he was up to with the witch. They thought him good enough to save
their wretched souls but not to lie in hallowed ground the same self-righteous
reason that they buried me out here in a shallow grave without so much as a
final prayer. They look for demons and monsters behind every tree, then hide
away the evidence of their own corruption; as if by admitting it, the taint
might infect them. Dumme, unwissende Dummköpfe!"
Ichabod looked startled at the Horseman's insight. His theory was an echo of
the one that had brought him here in the first place. "I think you're right.
I thought it was just Katerina, but it is everyone here. The whole village is
affected. Everyone wears their masks and dances their pattern. Everyone knows
who is beneath the mask but no one would ever show their true face or look on
the face of another. That would break the spell."
He touched the clothing curiously, a coarse cotton dress and torn lace veil.
"Who was she?"
"The Old Crone, she lived in a cave near here. She always knew when I was abroad,
but she never interfered. I think the black witch killed her. The magic was
strong in her, it preserved her corpse a lot longer than normal. It was still
fresh." Ichabod stepped back from the material hastily, swallowing noisily.
The Hessian closed the distance between them, chuckling a little and pulled
the boy into his arms tangling one hand in his soft, thick hair.Ichabod gasped
as sharp teeth nipped gently at his ear. The gasp turned to a low moan as questing
lips spread their warmth down his jaw and neck. Again his lover withdrew. Exasperated,
Ichabod caught a double handful of midnight hair and pulled himself hard against
the taller man claiming the lips he desired.
Lack of oxygen finally ended the kiss. Ichabod drew back a little fighting to
fill his lungs. The Horseman laughed softly. "Easy, Little One, unless you mean
to join me the hard way." The tone was amused, but when Ichabod looked, his
lover wore a strangely melancholy smile.
The smile faded so abruptly that Ichabod took an involuntary step back. The
Horseman's eyes darkened to a murky gray. The hand at the back of his neck forced
him to look up into those raging eyes. Ichabod felt his stomach lurch. The Hessian
pushed him away holding him at arms' length never breaking eye contact. When
he spoke, his voice was cold, the voice of the Mercenary.
"Look at me. Are you sure this is what you want? This is your last chance to
walk away while I can let you. Out there is life, sunlight, people, if you remain
with me you forsake all those."
Ichabod straightened and stepped forward so violently that the Hessian actually
retreated this time. An unfamiliar voice emerged from his mouth, one that was
strong and harsh with indignation.
"There is nothing out there I want, no life, no happiness; and what makes you
think I could let YOU go?" The anger faded swiftly, replaced by a far more dangerous
voice, one of quiet determination. "I would rather die with you right here,
right now, than go back to the masquerade and the lies. You can't show me what
love can be then just send me away. That would be beyond cruel, and though you
are hard, and vicious, and remorseless, I don't think you are cruel."
Impulsively, Ichabod pulled the dead man to him. There was no resistance. The
Hessian bowed his head, burying his face in the tender warmth of the mortal's
neck resting for the first time in his memory on a strength outside his own.
Ichabod whispered fiercely into his ear, "You are mine, always." They stood
together for an endless perfect moment.
Ichabod would willingly have stayed there forever, but time was growing short
and nature called. A pail of water sat warming by the fire and next to it something
that smelled wonderful, roasted rabbit, he guessed and a couple of late apples.
Gently pushing his lover away he moved to the pail. Gratefully, Ichabod scrubbed
away the traces of the previous night before falling on the food. "You don't
eat either, do you?"
"Not food," came the even reply, nearly causing Ichabod to choke on his breakfast.
When he had finished, Ichabod looked around the endless room. It did not seem
nearly as frightening as it had at first. It felt just a little like home. Feeling
inexplicably sad, he dressed quickly in the clothes the Hessian had procured.
He was just buttoning a long coat not unlike his own over the strange garb when
powerful arms reached around him to finish the job. He pressed against the warmth
behind him and arched his back revelling in the solid body against his own.
A weight descended over his head.
