Part of the Family

Published 2019 Copyright © Matthew Teague, 2019 The right of Matthew Teague to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author. www.matthewjteague.com

Part of the Family

The village of Arcain has a lengthy history, but no one ever thought to write it down. Locals claim their village has borne witness to several key historical events. If one is to question them upon specifics however, you’ll become entangled in many contradicting stories.

The proud inhabitants of Arcain are loftier than peasants ought. This is for no other reason than their village’s mystic sounding name. A common topic of conversation in the local tavern is debating the origins of their village. Theories include spell casters founding the town, a magical artefact hidden nearby or the village standing upon a sacred location.

Despite passionate conversations upon the subject, no local has ever tried to prove nor disprove these theories. Though the villagers' reputation for imagination is known as far as the shores of Grendlethre, the villagers of Arcain are better known for something else. A work ethic that'd shame a mule.

The sounds of labour are an ever-present chorus during the daylight hours. The hardworking villagers would milk every last second from the well-worn teat of the setting sun. Their sole desire to get a little more hay bailed, wool shawn and wheat sewn.

To an outsider, Arcain differed little from any other village. Clusters of wooden homes built at haphazard angles. Jagged random streets throughout the village. The constant odour of livestock.

To those of an observant disposition they would notice a tapestry of insignificant features. The patch of grass and the single maple growing thence in the centre of the village. Upon the winds, the wafting smell of irresistible pastries freshly baked at Jessop's bakery. Or the melody of animals bleating, baaing and braying; wheat, barley and corn rustling and the villagers chatting, joking and drinking as only peasants can. These details of little import escape the initial attention of visitors. Spend enough time in Arcain however and these small daily features blend into an impression of charm, character and above all, peace.

So the sound of raised voices and a slamming door was quite the happening in this most routine of towns.

As Kerwin strode onto the street he tried to ignore the curious glances of the passers-by.

“Gods help me,” he said to the sky.

Sherrilyn, his elderly neighbour looked shocked he would so petition the gods for what could only be the mundane issue of a mortal man.

Upon seeing her ancient face and the judgement therein, Kerwin winced, “… Sorry, Sherrilyn.”

The cracks of her wrinkles deepened into trenches as the old lady frowned. With words obscured by her muttering lips she bustled back inside her house.

Kerwin's expression tightened as he stomped to the pen beside his parents’ old house. Dwelling upon his own misfortune he looked at the building he’d inherited with resentment.

Similar houses lined the street. Overlapping wooden planks panelled the walls with thick thatched roofs capping the tops. The likeness of the homes made the street feel welcoming.

Kerwin didn’t share this opinion. In his eyes, all he saw was how his home was smaller than the others, made of cheaper wood and fewer nails.

His home’s imperfection nagged at him every time he looked upon it. Yet even this nagging sensation faded when he thought of the daily looks he received. Kerwin knew when he turned his back his neighbours scorned him. Their hushed voices giving life to the rumours of his parents financial failures and blaming Kerwin for not fixing it.

Despite his feelings of injustice, Kerwin couldn't bring himself to hate those who gossiped and judged, he knew they resented his poverty because they were not so far from his position as they would've liked. Seeing him was a constant reminder of what a poor financial choice could lead to.

Kerwin raised his chin and steeled himself. He’d been poor for too long to allow the judgement of others to weigh him down. Long ago he learnt to take pride in whatever he could.

Even as he steeled his spirit, his gaze saw past his home's faults to the things he was thankful for. Despite the building’s smaller stature the crooked walls and broken shutters gave it character. He even felt the home’s foundation was superior to some of his neighbours. It looked as if the house had grown comfortable with its inferiority and in its comfort found a reserve of stoutness.

“They don’t understand us Rainspot,” he said to the pregnant sheep living in the pen.

He laughed as the sheep trotted toward him, her full womb swaying as she ran. Being a Silrient she was one of the rarest and most sought after breeds in Arenmyre. The slightest touch of light sent her thick fleece glittering like a field of diamonds. Valued for both its beauty and its softness nobles everywhere longed for this Silrient wool.

“Easy girl,” he said scratching her neck, “The last thing I need is for you to hurt yourself.”

Having grown up with Kerwin’s dog, Gypsy, the sheep no longer behaved as a sheep should. Kerwin knew if given the chance Rainspot would change her wool to fur, feet to paws and baa to a bark. She followed Kerwin wherever he went, fetched sticks and chased cats.

She even went as far as becoming the self appointed neighbourhood guard. On more than one occasion the yelps of a prospective thief would alert the neighbourhood as the sheep jumped over the fence and bit them into submission.

Gypsy had died a year ago, but her legacy lived on through Rainspot, something Kerwin appreciated every day.

