On Monday mornings, I send out a story via email: ultra-brief tales of 1,000 words or more, usually in genres including horror, science fiction, and the supernatural. Those stories collectively are called Once Upon A Time. I’ve also published several ebooks and compendium volumes of those stories so far.

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Here's story 221, of 240 so far.

The Need-Fire

Even from up on the hill, Seamus could see the state of things.

The pasture below was a shock to the eyes, and more so to the heart. Winter was barely two moons away, and the harvest hadn’t been particularly kind this year.

Of seventy-four head of livestock, almost forty lay on the trampled grass, some breathing heavily, some making a wheezing sound, and some just twitching in their unconsciousness. The stink of death hung over the place, and even the apparently healthy animals looked unsettled. Seamus knew how they felt.

Finn stood down there, shaking his head, and Seamus sighed deeply before making his way slowly down the hill to join him. When he got there, he found the younger man now kneeling beside a dead cow, his hand on the animal’s ribs, mouthing a silent prayer.

“Another,” Finn said, with any additional explanation being unnecessary.

Seamus just nodded. The situation had become more than desperate. They barely had enough food to see them through to the springtime, and several of the women were with child. The loss of so much cattle would mean near-starvation, and experience had taught them that the murrain would likely worsen. Already they had begun to split the animals into groups, to watch for sickness, and Seamus also feared for the crops in the neighbouring fields.

Sometimes, and perhaps more often than not, the gods could be cruel. The question that a leader asked himself was what to do about it — and that, at least, was clear enough.

“It’s time,” Seamus said. “Get someone to help you drag that one out to burn later, then bring the men together. Make sure the twins are there.”

Finn said nothing, but Seamus could see that he was in full agreement, and even pleased. It was another thing that Seamus had learned in his time as leader; often, it was more important to do something now than to do the right thing later.

It took less than an hour to gather all the menfolk in the rough patch of land beside the river. They stood in small groups, spread around, talking in low voices and glancing here and there. When Seamus arrived, there were nods, and a few reached out to clap him on the shoulder. He never knew whether to smile, or whether smiling was worse when you were in charge because it would make you seem weak. This wasn’t a time for weakness. He had to seem sure, so that they could feel sure, even for a short while.

He positioned himself at the bank of the river with his back to the water, so that he could see everyone, and the men fell silent. He looked around at them all, letting his silence confirm what they had doubtless already heard about the cattle, and allowing them a moment to reflect upon it. Then he spoke.

“Our task is clear,” he said. “Make preparations at the village, and here between the rivers. We light the need-fire at dusk.”

There were rumbles of approval, and Seamus knew again that the old wisdom remained true. The most important thing was to act, no matter what you thought of the action itself.

The men dispersed quickly, going with purpose, and by the time the sky had began to darken and the stars became more prominent, every flame between the waters and in the whole of the village had been extinguished. The women had built a bonfire, and the twins stood on a bare patch of earth near the pile of kindling, each holding opposite ends of a length of rope that wrapped around the great fire-drill that the men had only just finished building. It was made well, and the twin brothers would have no trouble creating an ember when they applied themselves to the task.

Seamus took a last look around, more symbolically than anything else, to ensure there were no visible flames anywhere, and then he made a gesture with his arm. The twins immediately began to pull their ends of the rope in alternation, spinning the timber drill one way then the other, and everyone gathered around could hear the sound of wood rubbing against wood. Soon, they could smell the life-giving scent of burning, and the women’s whispered prayers became more fervent.

The form of the ritual was clear, and ancient, and shared by many of the peoples of the world. Putting out all other fires, a new fire should be made by friction alone, called into being by identical brothers. The new fire would then have the ability to cleanse, and to heal, whether animals or people, crops or land, from murrain to plague. It was the fire of renewal, and it was needed here tonight.

The amassed crowd muttered their own personal appeals to the gods, some just pleading in silence. At last, flames began to lick at the log laid across the top of the structure, and then down into the drill spindle itself. The twins, breathing loudly and with sweat on their brows, allowed the rope to fall to the ground and then pulled it away, so it wouldn’t be consumed too.

“It is done,” Seamus called out to everyone. “Now we will heat water with this flame and bathe the herd, relight every hearth in our homes, and tomorrow will be better.”

JINX

KESTREL face a new and terrifying enemy: an all-seeing mastermind who already knows exactly who they are, and many of their deepest secrets. Nothing stays hidden forever, and the line between privacy and liberty is razor-thin…

Book 3 in the KESTREL action-thriller series.

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