He looked down at the silver cloak pin rising and falling with his own breath
at the end of a thick leather cord. "I...I can't take this." His voice trembled.
"It is all you have left of your family."
"It is the symbol of your past as much as mine and you are my family now." Long,
graceful hands, dropped the amulet gently down the neck of the mortal's loose,
cotton shirt letting it come to rest on the bare skin beneath. Those same irresistible
hands turned him around and pulled him into a gentle embrace. The Hessian kissed
him again, a slow lingering caress that was half promise, half farewell.
"They are coming. They have entered the Western Wood."
Fear settled in the human's stomach like a knot of lead. He paled visibly. The
Horseman tightened the embrace briefly and whispered into his ear, "You will
do fine, I believe in you."
There was a now familiar blast of heat and Daredevil was stepping out from nowhere
to briefly muzzle Ichabod's hair before moving to his master's side. The Hessian
donned his long cloak and checked his sword and axe. Ichabod ran over the plan
one last time, checking to see that everything was in place and he had not forgotten
any of his part. All was ready except his stomach which was beginning to regret
breaking its fast after all.
There was one last thing to attend to, the part he had dreaded. He pulled the
Hessian's leather bag from Daredevil's saddle and turned to the Horseman. Christiaan
turned his back to the boy and grasped his own neck. There was a nauseating
cracking, ripping sound.
Once more, Ichabod found himself looking at the Headless Horseman of Sleepy
Hollow. He turned to Ichabod holding his skull carefully. Swallowing, Ichabod
took the fleshless skull and nearly dropped it in surprise. It was still warm.
Quickly, he shoved it into the bag and pushed the sack into Daredevil's bulging
saddlebags.
The Horseman mounted the Stallion and turned to face the boy for one long moment.
Even without the head, Ichabod could feel the weight of restless grey eyes on
him. He smiled back with a courage he did not really feel. Then the Tree was
opening and Daredevil leapt up and out.
Ichabod counted ten and followed landing heavily on The other side just before
the portal closed. He scrambled to his feet in time to see Daredevil slip away
disappearing into the woods. The Horseman stood alone in front of his open grave
sword in one hand, axe in the other. Facing him was what appeared to be most
of the able bodied young men in the village. Even the youthful, new priest was
there brandishing his crucifix at the apparition as if it were a weapon.
Ichabod circled the crowd quietly. He had made it to a point opposite the Horseman
when a familiar voice shouted. Katerina pointed at him. Two large men detached
themselves from the mob and grabbed him roughly, dragging him forward just as
the crowd surged toward his lover, makeshift weapons at ready. He tried to see
into the writhing mass at the graveside, but the bodies were pressed too closely
together. Katerina was saying something to him.
It took him a few moments to separate her voice from the clanging of steel on
steel and the cries of pain. "...Father Allen is sure the demon will let you
go once he's cast out. It'll be alright. It wasn't your fault." Her voice was
reassuring, certain. He felt his chin drop in disbelief. The young priest was
in front of him then.
"What you are experiencing is called possession. We will exorcise the demon,
then purify you with the Holy Sacrament. You will be free, I promise you." He
sounded so earnest, so sure that Ichabod burst out laughing. They thought he
was possessed, they really, truly believed he was under some sort of evil spell
when he was free of magic for the first time in his life.
The priest crossed himself and whispered a silent prayer before heading back
to the melee. Katerina actually gave him a pitying look and patted his hand
then turned away as well to watch the battle. He struggled fruitlessly against
the two muscle bound young men before giving up. Exhausted, he relaxed in their
grasp and watched the proceedings in sickened horror.
The crowd eventually fell back enough for him to see. Bodies lay strewn at the
Horseman's feet. A dozen swords and knives stuck from his body, but still he
stood. The young priest was facing him now, crucifix raised, chanting something
in Latin and flicking what Ichabod assumed was holy water at the apparition.
The Horseman recoiled raising an arm as if to protect the eyes that were not
there. Curls of mist like smoke began to rise wherever the water touched. The
ghostly soldier seemed to grow less corporeal with every step backwards.