He heard the front door close.

Rather than turn and see the source of his irritation he continued to look into Rainspot’s eyes and see the sheer pleasure a good pat bought her.

“You didn’t need to slam the door in my face,” said a voice behind him.

He knew she would follow him, she always had. Still, he wished his moment of reprieve could’ve lasted a few seconds longer. Rubbing his eyes with his hand he turned to face her. She was a shorter than he was, but she compensated by the quality of her dress and beauty of her features.

While he had dirt on his neck and a tangle of hair she’d combed hers until it was straight and immaculate. The scent of wild berries followed her; the only thing that followed Kerwin was Rainspot.

“It was that or say something I’d regret,” said Kerwin.

Her porcelain face furrowed into a frown, “Why won’t you accept Jarreah’s help? Because he’s my husband?”

“Because he’s bedding other women and making you miserable,” he said turning his back to her and leaning upon the fence.

She analysed the wooden plank and gave it a quick pat with her hand to ensure it wouldn’t tarnish her violet dress.

Kerwin shook his head but said nothing.

“Are you going to wash that off?” asked Saoirse, nodding toward where someone had graffitied lead purse on the cladding of the house.

“Eventually,” replied Kerwin.

They stood silently for a moment, then: “I was just trying to help. His offer to buy Rainspot is very generous. The amount he’s offering is enough to buy a house in the city; a new life.”

“I know.”

Several silent minutes passed as the two of them watched Rainspot. Drifting upon the easy breeze came the soft notes of a troubadour’s lyre from the Maple’s Thorn tavern. The sound did nothing but compress Kerwin’s irritation as he thought of his wasted life.

“Mum’s less than a week buried, we shouldn’t shame her memory by arguing in her home. Neither of them would’ve wanted that,” she said breaking the lull in their conversation, “Not at all.”

“No, they wouldn’t have, but then we never gave them what they wanted did we?”

This made her smile, “That’s true. Saoirse you cannot marry that man. Saoirse you cannot move away. Saoirse why haven’t you had children yet?”

Despite his annoyance with his sister Kerwin laughed, “Kerwin, learn a trade. Kerwin, stop daydreaming and do some work. Kerwin, why haven’t you found a nice lass yet?”

They fell silent as Rainspot, having determined they weren’t going to provide further pats, turned and walked to the corner of the pen. With a huff she allowed her knees to buckle as she lay upon the ground.

“How’s she doing?” asked Saoirse.

“She’s due any day now, Gregson thinks it’ll be two lambs.”

“Two…,” she repeated as a look of sadness overcame her, “Mum and Dad would’ve loved to have seen this. She’s the last we’ve of them isn’t she?”

Kerwin nodded.

“I can’t believe they’re both gone,” Said Saoirse, a slight tremor running through her voice, “So close together as well.”

The lines upon his brow softened as Kerwin spoke, “Do you really think I should take Jareah’s offer?”

She nodded.

A bubble of discomfort formed in his stomach. He wanted to keep Rainspot, but he needed Saoirse's approval more, “I guess we can do it then.”

Her face lit up, “Oh Kerwin you won’t regret it.”

“Won’t I?”

“Not at all. Whatever means Dad used to get Rainspot, such a rich creature was never meant to belong to a family like ours. Jareah will find a better home fo-”

“A better home!” exploded Kerwin, “You mean you won’t look after her yourselves?”

Saoirse studied his face. When her words came, they were delicate yet stern, “Jareah is a merchant, not a farmer.”

Grinding the heel of his boot into the ground he scowled and glanced at Rainspot, “Fine. Whatever.”

“It’s a good deal.”

Despite his disdain for Jareah he knew he’d no alternatives save for raising Rainspot himself which he wasn’t capable of. Rather than allow his emotions to control him further, he stifled them with silence and stared at Rainspot, trying to ease the seething defiance lurking within him.

“Three years’ worth of fleece and I’d earn more than what Jareah’s offering,” said Kerwin disgruntled.

“Do you think you could look after her for three years with no money?”

The tolling of the village bell swallowed Kerwin’s reply. Each peal splitting the day into sections of panic framed by the boundless thoughts of curiosity.

“What’s wrong?” asked Saoirse, “There’s no ritual today.”

Kerwin shook his head as he looked toward the sound.

Around him, the other villagers had stopped and with wide eyes looked at one another.

Screams and shouts ripped through the air. Buildings obscured the panicked villagers.

Kerwin turned to Saoirse and froze.

On the far reaches of the village was a verdant hill unadorned with building, farm nor livestock. Hundreds of figures now skewed and perverted this once plain and familiar sight. Their feet thudded and their weapons shone as they streamed over the crest of the hill, running helter-skelter toward Arcain.

