Sentinelspire - Mark Sehestedt [80]
"Done?" a man's voice said, then, "Finish her. We'll start the roof."
Lewan heard the man leave, heard his mother cry out once more, a short burst of air, almost as if she'd fallen and had the wind knocked out of her. Then more footsteps, and the only sounds were those from outside the house.
Peeking from beneath the blanket, Lewan had been unable to look away from the open hatch, sure that at any moment the wild-haired man would return. And that's where he was looking when he saw the first ember fall. He gasped and looked up. A large area of the thatch was black, and little specks within the black were glowing like orange stars.
We'11 start the roof. The men had torched the thatch!
Still shaking, Lewan crawled out from under the blankets and made his way to the hatch. More sparks were falling. One lit on the back of his hand, and the sudden pain almost broke his shock and sent him into full panic. He shook it off and scrambled the rest of the way. He peeked over the edge.
The croft's main room was in shambles, their table and water basins shattered, the door cracked almost in half and hanging on by one hinge. His mother sprawled on the dirt floor, her homespun nightshift torn up the middle, leaving her nakedness exposed. She lay in a dark puddle that Lewan first thought was the blanket she shared with his father, but then he saw it had the gleam of wetness. Thickest around her head, it formed a sickly mud on the floor, but where it had soaked into her shift, even in the dim light of predawn, Lewan had seen it was red. And worst of all, the dark blotch under her chin that had seemed like a shadow at first glance… his eyes seemed drawn to it, and he saw that his mother's throat had been cut open from just under her left ear to her collarbone.
"Mother!" Lewan had called, then rushed down. In his haste, he'd slipped and fallen, landing in the mud surrounding his mother. A bit of it splashed onto his face.
Closer to her, he could see the lifeblood trickling out of her, a new wave with each beat of her heart.
"Mother…"
She'd turned her head at the sound of his voice. The blood pulsing out of her neck splattered her cheek. Her jaw hung slack, the tip of her tongue protruding between her lips, the slightest hint of her teeth showing. She swallowed and tried to speak, but all that came out was a horrid groan.
That had snapped some semblance of thought back into Lewan. He remembered his father slaughtering the sheep. One careful swipe across the throat, and the sheep would bleed out in moments.
He rushed to his mother on his hands and knees. The mud squished between his fingers. He grabbed a fistful of her ruined shift and pressed it to the wound.
"Mother, make it stop!" he said, and it was then that the tears had begun to fall. "Make-it-stop-make-it-stop-make-it-stop!"
The fire was growing. Lewan could hear the great roar and crackle of the flames consuming the roof, and large chunks of burning thatch began to fall in his loft: Sparks and cinders rained down the open hatch, and the loud pops all around told him that the fire was catching in the timber itself.
"Mother, we have to get out. Mother!"
She was still trying to speak, making that terrible wet moaning sound. One hand, shaking like an old woman's, rose to reach for him, but fell halfway.
Smoke was filling the room, and the sound of thatch falling in the loft overhead was a constant patter.
"We must leave, Mother!"
Lewan let go of his mother's shift. It was completely saturated with blood. He stood, grabbed one of her wrists, and pulled. She didn't budge. He pulled harder, and his feet slipped in the mud. He came down hard on his bottom and sobbed.
"Mother, please get up."
He scrubbed away the tears, and when he looked down at her again, she was watching him. She blinked once, hard, then swallowed and said, "Lew! Don't… let… me… bur… burn!"
She coughed, and the blood flowing from her neck spurted out like a fountain.
His mother tried to speak more,