The Barrow

The rain came down in torrents. I made my way out of town, after having been turned away at every door. Okay. I understood why. That didn’t make me feel any better. It was a miserable day. What light there was in the late evening, barely made it through the rainclouds that were dumping their bounty on the rough landscape. Pulling the fur skins I had, as tightly about myself as I could, I kept walking. It was late fall. Chilly and getting nothing but colder. Frost would be on the ground by morning, if not ice from all the rain…

            It was only a few minutes later, when I saw the barrow graveyard. I stopped and looked. These people were superstitious in the extreme. No one would throw me out of here. Especially at night. They were terrified of the dead. Barrow Wights, specifically. Me, well, I was from a latter age. I’d watched every “ghost” show on tv. I knew “dead” wasn’t necessarily evil. Just… not alive anymore. But, I’d never encounter any stories of Barrow Wights in my own time. They seemed to be undead, but, not specifically zombie-like. They couldn’t endure daylight. When they DID walk, it was always after night fell. At least in the stories I had read (mostly Nordic or Gaelic). In the old tales, they were invariably portrayed as evil creatures. Made no sense to me. If you were good in life, why the hell would you turn evil after death? Meh.

            I hurried into the barrows field and squinted through the rain and darkness, looking for…a sealed tomb. Hopefully, one that had not been robbed and left open to the elements. So I squished my way through the wet graveyard finally coming to almost the back, where the first tombs had been created. A large one. Carved pillars on either side of a stone door. The seal seemed intact. My understanding of the local tongue was good, for some odd reason. I could read the crude script on the lintel above the door. John Gaunt. Warrior. Husband and father. I bowed my head in respect, and forcefully broke the old seal, pushing the stone door open. It swung easily enough, which was surprising for it’s size and obvious weight. Well made. I stepped inside and reaching under my multitudinous pelts, pulled out a dry torch. Precious moments of light slipped by as I worked to light it. It actually took me longer to get it lit, than it had for me to walk here from the damned town…

            Raising the torch I looked around. Cobwebs. No windows. A large space. VERY large. Carefully, I stepped down the several stone stairs and onto the floor of the tomb. Dumbass. I turned back and pushed the stone door closed. On either side of it, were torches set into the walls. I lit them both. Then, turned back into the main chamber. Directly across from the door, a raised dias, again of stone, held a throne-like chair, and a large skeleton, clad in tarnished, old armor. Across his knees, lay a sword every bit of 40 inches before the hand an a half hilt. I walked across the space between us, and knelt before the barrow’s owner.

            “My apologies for disturbing your rest and entering your chamber, Sir. I am not a robber or thief of any sort. Just a wanderer, in need of shelter from the rotten weather and darkness outside. The town was too afraid of me, to grant me lodging, even as I offered to pay for it. I hope it won’t inconvenience you too much, if I sleep here tonight. I can promise I will clean and care for your barrow in exchange for the shelter.” I said quietly and solemnly.   No response. Just as well. With my luck, it probably would have been a refusal and getting thrown out into the wet and cold night. Or getting chased around with that sword. I doubt my own would have stood more than a hit or two from it. It was all I retained from my time fighting the barbarians of the north. And it was junk, admittedly. 

            Getting up, I looked around. A couple more torches, and surprisingly, a hearth off to one side. Ancient firewood was stacked beside it. I hoped it was still functional. Heat would be nice for the night. Everything was dry inside. Which was awesome. I made up a fire and lit it with a torch. In half an hour, the barrow seemed far less like a tomb and much more like a home. I had spread out my furs to dry, on the floor before the fire. Dinner was dry bread, and some water from the waterskin I carried. Cheap fare indeed. But I had worked hard for it several days before. It would have to last several more, before I got a chance to try working again in the next town. I doubted I would be hired for anything here. I bore far too much resemblance to the Vikings these folk fought for a hundred years. Granted, I was larger. And spoke their own tongue well enough, albeit with an ugly accent, I was told more than once. Finishing my meager meal, I built the fire up, so that it would last til morning. Almost down, I stopped and rose again. Looking around, I found a cup and plate. Carefully breaking off a piece of my precious bread, and pouring a serving of water into the cup, I sat both items of food, before the barrow’s owner. Bowing, I moved back to the fire and laid down, almost instantly dropping into a deep sleep. The day had been long. I had slept outdoors the last several nights. Although the rain had started today, the cold had been present for several. Shelter, even such as this, was welcome.