Saoirse, seeing Kerwin’s face turn to shock followed his gaze. Within a heartbeat, she swore and flung herself into action.

“Grab whatever you can,” she said as she ran to the door of the house, “Kerwin!”

He flinched as the sound of his name penetrated the rise and fall of his hammering heartbeat.

“We must leave,” she said, a look of steel about her.

Nodding he followed her into the house.

With most of their parent's possessions sold to settle outstanding debts the single room Kerwin stood in was sparsely filled. Kerwin’s possessions were few, and those items of value, fewer still. He grabbed his pack and threw food, a knife and whatever coins he'd managed to save. Saoirse picked up her luggage, a larger bag than Kerwin’s gaunt sack and nodding ran into the street.

Following her through the door, Kerwin’s stomach lurched.

Screams and angry shouts erupted around them as families gathered themselves, taking whatever they could and fled their homes. Those too old gave tearful goodbyes to those unable to carry them.

Kerwin longed to help, but he knew they wouldn’t accept it. Age comes swiftly but does not reduce a man’s pride. They’d never consent to be carried, pushed, pulled or otherwise encumber a fellow.

Casting his head about he returned his attention to the hill where figures continued to charge over. The count had grown from hundreds to thousands. They could hear their war cries as an undulating wave of whooping and bellowing sending a stab of fear into his heart. He knew no civilised nation sent troops to attack in such an undisciplined manner.

He felt Saoirse tug on his arm as she pulled him down the street.

They took three steps before Kerwin stopped. His eyes widening, “Rainspot.”

Saoirse shook her head, “We can’t take her.”

“We must.”

“She’ll slow us down.”

Kerwin’s face hardened, “She’s all I’ve got,” he meant it in so many ways he couldn’t communicate it and still have time to escape. He tried to allow his eyes to express his need to bring her where his words failed him.

Saoirse jerked her head toward the fleeing villages and back to Kerwin, “Hurry.”

Dropping his pack Kerwin ran to the pen and cast open the gate. Rainspot looked about, panicked from all the noise. He tried to slip the leash over Rainspot's neck. She jumped from side to side avoiding his attempts too afraid to come.

Cursing internally Kerwin spoke in his most gentle tone, trying to calm her. This met with success as she stopped bouncing and allowed him to slip the rope around her neck and guide her from the pen.

Screams erupted from the outlying houses as the attackers fell upon them, killing those who tried to hide or fight.

Kerwin’s feet pounded upon the trampled dirt, to his left ran Saoirse and his right, Rainspot. On the outskirts of the village they stopped.

A line of villagers barred their advance with lowered pitchforks, scythes and few spears. Kerwin felt his stomach sink as he saw the men, and pity welled within his heart.

“Grab a weapon, Kerwin,” shouted Hellier from the line of men, “We must hold these bastards at bay so the others can escape.”

“You don’t have a chance,” retorted Saoirse, “Throwing away your lives won’t help your families.”

The other men looked at Hellier. Their eyes told Kerwin they knew their doom was approaching, yet they believed they were doing the right thing.

Kerwin pursed his lips, unsure of what he should do.

Hellier’s greying eyebrows met in a vicious scowl, “Don’t be a coward Kerwin, grab a weapon.”

Despite himself, Kerwin knew he should obey Hellier. He was Kerwin's senior in age and experience and commanded the respect of most everyone in the village. He offered the rope to Saoirse who looked abhorrent.

Behind the villagers came thirty attackers. They wore hide loincloths and colourful amambatha upon their shoulders depicting the death of many creatures. Some had broken the trend and dyed theirs with other images of personal significance. Crests of horns and tusks adorned their foreheads. The ivory mantles curled upward to great heights and gave their wearers a demonic appearance. Boiled hide shields protected their free arm while their other bore short spears or clubs.

Kerwin recognised them from old tales his mother told them before bed: the Vraasai.

The peasants charged the warriors, but despite their stronger steel they were no match for the hardened warriors.

The amambatha shifted and danced as the Vraasai struck down the peasants.

Spotting the blood soaked haft of a pitchfork beside its slain master Kerwin felt the need to act. Torn between helping the men of his village and ensuring Saoirse’s safety Kerwin stared at the weapon. He could not so much as loosen his grip upon Rainspot’s leash before Saoirse grabbed him and pushed him between two houses.

“I should help them,” complained Kerwin as Saoirse pulled him.

“You’ll just be one more massacred body,” she said, “Use your head; you know their cause is hopeless.”

“What type of man would I be if I deserted my neighbours?”

“You’d be one whose heart still beats.”

“I’d be a coward.”

“I’d prefer a coward for a brother than a corpse.”

