Jarren looked up when a boyish scream came from the direction of the goat shed, dropping his hoe to run towards it. Rounding the corner, he skidded to a halt and stared in surprise at the tableau before him. Eight-year-old Conash lay on the straw, held his stomach and cried. Twelve-year-old Rykar cowered at the back of the shed, his arms raised. Rivan stood over him, his lips drawn back in a snarl. Jarren walked closer, eyeing the irate cat.
“Conash, call Rivan.”
The boy sat up and looked around, and the cat bounded to him and licked his cheek, purring.
“What happened?” Jarren demanded.
“Rykar hit me.”
“Why?”
“He was being an ass!” Rykar shouted.
“How was he being an ass?”
“He stuck dung down my trousers!”
Jarren quelled a chuckle. “So he was playing a prank?”
“He was being a moron!”
Jarren strode over to his oldest son and gripped his ear, forcing him to his feet with a sharp tug that made him yelp. “He was playing a prank! You shouldn't have hit him. How many times must I tell you? Stick dung down his trousers, Rykar, but don't you ever hit him!”
“He's a damned weakling!”
“Don't curse at me, boy. He's your brother!”
“He's a runt, look at him!”
“And you're an idiot.”
Jarren released Rykar and turned away. Scooping Conash up, Jarren carried him to the house, where Misha looked up from the pastry she was rolling. He sat the boy on the edge of the table and wiped the tears from his cheeks. Misha came over, rubbing her hands on her apron.
“What happened?”
“Rykar hit him for sticking dung down his trousers.”
Misha hugged Conash, then drew back to kiss him and gaze into his eyes. “Rykar was naughty. Mama's going to spank him.”
“No, don't. Rivan bit him already.”
“Did he?”
Conash nodded. “Just a little bit.”
“Good.”
Jarren glanced around at the cat, which lay in a patch of sun, washing his face. He paused to look up, the pink tip of his tongue protruding. Misha followed Jarren's gaze, then met his eyes, giving a slight nod.
“I don't think Rykar will do that again,” he said.
Conash clutched his stomach. “It hurts, Mama.”
“Let me see.” She lifted his shirt and probed his belly, and he winced. “It'll get better,” she told him.
The boy smiled, then his eyes rolled back and he keeled over. Misha cried out and caught him before he fell off the table, and Rivan sat up with a lash of his tail. Misha cradled Conash, her eyes filled with anguish.
“Fetch the healer!”
Jarren ran to the door and bellowed the instruction to Rykar, then hurried into the bedroom, where Misha placed Conash on the bed. The fragile boy's features were so refined that he looked more like a six-year-old. Misha sat beside him, chafing his hands. Rivan prowled around beside the bed, growling. Jarren edged past the cat and sat next to his wife. Beads of sweat stood on Conash's brow, and he breathed in laboured gasps.
“It's another fever,” she muttered.
Jarren bowed his head.
She said, “Fetch the priestess, too.”
“No...”
“Yes!”
Jarren ran to the door again. Rykar was mounted on the dun pony he had bought for the children, and turned at his father's shout.
“Bring the priestess too, Rykar.”
“I didn't hit him that hard, Papa!”
“It's another fever. Go, boy!”
Rykar kicked the pony into a gallop down the track to the village in the valley, and Jarren hurried back to his wife's side. She placed cold cloths on Conash's brow and removed his shirt to wipe the sweat from his chest. By the time the old healer, Emtan, arrived, with Priestess Mirtel, shivers racked the boy and his lips were blue.
Emtan placed a hand on the Conash's brow, shaking his head. “He's burning up, Mistress Misha.”
“What is it?”
“I don't know. He's a weak child; anything could spark it off.”
Priestess Mirtel stepped closer. “He needs the Death Rites.”
Emtan nodded. “Better to be safe.”
“This boy was born dead, Emtan. He wasn't meant for this world.”
Jarren said, “You should stop saying that, Mirtel, until he's actually dead.”
Emtan dug in his bag. “I'll give him a tonic. It will strengthen him.”
Mirtel placed the grey cloth of bereavement around her neck and clasped her hands in prayer. “Great Tinsharon, look down upon this child now, as the time of his death approaches. Bless him, and welcome him into the Everlasting and your loving arms...”
Jarren stopped listening to the Rites. He had heard them spoken over his second son twice before already. Emtan dribbled tonic into Conash's mouth, and the boy coughed. Misha held her son's hand and wept. Rivan paced around the bed, spitting and growling. Jarren sank down on a chair and buried his face in his hands, praying that this would be the last time he had to go through this. Either the boy must die, or he must grow stronger. He had spent too many years teetering on the brink of death.
***
Jarren sighed as his second son prodded the laden potpear tree with a stick, trying to dislodge a fruit. Conash had sprouted like a weed, and, at twelve, was almost as tall as Alenstra. He remained slender, but he had not had a fever for four years. Rivan leapt up the tree, climbing it with sinuous ease, and Conash threw down the stick and followed. Jarren sat up in alarm. The only problem with his son's familiar, he found, was that Conash was inclined to try to emulate him.