Ichabod slumped to the ground in a dead faint.
His captors tried to shake him awake without success. Seeing that he was not
going anywhere, they turned back to the spectacle. Step by step, the priest
drove the Hessian back. His voice growing more confident with each stride. Finally,
He was teetering on the edge of his own grave, the wet soil slipping under his
boots. The morning sun broke free of the shadows of the trees and hills surrounding
the valley. The clearing was flooded with light.
For one dazzling instant, The Headless Horseman stood poised on the edge of
the grave, axe upraised, shining like flame in the full light of the sun, then
he was fading like mist burnt away by the dawn. The mob held its collective
breath in wonder.
A strangled cry shattered the silence of the moment. A small, dark form hurled
itself at the vanishing ghost and passed right through it.
For a long moment, the crowd stood frozen in shock. Katerina was the first to
recover. She ran to the edge of the grave falling to her knees, unmindful of
the mud and gore. Two bodies lay below, one a battered skeleton with a skull
full of sharpened teeth and curled obscenely in its arms, a putrefying corpse
wearing familiar clothes. She stared at the bodies for a moment then whispered
softly, "What have I done?", before dissolving into heartbroken sobs.
She raised a tear streaked face when she felt the young priest's comforting
hand on her shoulder. She moved away numbly as he turned to give orders to the
people standing around. "Get them out of there. We'll bury them both in the
churchyard. Perhaps God will take mercy on their souls."
Ichabod felt himself pass through something that felt like icy mist and cobwebs
then he was falling endlessly, alone in an echoing nothingness. He was without
form, without substance. He was reduced to a tiny spark of being in an icy,
black void. In the moment it seemed the spark would flicker out, heat washed
over him, pleasant at first then increasing, until all the universe was flame.
Just when the Human felt his mind giving way another presence brushed across
his awareness and he had arms and legs again. A warm, solid body was beneath
him and he was flying upward instead of falling.
Then sunlight, too bright to bear, struck him full in the face, and Daredevil's
hooves were ringing on the broken stones of the Archer cottage. Ichabod slid
down from the tall animal clinging to it for support. He wanted to pass out
or be sick or just to collapse on the ground until he felt real again, but he
had work to do. Christiaan needed him.
He loosened the shovel and saddlebags from the stallion. The ghost horse was
already starting to grow hazy. Tiny wisps of mist rose from his hide to drift
away and melt in the daylight. Ichabod found the loose stones in front of the
hearth and pried them up with the shovel. The Hessian had precisely excavated
his new grave. The pit was much deeper than the old one, though narrower.
Working as fast as possible, the mortal removed each bone from the saddlebags
and laid them neatly in their new resting place with the long, dragon crested
sword laying over all. He lovingly placed the real Skull at the head of the
pile and the bleached horse skull at the foot. As if in response to seeing his
own skull, Daredevil snorted and stomped an impatient reminder. "Almost there,"
he muttered. Hastily replacing the rocks, Ichabod scattered dead leaves over
the disturbed soil smoothing his tracks out of the muddy patches of earth then
remounted, aware that he could already see dimly through the big animal.
With his rider in place the stallion gathered himself and leapt straight for
the abandoned fireplace. There was a moment of disorientation and a flare of
light and heat and they were within the cool darkness of the place between life
and death. This was same place, and yet not the same as the endless room beneath
the Tree of the Dead. Instead of the massive fireplace that had been there,
this one was the mirror image of the hearth outside. A bright fire blazed steadily
and silently within the grate.
Standing beside the fire with arms outstretched was Christiaan. Ichabod flung
himself down from the horse and into those waiting arms. Neither spoke, but
then words were not necessary.
1)Dumme, unwissende Dummköpfe! Stupid, Ignorant Fools.
Fin
**********************************
This is the end of this tale, but it is only the beginning. Deep in the heart
of the Hollow evil stirs and a black heart cries out for vengeance.
But, as I said, that is another tale.