“I’m the man! I should make the decisions and I decide to help them.”

“Don’t be a senseless dullard. Those men are already carrion. There is no honour in throwing your life away…” she held up her hands and allowed her face to grow pleading, “… I need you with me! I can’t look after Rainspot by myself. Besides, if they find us then I’ll have no protection.”

She knew what to say, she always had. He opened his mouth to disagree but his words fell short. He had no argument to defeat her reasoning beyond the refusal of his pride.

“Fine,” he said after a moment’s pause, “They’re just jacked up fools who read too many heroic tales anyway.”

Saoirse looked relieved as they again began to move, “They’re accomplishing nothing but their own demise. The Vraasai will overcome them as a wind overcomes a candle.”

It was true. The Vraasai was a culture built for war, their lives dedicated to self-mastery. They spent years training their minds and bodies to perform at their peak. Part of this training was overcoming their need for anger. This meant they only marched to war under profound circumstances.

It was rumoured when war was upon them the Vraasai would unstopper years of pent up emotion. This repressed passion gave a single Vraasai warrior the strength of ten men.

Kerwin, filled with turmoil, forged ahead. He led Saoirse and Rainspot from the last row of houses. Checking no one was following them, they plunged into the dense jungle of corn bordering this side of the village.

Rainspot pulled on the leash protesting the speediness of their pace. With a soothing voice and gentle motions Kerwin ensured the priceless sheep did not stop.

Saoirse took the lead pushing away the thick stems of corn. The scratchy leaves clawed at their faces and arms but weren’t strong enough to deny their passage.

Behind them, they could hear an abundance of rustling, harsh shouts and the soft footfalls of bare feet running in the corn. Kerwin wished it was other villagers fleeing as they were, but his wish wasn’t strong enough to materialise into hope.

He cast a glance at Saoirse who returned the look of understanding. Someone was following them.

Kerwin knew the pack upon Saoirse’s shoulder was heavy. Filled with items only a woman would understand. Yet if the pack caused her discomfort, she gave no sign. She’d never complain about a little pain.

The sounds of war cries became those of celebration and shouting in a harsh, foreign dialect. Then they chanted, “Zetu, Zetu, Zetu,” as waves of raucous joy swept through the soldiers.

Saoirse said nothing to Kerwin as they ran, each trying to focus on remaining alive. The last news the villagers had received about the Vraasai was that a large host had crushed the Medean armies sent to disperse them and were marching North.

At the time Kerwin had not believed it was true. Rumours of foreign enemies and heroic skirmishes were frequent but never eventuated into reality. Yet here they ran. Kerwin’s world had become a nightmare.

As his mind churned another idea bubbled to the surface. It was the creeping realisation their childhood village would exist only in their memory.

Trying to quieten his racing thoughts he concentrated on calming Rainspot.

From the cornfield they ran across a patch of twig strewn grass, entering the forest skirting the northern side of Arcain.

Kerwin turned his head, searching for their pursuers. While he did so he snatched a glance at the village. Thousands swarmed the small town as they looted, killed, raped and burnt. Rolling clouds of black smoke and flames taller than any man consumed Kerwin's village.

The smoke drifted skyward, lingering as if unsure where to go.

A deep knot formed in his stomach as he stared. He wished he were anywhere but where he was. For a moment he grew jealous of his childhood friends who had moved from the village to start lives of their own.

The smoke formed into a cohesive plume as a gust of wind stirred it. With obvious intent it now drifted to the south.

Five Vraasai warriors plunged from the corn into the space between the field and the forest. They shouted and hollered vicious war cries as they sighted Kerwin and Saoirse.

“Run,” said Saoirse, with a look of horror.

Kerwin turned and without comment followed her into the forest.

The pine needles crunched beneath Kerwin’s boots as they delved deeper into the shadowy twilight of the forest depths. Ground never stepped upon by human feet was now crushed and disturbed by the siblings and their sheep.

As they ran deeper, the forest; once dense and unwelcoming, eased as the trees became larger and the space between them further apart.

Kerwin scanned the forest for Tree Crawlers or wolves, hoping neither lived in these parts. He’d heard tales of disappearing brides and shattered remains of creatures chanced upon by trappers. He’d always attributed these stories to fairytales designed to scare young children from straying too far from home.

In his case, the fairy tales had worked, he’d never gone more than a few layers of pines deep into the forest. Of the time when he went the deepest, it was only to soothe his broken heart from when the miller’s daughter rebuffed his proposition. Once he’d satisfied his need he’d fled the pines from fear of what lurked within.

A sense of disorientation gripped him as he realised he’d no idea which direction they had come from. Trying to suppress his dread he tried not to think about becoming lost in the forest and having to survive. He knew he wouldn’t be able to.