Jarren jumped up when the boy gripped the trunk and started to climb, reaching him before he got too high up.
“Conash, come down.”
“I'm all right, Papa.”
“I said come down, now.”
“But -”
“Don't argue with me, boy!”
Conash shinnied down the tree, landing beside his father with feline grace. Jarren nodded and returned to his seat on the veranda, picked up his pipe and lighted it.
“Can I take the pony for a ride, Papa?”
“All right, but don't go too far.”
“I won't.”
The boy ran off, the black cat bounding beside him, and Jarren reflected that life was good. He had six healthy children. Alenstra had bonded with a spiderhawk just four moon-phases ago, the last to find her familiar. Rykar was wolf kin, and now had a brown wolf at his side. Shinda doted on her sorrel filly, and even six-year-old Ryana had bonded with a jewel-like humming bird. Orcal's gentle doe was seldom seen, but brought him great joy. In Orcal, Jarren finally had a child who had inherited his brown hair and green eyes.
Conash was still his favourite. His gentle fey son, whose smile could charm the birds from the trees. Next year, when he was thirteen, he would get his blessing, and his true name; Tyequin. God Touched. Jarren puffed his pipe, smiling.
Conash urged the pony into a canter. Its jolting trot jarred his teeth and bruised his rear end. He disliked riding, but it was a lot quicker than walking, and less tiring. Rivan loped alongside, and Conash smiled at his familiar, revelling in the sensation of graceful, almost effortless movement. The cat seemed to have springs in his legs, and the boy longed to be just like him. His father was far too overprotective. He could have climbed the potpear tree with ease.
Conash pulled the puffing pony to a halt and turned to gaze at the vista. The village of Goat's Rest nestled in a lake-dotted valley whose sweeping green slopes undulated into the distance. Farmsteads divided up the grazing, raising mostly goats to provide meat, milk, cheese and hides. In the village, the industries that thrived on this produce dominated the economy, and a trading post bartered with drovers who transported the wares to distant cities.
Most of the leather went to the Queen's armies to the east, where it was used to make armour. Meat was also sold to the soldiers, who kept the village safe from the marauding Cotti. Visible through a cleft between two hills, the Deep Forest stretched away like a dark, lumpy velvet blanket. Around each homestead, a grove of coalwood and potpear trees provided firewood and fruit. Coalwood trees grew swiftly and provided hard red wood that burnt slowly and made hot coals. A grove provided enough wood for each homestead without ever having to cut any down. Potpears bore fruit all summer long, which were fermented to make potent cider and dried for the wintertime. Life was simple here, but sweet, and he wanted no other.
Conash turned when Rivan gave a warning chirp, and studied the man who walked towards him. A herder, judging by his garb and the five goats he drove before him. Conash glanced beyond the man, wondering where he had sprung from. Behind him, the Endine Mountains, which guarded Jashimari from the desert, rose like jagged grey stone teeth, their lofty peaks blanketed with snow and streamers of cloud.
The stranger hailed Conash, who returned his greeting with a smile. The man paused, leaning on his staff, while his goats continued towards a distant homestead. A scruffy little dog sat beside him.
Conash urged his pony closer. “Where did you come from?”
The man grinned, revealing missing teeth. “The watering hole, of course.”
“What watering hole?”
The herder gestured behind him. “Through the gorge, in the middle of the mountains. It's a secret place, hidden there.”
Conash was fascinated. “How do I get there?”
“Keep heading up to the scree, and you'll see some bushes and trees. Go through them. It looks blocked, but it's not.”
“Thank you.”
“Be careful though; don't let the Cotti see you.”
Conash nodded and kicked the pony into a trot. The chances of seeing a Cotti in Jashimari were slim to none. The man was surely jesting. He followed a faint path up the scree into a narrow gorge that looked like it ended just a short distance ahead. Even the pony was reluctant to enter it, but did so at his urging. Conash pushed through the dense branches, following a narrow, twisting path. The mountains loomed over him on either side, their steep slopes covered with loose stones that had, over the aeons, slid down to form a gravel bed amongst the trees.
Conash pushed through the last branches and entered a green bowl with a sparkling blue lake at its centre. On the far side, a wide gap in the stone barrier gave a glimpse of pale golden sand rippling away into the hazy distance, the sun beating down on it like a hammer of hot light. Kicking the pony into a canter, he circumnavigated the lake and stopped to gaze at the shimmering desert. This was his first glimpse of it, and he wondered how anyone could live there. Then again, the Cotti were savages.
Returning to the edge of the lake, he dismounted and let the pony graze, stripped off his clothes and leapt into the crystal water with a yell. Rivan paced up and down the bank, watching his friend with worried eyes. Conash splashed and paddled, swimming further out, then back to splash the cat. Rivan spat at him and moved away. The boy giggled, ducked under the water and swam down to the pebbly bottom. Silver fish darted away, and the water was so clear that he could see for some distance.
