Skullgarden Graveyard

Tal, Kingdom of Morgenheim

Fall, 6th Butchermoon, Year 1876

"Stefan? Do trees grow out of dead people?"

Stefan moaned inwardly, throwing another shovel of dirt over his broad shoulder and onto a steadily growing pile of dark earth. Bad enough he had to dig a fresh grave all on his own, but it was positive torture having to babysit his little brother as well. The little chatterbox sat at the grave's rim, all knobbly knees and elbows, fidgeting constantly and kicking lose small avalanches of dirt every time his bare feet hit the earth. Stefan sighed. He was five feet down – one more and he could call it a day. That was, if William didn't slow him down any further with his incessant questions. At five years, his brother had more of those than there were stars in the sky...

Stefan, why is the heaven blue?

Stefan, why is the grass green?

Stefan, why do you have to work so much?

Stefan, why where you wrestling with Helga in the hay?

He blushed slightly at the memory of that last one, once more lamenting the fact that there was just no shutting him up! With heroic effort, Stefan looked up, smiled, and gave his answer, already knowing it would not be the last. "Yes, William, trees sometimes grow out of dead people." Under his breath, he muttered, "Or at least their roots burrow into them." He braced himself for the next stupid question, valiantly shoveling on as he waited. Will's thin legs fidgeting, gears in his little skull going into overdrive.

He didn't have to wait long.

William pointed a thin finger towards one of the Witherroot trees that loomed between the gravestones, its branches pressed against the walls of a squatting mausoleum. Huge, twisted and in his opinion ugly trees, their branches always reminded Stefan of skeletal fingers.

"Have those grown from dead people as well?" asked William.

A grunt, then the slap of wet earth on earth. "Yes, William."

Stefan despised the trees. Even though fall had only just arrived, most of them had already shed their leaves, strewing them all over the green grass and gravel paths. He groaned inwardly. He would have to gather them up tomorrow. Again. Damn his bones but if he would ever succeed old Hornbach as undertaker, his first order of business would be to cut all of them down. They could use the extra space as well, considering that the Skullgarden graveyard was getting quite crowded.

William fell silent, staring intently at the warped trees. He started drumming his heels against the grave walls in the familiar fashion that heralded another question, kicking lose small avalanches.

"For Mendra's sake! Stop fiddling!" hissed Stefan, a little sharper than intended. "If I don't finish this grave today Hornbach will cut my pay. Again!" Quieter, he muttered, "The old, miserable miser."

"I'm... I'm sorry," mumbled William. "I just was wondering... I just thought..."

"What?" Stefan stretched his aching back. "Spit it out already."

"I... I was wondering if... if a tree had grown from mother's grave. I'd... I'd like to see it and maybe... maybe sit under it?"

Stefan suppressed a wince. Great, now he felt like a jerk. Worse, how should he tell his brother that his mother didn't even have a grave – at least none that belonged to her alone? When she died two years ago, just one of the many hundred victims of what the people had baptized 'The Winter of Vermin', he did not have the money to pay for a proper burial. Food had been more important than the dignity of the dead back then. It still was. Thus, it had been a choice between the lime pits or the mass grave; everything else would have seen her devoured by the vermin plague that had overrun the city.

Stefan forced a smile on his face. "No, there is no tree. Trees don't grow that fast."

William's face fell. "Oh..."

Stefan hunched his shoulders, about to continue digging as an idea struck him. "Hey, you know what? I think I have seen a rose bush growing close where the... where she rests. You won't be able to sit under it, but we can cut one off and take it home. Would you like that?"

Williams' eyes lit up. "Really? We could do that? Will Hornbach not get angry if we take one of his roses?"

Stefan leaned in, all conspiratorially, eyes flicking left and right. "I won't tell him, if you won't either, deal?"

William nodded with the upmost gravity, eyes wide. "Deal."

Stefan lifted his hand. "Pinky swear?"

"Pinky swear!"

They shook on it – pinky stile.

"Good. Very good." Stefan spat into his hands and grabbed the spade, casting a furtive glance towards the west. Only half of the sun's red disc burning through the clouds was still visible behind the crooked buildings bordering the graveyard wall. He better hurried.