“Can’t she go any faster?” asked Saoirse several steps ahead.

“She’s pregnant, what do you expect?” replied Kerwin, his concentration lost in the gale of thoughts swirling within his head.

Saoirse looked behind them; from her expression, Kerwin knew the warriors were gaining on them.

They took five heart-wrenching steps before Rainspot pulled on the length of rope, exhausted. Kerwin tried to spur her on, but she wasn’t going any further.

“Leave her,” shouted Saoirse.

Kerwin winced as he fixed his eyes on her, “I can’t.”

“You must! If you don’t, they’ll kill us.”

He looked at the warriors closing the distance.

With his heart hammering from fear and exhaustion Kerwin had trouble forming coherent thoughts. Leaving Rainspot was wrong on every level. If he didn’t however, death would surely claim them all.

Staring into Rainspot’s eyes he said, “I’m so sorry.”

He dropped the leash and felt as if he was losing his connection to his parents and his future. The rope landed upon the leaves as did all hope.

“Come on,” said Saoirse, grabbing him by the arm, “We’ve to go.”

Kerwin nodded and allowed her to lead him. As his feet clumsily followed he looked at Rainspot . His heart racing as the soldiers reached her, they looked between the sheep and the pair running into the distance. To Kerwin’s relief and guilt, they opted to capture the valuable sheep and allow Kerwin and Saoirse to escape. He hoped her rarity would keep them from eating her but knew it would depend upon the savages recognising the value of her fleece.

Not wanting to see more he turned and focused upon putting as much distance between them as he could.

The sun was setting when by unspoken consent they slowed their frantic flight. Shadows emerged around them, encouraged by the waning light. They danced and celebrated their existence as the leaves and branches shifted and stirred by the faint movement of wind.

Everything hurt. Kerwin’s muscles burnt with every step. He could feel a blister on the sole of his foot. With every step shooting pains ran up his leg. A muscle in his neck grew cramped and uncomfortable. They had stopped regularly to ease their burning lungs and recover what they could of their energy but it was never long enough.

Looking at Saoirse he knew she felt the same pains he did. A layer of sweat beaded her forehead causing her makeup to run. Loose bits of hair clung to her face glued by sweat. Her eyes were distant and hollow as if she were having trouble remaining conscious.

Kerwin fell to his knees, a cry escaping his lips, “I’ve lost everything!”

He didn’t say it to Saoirse but rather to whatever gods were listening. Throwing his plight upon their mercy and wishing them to solve the problem of his life.

Saoirse said nothing, her eyes, unfocused and her breath ragged. She slumped to the forest floor and lay down, staring at the canopy above. Her chest heaved and her breathing had a wheeze to it.

Kerwin was about to ask if she was okay when he realised he too was wheezing and struggling to replenish the oxygen his body cried out for. For several long minutes, they remained there. Each focusing on replenishing their strength.

When their breathing had grown regular did Saoirse prop herself up on her elbows.

“I can’t believe they’re all gone,” said Saoirse, “Everyone we knew.”

“They might’ve escaped,” said Kerwin looking up, “We did.”

“We got away because Rainspot was more valuable than our lives.”

Kerwin’s face sunk further as he thought about losing her.

Saoirse grimaced, “At least we still have our lives...”

“I’m left a beggar. What type of life is that?”

She tucked her legs beneath her as she sat up. Dried leaves and pine needles crunching beneath her, “One still filled with potential. You’ve always been filled with doubt, always needing someone to show you the way forward. What’s it going to take for you to trust yourself?”

Kerwin remained silent, too focused on feeling sorry for himself to listen to her encouragement.

“Mum and Dad used to tell you how to live your life and that worked for you. They’re gone now and I refuse to mother you so you will have to grab hold of your manhood and make your own decisions.”

“Like it’s that easy,” snorted Kerwin. Picking up a pine cone he broke off the individual nodules which had held seeds layered between them, “I miss them.”

Saoirse hugged her legs to her body, after several moments of silence she replied, “Me too. I can’t believe they’re gone.”

“Do you remember how dad would tell us stories over the fireplace each night? I’d thought they were just entertainment but now I find myself thinking about the choices the characters made. It’s like I should be trying to live by their example. Isn’t that funny? I wonder if he did that on purpose.”

“What was that story called that you loved?” Asked Saoirse, “Something’s wish to…”

“Vermond’s Wish to See the World. He’d do the voices and everything.”

Saoirse laughed the way only childhood memories can illicit, “That’s right! I’d forgotten,” after she’d recovered she said, “Can you imagine what we would’ve been like if we’d a normal childhood?”

“Define normal.”

