‹ Prequel: A Good Run
Status: 2 of 7 volumes. Active.
The White Doe
Five
"God's teeth," Swore Christopher Cooper, one of White's ten assistants. "Look."
It had been hard to see the sun-bleached bones against the paleness of the sand, but now that the eye had picked it out, it was impossible not to see it. The skeleton was naked, flesh and clothing both stripped away by the harsh enviroment. As they approached, silent and horrified, they saw several arrowheds lying on the sand inside the rib cage.
"Shot to death." Said Cooper, softly and angrily.
"No." Said George Howe, another of White's assistants who had gone to the other side of the corpse. "Bludgeonee. Look." He indicated a massive hole in the skull.
White swallowed hard and despite the heat of the summer's day, felt cold. In may cultures plagued by demons and vampires, it was common to enact a "second death". The brain was often seen as the site of the demon's power. Once the creature had been slain by conventional means, its skull was often smashed to pieces to ensure it did not rise again. The same could be accomplished by cutting off the head, a slightly--but only slightly--more civilized method.
It seemed this glorious New World was not free of the Old World's demons. If this man's skull had beem crushed, it could be assumed that someone feared he would rise again... As a monster.
Yet he could not tell these men this, not yet. Not until he was certain that the danger was real and not just an ancient tradition the Indians had kept alive throughout God-alone-knew how many centuries. He'd have to speak with his friend Manteo, whom he trusted to tell him the truth.
"Butchers." Said Roger Pratt, practically spitting the word. "Not enough to kill a man with an arrow, eh?"
"It is probably part of their primitive religion." Said Wite, trying to sound as though he meant the words he said.
Reverently, they gathered the bones. They would give the man a decent burial. There was now way to tell if this had been an innocent man slain by the Indians or was being drained and about to be Turned ane then, once dead, would rise to walk as one of the undead. Even if he had been well on his way to becoming a vampire, these old bones were no threat and deserved at least that much.
With this grim discovery, the men settled in for the night.
They ate their, cold, moldy provisions and talked in low voices about the fifteen men who had been let behind.
It had been hard to see the sun-bleached bones against the paleness of the sand, but now that the eye had picked it out, it was impossible not to see it. The skeleton was naked, flesh and clothing both stripped away by the harsh enviroment. As they approached, silent and horrified, they saw several arrowheds lying on the sand inside the rib cage.
"Shot to death." Said Cooper, softly and angrily.
"No." Said George Howe, another of White's assistants who had gone to the other side of the corpse. "Bludgeonee. Look." He indicated a massive hole in the skull.
White swallowed hard and despite the heat of the summer's day, felt cold. In may cultures plagued by demons and vampires, it was common to enact a "second death". The brain was often seen as the site of the demon's power. Once the creature had been slain by conventional means, its skull was often smashed to pieces to ensure it did not rise again. The same could be accomplished by cutting off the head, a slightly--but only slightly--more civilized method.
It seemed this glorious New World was not free of the Old World's demons. If this man's skull had beem crushed, it could be assumed that someone feared he would rise again... As a monster.
Yet he could not tell these men this, not yet. Not until he was certain that the danger was real and not just an ancient tradition the Indians had kept alive throughout God-alone-knew how many centuries. He'd have to speak with his friend Manteo, whom he trusted to tell him the truth.
"Butchers." Said Roger Pratt, practically spitting the word. "Not enough to kill a man with an arrow, eh?"
"It is probably part of their primitive religion." Said Wite, trying to sound as though he meant the words he said.
Reverently, they gathered the bones. They would give the man a decent burial. There was now way to tell if this had been an innocent man slain by the Indians or was being drained and about to be Turned ane then, once dead, would rise to walk as one of the undead. Even if he had been well on his way to becoming a vampire, these old bones were no threat and deserved at least that much.
With this grim discovery, the men settled in for the night.
They ate their, cold, moldy provisions and talked in low voices about the fifteen men who had been let behind.