"Stefan?"

The young man sighed, funneling his annoyance into a mighty stab. "Yes, William?"

"What's a miser?"

Crunch!

Stefan's eyes went wide as the earth suddenly gave way, the spade head disappearing in a narrow hole. He squawked, tumbled forward, trying to steady himself by death-gripping the wooden handle and – snap! He went down like a sack of hurled turnips; dirt cascading down on him as his head hit the earthen wall.

"Stefan!" William's voice was full of terror.

By the gods, he had broken something! Gasping, Stefan tried to free himself from the cloying earth covering his face. He coughed, half expecting to feel pain shouting through his body, yet there was none. Then soon realized why... Eyes wide, he gawped at the broken handle in his hand. "Oh no... Shit... Shit! Shit! Shit! Old Hornbach will never pay me now!"

"Are you all right, Stefan?"

"Nothing is all right! Look at what you've done with all your questions and pestering!" He scrambled onto his feet, shaking the broken handle before his brother's face. "See? See!"

William flinched away, tears brimming in his eyes. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"Oh just shut it!" Stefan already felt bad for what he had said, but he couldn't stop himself from raging on. "Just shut it and let me think!"

"Oh... ok..." William muttered, tears already brimming in his eyes.

Stefan growled and went down on his knees, studying the hole. Just his fucking luck again... It must be an old coffin, had to be. He peered into the darkness. Cursing and muttering under his breath. He couldn't see shit it was so dark down there. "Great," he scrambled onto his feet, reaching for the pickaxe. "Fucking great! I hope you are not hungry, Will, for sure as hell I'm not getting paid for the week if that shovelhead is gone."

William sniffed, but Stefan didn't turn around. Not now. He had to hold onto his anger if he wanted to get his work done. Muttering to himself, cussing, he began widening the hole, finding to his surprise that he hadn't broken through an old coffin. No, the shards and chunks he pulled out were earth, hardened by some black stuff that had turned it as firm as glass, bits of stone sticking out here and there. It was almost as if somebody had glued together dirt. He took a sniff and wrinkled his nose. "Bah. Smells like dried turd..." Then he turned the shard around, and his eyes went wide, his mouth sagging open.

"What is it, Stefan?"

"I... I got no clue what it is." Stefan showed the underside of the shard to his brother. "But I know what this is..."

Embedded in the other side shimmered a piece of bright yellow metal.

Williams' eyes went wide. "Is that... is that gold?" He gasped. "Perhaps it's a treasure! A magical ring like in the stories granny told us?"

Stefan said nothing, turning the piece of glass-stone in his hands. It was a ring, a golden ring, no doubt about that – and gold had its own particular magic. You could turn it into anything you wanted. Food. Money. Riches. Woman... He grabbed the pickaxe, and then carefully used it to free the enrapt bauble, gasping as it came lose. A small gem on the other side shimmered red in the fading light.

A ruby! Got to be one.

Stefan swallowed hard. That ring alone was likely worth more than he might earn in half a year of backbreaking labor. His gaze wandered to the hole, to the ring, and back again. He pocketed it, kneeled down and used the pickaxe to work more of the strange stone free. On the other side, the material was very smooth, almost like a pebble taken from a river, or glass.

"What the hell is this stuff?" he muttered.

"It's so black and shiny," said William. "Maybe it's part of the treasure too."

Stefan scoffed. Then it came to him. Concrete! Poured stone of the kind they used in the Forgotten Ages. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly all-dry and went to work with even more enthusiasm, widening the hole, sweat trickling down his face. What he first thought to be a pocket in the earth turned out to be some kind of narrow shaft, maybe two foot in diameter, with smooth, glassy walls. He moved aside, allowing the feeble sunlight to fall past him. Was that a silver chain, trapped in the stone? Shit, he needed more light.

"William, I have to go and fetch something from the tool shed. It's just over there. Shout if you see Hornbach or anybody else. Nobody can see this, not yet at least, understand? This is our treasure, our chance for a better life."

"Oh... ok."

"Good boy," said Stefan, ruffling William's hair.