“You know. One where our parents allowed us out to interact with other humans our own age… We could’ve had friends.”

“They did their best.”

Saoirse laughed again, the choked laugh of bitter resentment, “They failed. They stopped us from doing all the things we should have and allowed us to do all the things we shouldn’t. They should have stopped me from marrying Jareah.”

Kerwin laughed, “They tried! Dad almost put his fist through the wall when you sneaked off to meet him. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember. I wish… I don’t know. Come on,” she said standing, “It’ll do us no good sitting here complaining. There’s sunlight left and we need to get to Sailford.”

“Sailford?” Kerwin stammered, “We’re not going there.”

“You can’t hope to remain here. Kerwin, Arcain is gone, there isn’t anything but death there now.”

“I know but… I said it earlier and I’ll say it again, I’m not living in Sailford.”

“I’m the only family you have left. Are you going to go off and live in some far distant town and wash me from your life?”

Kerwin frowned as he tried to communicate his feelings, “No, I-”

“Good, then you’re coming to live with me in Sailford.”

Kerwin opened his mouth, but she was already walking. With a deep sigh, he said, “Fine,” and followed his sister.

As true night grasped the forest, it became impossible to see. Their pace slowed further as they began fumbling through the darkness trying to avoid low-hanging branches and wandering roots.

Finally, they agreed it was too dark to navigate and they should pursue what little rest they could.

Laying back to back Kerwin was grateful for the warmth behind him. The chilled night air sought to circumvent his clothing and turn his marrow to ice.

Sleep crept upon him like a predator its prey. He’d no idea he was asleep until its jaws closed around his throat and he lost consciousness.

“Get up,” said a man’s voice in the distance.

Kerwin ignored the voice and struggled to hold on to the last remnants of sleep.

“I said up,” said the voice again before he felt the sharp rap of a boot upon his thigh.

Opening his eyes in annoyance he was about to complain when his eyes focused upon the arrowhead directed at his face. The sun was beginning its morning ascent providing enough light for Kerwin to recognise how sharp the edges were and how powerful the drawn bow was. It creaked as if it harboured its own desires to catapult the projectile into his skull and bathe itself in blood.

Shifting his gaze from the weapon to the man holding it he looked into a face he didn’t recognise. Beneath the scar upon his forehead were soulless eyes that seemed to peer from beneath his bushy, unkempt eyebrows. A long beard ran down the front of his worn leather jerkin. A black belt secured leather trousers and a small sheath where the pommel of a dagger protruded.

Panicked, Kerwin glanced at Saoirse. Her head hung resigned as she sat upon her knees, her hands on her head.

At the arrowhead’s insistence, Kerwin did the same.

“Who are you?” asked the man.

“Who are you?” asked Saoirse in return, her eyes filled with equal anger and fear.

The man snorted.

“We’re survivors from Arcain,” said Kerwin, looking at Saorise, “I’m Kerwin, this is my sister, Saoirse. What is your name?”

The man furrowed his brow, yet he didn’t move from his ready position, “Survivors?”

Kerwin nodded, “They attacked and destroyed the village.”

“Whom?” His voice was deep and gravelling as if he’d spent too long sucking on a pipe.

“Vraasai,” spat Saoirse.

The man, if surprised, hid it well. Instead, he nodded. With no further thought, he pulled a little on the bowstring, Kerwin’s eyes widening as he realised this was the end.

“We’ve money,” shrieked Saoirse, “We’ll give you whatever you want, just don’t kill us.”

The man smiled, it was a cruel, hard smile, “Peasants like you don’t have money else you wouldn’t be peasants, would you? Besides, I don’t take bribes or gifts, I take what I can; you’ll learn that soon enough miss.”

Saoirse’s face blushed and rage filled Kerwin’s body.

Before Kerwin could do anything however Saoirse spoke again, “The Vraasai, they chased us into the forest and stole our treasure. If you help us get it back, you can have a share.”

The man fixed her with a harsh look, “What type of treasure?”

“Gold bars. My husband is a merchant you see-”

“How many chased you?”

“Five,” said Kerwin, trying to fix him with a look that told him he wasn’t afraid.

He ignored Kerwin and kept his gaze on Saoirse, “They’re camped not two miles north of here. They’ve been searching for you throughout the night. While they were out, I crept into their camp… I found no chest.”

“It’s there,” said Saoirse, her eyes soaked in his expression, “If it isn’t then you still get to kill us. If it is, then let us go free and we can all live wealthily for the rest of our lives.”

“If you’re lying to me-”

Kerwin interjected, “Then you can punish how you see fit.”

The man pursed his lips, in a swift motion relaxed the bowstring to its resting position, “Fine. Let’s go.”