            Something poked me in my sleep. I tried to ignore it, and rolled away. Again a prodding sensation in my side. And a voice pierced my sleep.

            *Fire’s low. More wood.* a low, breathy rumble. Now, I was awake.

            “Yes Sir.” I sat up, not looking in the direction of the voice and carefully fed a couple more pieces of wood into the hearth. I tended it studiously, resisting the nearly overwhelming urge to turn and look at the barrow’s occupant.

            *Good. Warmth.* the voice sighed. Now I heard the creak and clank of armor and bone, as the Wight moved back to his seat.

            *Thanks for food and drink. Keep it. Can’t use it. Appreciate the offering though.* he sat and said.

            I nodded slowly, still facing the fire.

            *You can look. You won’t turn to stone. May piss yourself, though…* raspy, breathy chuckling.

            Turning, I looked at John Gaunt. His eyeless skull smiled at me genially and nodded. Raising an eyebrow, I nodded back.

            “Sorry to break into your tomb.”

            *S’alright. Haven’t had visitors in decades. Glad for the company. John Gaunt. Town police chief. Passed on from wounds received, while fighting the damned barbarians.*

            I rose and stepped forward, offering my hand to the talking skeleton.

            “Clark Wayne. Traveler out of time and place. Jack of All Trades.”

            The wight leaned forward and took my hand in his bony, skeletal one. Thankfully, the fire had warmed the place up a good bit, so, his handshake wasn’t icy as the grave, as I’d heard so many times when treating with the undead.

            *Out of time you say? Meaning…?* He let go and leaned back heavily in his throne-chair.

            “Well, as near as I can tell, the current year is 930AD.”

            *Yes. I died 40 years ago. 890.* nodding.

            “I WILL eventually be born, on a continent that has yet to be found, far to the west, across the sea, in the year 1966AD. Somehow, I’ve been dropped backwards through time, over a thousand years.”

            The wight rubbed his chin, upon which once, might have existed hair…

            *…interesting. Makes being undead seem a lot less fantastic, I think…*

            I chuckled. “In my time, barrow wights don’t seem to exist anymore. At least I’ve never encountered one. Ghosts and spirits, yes, although rarely. No walking, talking skeletons though.”

            *Probably best off. The dead should move on when they are able. Mayhaps that means my kind have  concluded our business by your era…*

            “Still ghosts. Same thing, I think. They have unfinished business a lot of the time as well.”

            *Wouldn’t know. Never met one of the noisy buggers.*

            “Not all of them are noisy. Only the ones that are ticked off at not being seen or acknowledged.”

            *Mmm. Same in this time. I went this way, rather than that. I can move about freely at night, but, during the daylight hours, I have to stay here. My spirit COULD move, I suppose…but probably would not be noticed either. Can’t say the same when I walk the town like THIS…* he motioned at his own skeletal glory.

            “Why DO you, if I may ask?”

            *Do I…?*

            “Still walk the land?”

            *Doing my job, protecting the town. I’ve scared away more than a fair amount of robbers during the nighttime hours, in the last 40 years. That and well, I’m waiting on my wife.*

            “She must elderly by now.” I replied, hesitantly.

            *Not so much. I married her young. She’s in her mid 50s. And healthy as a bear. Probably live to be a hundred with how stubborn she is…*

            Trying not to laugh became impossible, and I let out with a barking peal at his comments. Even though there was no flesh on his face, you could ‘feel’ the smile on it, as he looked at me.