With a grunt, he climbed out of the open grave and hurried towards the tool shed, his mind positively vibrating with theories. His grandfather had told them of the Vaults of the Ancients – strongholds below the ground, with tunnels going on for miles. Had he found such a mysterious place? He pushed the door to the tool shed open, searching its dark interior, looking for a lamp. He was sure he had seen one here not too long ago. Damn, how could find anybody anything in this mess? How...

"Aha! There you are!"

He all but jumped forward, the bad light and his eagerness conspiring against him. He felt a sharpish pain in his left foot – then something long and hard swished from under a layer of aged oilcloth, hitting him right between the eyes with enough force to knock him on his back. Something cracked against his skull, the pain a twin to the one on his forehead.

Where did all the pretty stars come from... he wondered for a moment, then his eyes fluttered shut...

Stefan opened his eyes, blinking owlishly. "Auu..."

He had a bastard of a headache. Had he been drinking? No... no this wasn't his home. There was a bucket over there, and a spade, was that a ... a rake? His eyes went wide and all the memories rushed back, pummeling sense into him. The rake, he must have stepped on it! He sat up, wincing with pain. It felt like somebody had crammed his heart into his skull and every beat of it was squishing his brain against the too small walls of his skull.

"Ouwww," he moaned, somehow managing to get on his feet, narrowly avoiding stepping on that damnable rake again and repeating his blunder.

How long had he been out? Moments?

Minutes, he decided. It was well into dusk, the sunlight almost gone. "Shit! Fireblasted fucking shit!" he grabbed the lamp, as well as the tinderbox beside it and hurried back to the grave. He was already halfway there before he realized that William was nowhere in sight. He stopped, looking around. "William?" No answer. "Oh for the love of... William! This is no time to play! Where are you?"

Still no answer.

A sickening feeling of dread spread throughout his guts then. The Dawnward District was far from the safest city quarters in Tal – people, children even, were disappearing all the time. It was the only reason why he'd agreed to take Will with him to work in the first place, after all. He hurried towards the freshly dug grave. It was empty and dark, the strange tunnel he had uncovered staring at him like a black eye. He wouldn't have, would he?

"William! Damn it, are you down there?"

Silence.

With trembling fingers, he worked to light the lamp. "Shit, shit, shit... Why won't you catch? Why won't you..."

Something heavy fell onto his shoulder. Stefan screamed – then something slapped the back of his head, fresh agony shooting from the sizable bump that had formed there.

"Get a hold, boy! Big fellow like ye, screaming like a babe. Gonna wake them dead shouting like that. Ha! Wake them dead."

Hornbach...

The stupid old bastard had managed to sneak up on him, occupied as he had been with the lamp. Now the undertaker was grinning at him with his own personal graveyard of rotten teeth. Stefan was not sure if he wanted to punch or hug him. He let out a laugh, looking around for his brother, half expecting – half hoping – he was in on the jest. The smile quickly fell from his face.

"I... Where... Have you seen William?"

Hornbach frowned. "Little Will? I thought him was with you."

"No I... I..." William cursed inwardly. "I found something while I was digging the grave. An... an old sewer perhaps. I was just gone for a moment, getting a lamp to have a closer look. William stayed here in case you came by to let you know what we have found."

Hornbach raised his frightfully bushy eyebrows, scratching a scabrous patch on his balding head. "A sewer tunnel? Here? Impossible. Give me that lamp, boy, need to see for myself."

The old man grabbed the lamp, opening its front latch and tilting it so that a bright beam flooded the grave. Sure enough, there were bits and pieces of precious metals and stones shimmering in the glass-like substance. Stefan's heart dropped right down to his worn boots. It really was a treasure, their treasure, their way out of Tal's miserable slums. Now the old miser would claim it all for himself and spend it on booze and young harlots. Yet when Stefan looked at his employer, he saw no exultation on his face, no greed.

Only fear.

Hornbach stumbled back, an expression of profound terror on his ugly old face, whispering something over and over again. It took Stefan a moment to understand what it was – then an icy cold hand reached down his throat, crushing his heart.

"Ghoul," whispered Hornbach. "Ghoul tunnel."