Octa awoke in the deepest part of the night. He had not thought it possible that he would be able to sleep. But as he had wrapped himself in his cloak, his muscles ached and his body trembled as much from exhaustion as from the cold.
Why had he woken? Was it his turn to keep watch? There was nobody shaking him awake. None of his companions were speaking.
All was still.
But something had woken him.
Without rising from where he lay, Octa opened his eyes. He was not surrounded by the total darkness he had expected. The moon was up. It was full and its cool glow washed middle earth in silver. The mist was thicker now, but the moonlight spread through it. Octa could see no further than a few paces from where he lay, but the world was wreathed in a glowing fog. The dark bulk of Bassus was nearby. His huge friend had his back to him. As he looked, Bassus moved his head, peering into the mists. It must be Bassus’ watch.
So what had caused Octa to waken?
A piercing shriek ululated from the marsh. Octa started, but remained where he was. It was impossible to make out where the noise had come from. It seemed to echo in the fog.
Silence once more.
Then a howl, long and plaintive, rolled over the moonlit land. A scream followed. Was that the voice of a woman?
Octa shuddered and rose. The night was alive with mischief. He would not face it lying down.
Gram, Unferth and Wiglaf did not seem to have heard the noises. They remained huddled in their blankets and cloaks. The horses whickered and snorted, unsettled by the disturbances somewhere out there in the marsh. Octa picked his way carefully to the beasts and soothed them with a gentle touch. The night was again silent and still. The fog hung unmoving and thick all about them.
What lurked out there in the mists? Was the nihtgenga even now stalking the night, sniffing out its man-prey? Or had the screams been more of its victims? Perhaps its appetite would be sated?
Careful not to disturb the sleeping men, Octa walked to where Bassus sat. Just as he was about to touch his friend’s shoulder to alert him of his presence, the giant thegn leapt to his feet, spun around and dragged his sword from its scabbard.
“Bassus, it is I, Octa.” His whispered warning sounded loud and harsh in the stillness of the night. For an instant, Octa feared that Bassus would not heed his words and strike him down. After a long moment, where the only movement was their breath clouding before them, Bassus lowered his blade.
“By Woden’s balls,” panted Bassus, “I thought you were the shadow-goer. I almost spit you like a boar.”
“I give thanks that you did not,” replied Octa, moving closer to stand beside his friend and placing a hand on his shoulder. “I was awoken by the sounds. The screams and howls.”
“They were close. Do you think that was the beast?”
“What else?” asked Octa. “Though I think I heard the cry of a woman too.”
“Aye, I heard it.” For a long while, they were both silent. Octa listened to the night, straining to hear further evidence of the night-stalker.
“Do you think we heard it killing again?” Octa said. “While we rested here, lost in the marsh?”
Bassus did not reply.
Octa quickly continued, “I did not mean to cast the blame on you, Bassus. I am sorry.”
“There is nothing for it now. We cannot go back and change what we have done, we can only learn and move forward. All I hope now is that we find this beast tomorrow while the sun shines in the skies. We can never hope to fight it in the dark and mists of this gods-forsaken swamp.”
“Can it truly be a son of this Cain that Paulinus spoke of? A giant monster, cursed by Paulinus’ god?”
“Who can say?” replied Bassus, sheathing once more his sword. “Gram followed the thing’s trail easily enough. He said it walked like a man, on two feet. And we know it eats meat, the way any creature does. I care not what it is, as long as we can slay it. There are many things that we cannot explain in this world, Octa. The priests say they can speak to the gods and can change the way of things with sacrifice and ceremonies, and that may be. I have never seen a god, or an elf, or a goblin. But if we can find this night-thing, I would wager my horse, my sword and all my wealth that it can be cut with sharp steel. I have never come across any foe that could not be made to bleed. And if it can bleed, we can kill it.”
They fell silent. The horses again began to stamp and snort. The squelching sound of a footfall in the mire. A whimpering moan from the moonlit misty gloom.
As one, Octa and Bassus drew their blades.
Another groan. A splash. Snuffling. Something large was out there in the night. Something stealthy. Deadly.
“Show yourself,” Octa said. His voice was loud and clear. To his surprise, he sounded confident to his own ears. Behind him, he heard the others rising rapidly, woken by his words.
“Is it out there?” Wiglaf called in a breathless voice.
“Quiet,” said Bassus.
Wiglaf, Gram and Unferth joined them at the edge of the small knoll. They all stared into the moon-tinged fog, searching, listening.
Was that a shadow in the mist that Octa saw? One of the horses whinnied. There was another splash, very near this time. A guttural grunting.
Sweat prickled Octa’s brow despite the cold night air. At any moment, the creature would burst from the mist and rip them apart, byrnies and weapons and all. Nothing could protect them from the beast that stalked them in the night.
“Show yourself,” Bassus said, repeating Octa’s words. “Come on, you bastard. Come and fight some real men. There are no shepherds and boys here. We are warriors of King Edwin and we are your doom. Step out from where you cower and face us.”
The warriors tightened their grips on their weapons and girded themselves for the attack that was sure to follow their leader’s goading words.
But no attack came. No creature, all fangs and claws, came leaping for them from the gloom. Instead a rumbling sound came to them. At first, Octa was unsure what he was hearing, and then he remembered Banstan’s words in the hall. What he heard now was the boulder-rub chuckle of the nihtgenga.
The monster was laughing.