“All of us?” asked Kerwin, fearful.

The man fixed him with a deadpan look, “I shan’t turn my back on you so you can escape. Now, we walk in this direction.”

As they walked, Kerwin tried to signal to Saoirse to find out what she was doing. They both knew the only treasure the Vraasai had stolen from them was Rainspot. Kerwin wanted to know why she hadn’t told the man the truth and what they would do if he managed to defeat the soldiers.

Kerwin’s stomach was grumbling in dismay as they walked. His mind turned to the food he grabbed in their escape from Arcain. Reaching back toward his pack he paused when he saw the man raise the bow at him once more.

With a defeated sigh he turned and continued walking.

After a short while, the man indicated for them to crouch. With utmost care they climbed up a low rise. From the other side a thin tendril of smoke snaked into the sky. A pit of horror formed in Kerwin’s stomach. He hoped he was not about to see Rainspot roasting upon a spit.

Feeling sick he slowly poked his head over the ridge.

Four of the Vraasai laid on hide spreads still asleep. A fifth sat by the fire throwing pieces of pine into it. Upon her stomach was Rainspot, tethered to a tree.

Kerwin released the breath he'd been holding. She was unharmed.

“I see no chest,” whispered the man from beside Saorise.

“Maybe they hid it.”

The man swore, “Then it’s lost and your lives are forfeit for no man alive can inflict enough pain on a Vraasai to loosen their tongue.”

Saoirse fell silent for a moment, “Perhaps, or maybe it’s jus-”

Without warning, she sprang over the hill and ran toward the camp. Throughout her descent she shouted and waved her arms.

Faster than any man should be able to react the Vraasai were standing with spears ready.

Grunting beside Kerwin the man stood, nocked an arrow and aimed his bow at Saoirse.

Adrenaline surged through Kerwin’s body heightening his senses. The pine needles beneath him felt like the tips of a hundred swords. The chirping of the birds was a beautiful chorus echoing within a hollow cave. The man’s bow was cold and hard.

He pushed the weapon high as the man loosed an arrow. It flew into the canopy of branches and needles. With little effort the hulking man struck Kerwin, sending him sprawling to his knees. As he nocked another arrow Saoirse fell upon him, breaking the projectile. He threw her off with equal ease but he’d run out of time.

The five Vraasai warriors attacked without reservation.

Bellowing, the man charged them. He drew his dagger from its sheath, hunting for soft flesh to bite into even as his bow reached out looking to deflect the Vraasai’s angry spears.

Saoirse and Kerwin said nothing to one another but acted from instinct. They fled from the battle, attempting to lose sight of the aggressors. Once they could hear but not see the small fight unfolding, they circled back and entered the Vraasai camp.

“What you did back there,” said Kerwin trying to keep his voice even, “That was incredible.”

Saoirse shrugged, “I didn’t think about it, it just happened.”

Rainspot got to her feet when she saw them approach. Shushing her to stop her excited baaing they, in a low crouch, rushed toward the sheep and attempted to untie her from the tree. Saoirse’s hands were coursing with so much adrenaline they shook. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the knot as she tried to loosen the rope around the tree.

“Here,” said Kerwin, rushing forward, “Allow me.”

With steadier hands, he could undo the knot with relative ease.

“Kerwin,” said Saoirse in a strange voice.

“Mmm?” He said as he lifted the rope along with his head.

He stood upright, fear seeping from his heart to his expression.

The man had his bloodied dagger pressed against Saoirse’s throat. Five VraasaI’d charged at him and five corpses littered the hill above the camp. Blood streaked across his face and bits of gore clung to his beard. His injuries were minor, a cut on his shoulder and a smaller cut on his cheekbone.

Kerwin panicked.

He didn’t understand how he could defeat that many warriors with nothing but a dagger and his bow. The fact left a sinking sensation of defeat settling into his stomach.

“What do I do?” He said to Saoirse, her eyes glinting with fear.

The man laughed, “You die, coward.”

Kerwin’s pride bristled, “Don’t call me that.”

The man snorted, “I knew what type of man you were the moment I saw you. You’re not a man, just a woman in a man’s body,” He shook his head, “You don’t even have the advantage of tits and-”

“Enough,” Kerwin said, trying to embrace his anger, “Let her go.”

With a grim smile the man, so fast and so strong Kerwin flinched, struck Saoirse on the side of the head. She fell to the ground unconscious. The man stared down at Saoirse for a moment, his expression leaving no doubt in Kerwin’s mind what his intentions were.

When his eyes moved back to Kerwin, his smile dropped into a hard flat line.

That was all the provocation Kerwin needed; dropping the rope, he spun, a cloud of pine needles erupting at his feet. His feet pounding upon the floor of the forest as his heart pounded against his flesh.

He didn’t look, he knew the man was following.

Kerwin’s mind raced through possible solutions to this problem. Each one was less likely to work than the last. He was certain if it came to a physical confrontation there was no chance he'd walk away from that fight.

An idea occurred to him, one which filled him with hope.

The further they got from the Vraasai camp the longer it would take this man to return. This would increase the likelihood Saoirse would awake. He hoped she’d the sense to grab Rainspot and run as far and as fast as she could.

Clambering up a steep hill Kerwin swore and spinning to find another escape route realised he was trapped. Below, was the burning wreckage of Arcain. Smoke filled the sky from the remnants of the destroyed buildings and the hundreds of campfires where the Vraasai army was awakening.

The man crested the hill a moment later.

He laughed when he saw the army, “Where will you run too now, eh? Shall I kill you or would you like them to do it?”

Kerwin realised there was no way out. All his life there had been someone with an answer to his problems, someone willing to help him. With his parents dead and Saoirse unconscious, Kerwin was truly alone.

He tried to think of what they would want him to do but anxiousness and despair twisted his mind. His heart grew heavy with fear. It'd been an emotion he'd felt for his entire life, it had shaped his choices, moulded who he was and had taken him to this point and he was finally sick of it. Panting he tried to clear his mind, instead searching through his own thoughts and feelings until he found it.

It was small and unused but it existed and he clung to it with all his strength. The inner mettle of any man, his primal instinct. With it he threw his fears and doubts away and immersed himself in the simplest need of all; survival.

Kerwin bellowed his defiance as he pounded his fists upon his chest in a primitive display of power.

Praying to the all gods Kerwin dived at the man. His hands outstretched ready to kill him if he could. As the distance closed Kerwin recognised the blade in the man’s hand as being the decider in this fight. He had to keep it from plunging into his skin. Kerwin sidestepped at the last moment. As he did, he tried to catch the drawn back knife as it bore down upon him.

The man grabbed Kerwin by the back of his neck and attempted to throw him off balance while stabbing toward his chest.

Both of Kerwin’s hands closed around his wrist, stopping the knife an inch from his skin. Not waiting to react Kerwin shoved back his head and felt it collide with the soft tissue of his opponent’s nose.

The man grunted and kicked Kerwin’s feet from under him.

Kerwin fell to the ground, his hands never releasing their grip from the dagger.

The man crouched over him, his weight placed upon the dagger. The tip of which crawled toward the skin of Kerwin’s chest. With all his might Kerwin pushed against the blade but he was not strong enough.

A flash of movement to the side and the man rolled off Kerwin. Within an instant, Kerwin recognised Rainspot who, having head-butted the man, stood by Kerwin’s side.

Turning back to the man he watched as he got his feet beneath him and went to stand. Rainspot didn’t allow it; she charged again and struck the man in the side of his hip. His leg buckled, and he fell to one knee.

Kerwin threw himself upon the man and pressed his advantage.

Twisting the hand holding the blade Kerwin pressed it toward the man’s throat. He snarled and tried to say something but before he could the steel sliced through his windpipe and across his jugular.

His eyes widening the man still held Kerwin from stabbing him completely. The two of them remained locked for several moments. Blood gushed from the man’s wound, each beat of his heart he grew weaker, his eyes dulled and the blade cut further and further into him.

Finally, the resistance weakened so much the blade slipped up beneath his chin and buried itself hilt-deep. The man was dead.

Kerwin rolled off the man, disgusted. His breath coming in huge gasps he felt as if someone was strangling him. He rolled over and vomited onto the pine needle floor, blinking back tears as he did so.

He’d killed nothing before let alone a human. Questions of morality and murder assailed him yet he knew he'd been given no alternative. His rationality shielded him from further feelings of doubt and he looked back at the man’s body.

To his own disgust, he felt a shiver of pride. He’d overcome another human in the most primal way possible. They had pitted their strength against one another and he’d emerged victorious. He’d defended what was dearest to him and been successful.

A sudden surge of assurance swept through him and it took some effort to keep himself from laughing.

Staring at Rainspot with such radiant gratitude he felt as if he’d awoken from a lengthy slumber. The cogs of his mind fed him an idea and he couldn’t help feel the truth. If he could kill that man and save his family he felt sure he could raise Rainspot no matter the circumstances.

“You’re a good lamb!” said Kerwin as he rubbed Rainspot’s ears, “Arent you?”

The sheep baaed and tottered left and right as if they were about to play a game.

Kerwin grinned and shook his head, “Not yet my girl, we’ve to get back to Saoirse… I’ve got to tell her I won’t be selling you. Not for all the gold in the world.”