Surfacing, he wiped his eyes and smiled at Rivan, who patted the water with a tentative paw. Clearly, he was concerned about his friend, but unwilling to get wet. Conash giggled and splashed, ducking under the water, then surfaced in a welter of bubbles.
“Help! Rivan! I'm drowning!” he shouted, filling his mind with panic and fear.
The wood cat leapt into the lake with a mighty splash. The boy laughed and splashed his feline friend, who gripped his arm in his jaws and tried to drag him to shore. Giggling, the boy slipped free and swam away. The cat shook water from his ears and spat before heading for shore, where he flopped down on the grass to lick himself dry. Conash followed and stretched out, the sun warming away the water's chill. Rivan watched him with accusing eyes, clearly annoyed at being duped.
When he was dry, Conash donned his clothes and looked around for the pony, which had wandered away in search of sweeter grass. Rivan's warning thrummed in his mind as a scrape of metal on stone made him turn towards the gap that led to the desert. Five men rode into the bowl on tall steeds whose long manes flew from arched necks. The soldiers' silver armour glinted over yellow livery, and they stared at him with hard dark eyes.
Conash sprinted for the pony, his mind blank with terror. The Cotti soldiers shouted as he grabbed the pony's trailing reins and scrambled into the saddle. He kicked the animal into a gallop towards the tree-choked gorge, where branches whipped and scraped him as he forced the pony to trot through the yielding barrier.
Emerging into the valley, he urged his mount back into a gallop down the treacherous scree slope. He dared not look back to see if the Cotti had followed him, his dread was too great. Surely they would not. They would have turned back when the scrub had swallowed him.
Halfway home, he slowed the blowing pony to a trot and glanced back. The distant gorge looked empty and innocent, to his relief. He continued at a trot, allowing the pony to cool off. If he arrived home with a lathered, blowing mount, it would arouse suspicion and questions that he did not want to answer.
By the time he arrived home, the pony's sweat had dried. Rivan was uneasy, but only Conash could sense the cat's disquiet. It would be all right, he assured himself. He dismounted outside the goat shed and unsaddled the pony, brushing it before releasing it into its paddock as twilight fell.
Conash's mother stirred a stew in the warm kitchen, his father was still with the herd, and Kyran hoed the vegetable patch. Ryana and Shinda played with dolls outside the front door, and Alenstra washed pots while Orcal ran around the kitchen with a toy bird, making flapping noises and getting under his mother's feet.
Misha turned with a smile when Conash came in. “Hello, baby boy. Did you have a nice ride?”
“Yes, Mama.”
She cocked her head. “Good. Can Mama have a hug?”
Conash embraced her, kissing her cheek. She never called him by his name, and he knew why. One day he would have a proper name, and then perhaps she would use it.
Misha tousled his hair. “Go and wash your hands; it's almost suppertime.”
Conash braided a belt of ribbons and bells for Shinda's eighth birthday. Orcal had carved a tiny horse for her, and dyed it red and yellow like her sorrel filly. Six-year-old Ryana had made a hair clip with their father's help and decorated it with her humming bird's bright feathers. Alenstra, almost grown at fourteen, had sewn a frilly dress for her tomboy sister, and Rykar, now sixteen, had bought her a silver necklace with the coppers he had earned doing chores.
A tenday had passed since Conash had swum in the lake on the other side of the gorge, and he was convinced that the Cotti soldiers had not followed him. He longed to tell his father, but could not bring himself to admit his blunder. Papa would be disappointed, perhaps even angry, and Mama would weep. He did not want his mother to cry; he loved them, and could not bear to bring them grief.
Conash glanced at Rivan, who lay in the shade of a puffwood tree. He smiled as the cat swatted a fly, his tail twitching. Today was Conash's day to tend the goats, and he had just returned from the high pasture where they grazed. Orcal cleaned the shed, and Rykar hoed weeds in the vegetable patch with Jarren. Shinda and Ryana had gone with his mother to the stream to wash clothes, so he was enjoying the peace and quiet. The verdant land slumbered in the late summer sun's warm rays, and the distant sound of goat bells came from the slopes all around, where each family's herd nibbled the velvet grass.
A hawk's scream shattered the peace, and Rivan sat up as if someone had stuck a pin in him, his ears swivelling. Conash glanced up at the bird that hovered like a cross in the sky, wondering what had upset Keal, Alenstra's familiar. The bird stooped, plummeting to earth like a comet, then spread his wings at the last moment and glided to perch on the fence. He screamed again, his crest raised, and Conash glanced at Rivan. The cat's ears swivelled and his nose twitched as he sniffed the breeze. Curious, Conash sent him an enquiring thought, surprised when he received an urgent image in reply. Danger.
Conash tucked the belt into his pocket and stood up, peering down the path that led to the stream. Had something happened to his mother and sisters? Rivan was unsure, but Keal took flight, heading for the vegetable garden. Conash ran after him, arriving as his father and Rykar dropped their hoes and ran towards the house. Jarren grabbed Conash's arm and dragged him along so fast that his feet barely touched the ground.
“What is it, Papa?” Conash cried, alarmed.
“Cotti!”
Conash's stomach knotted with dread, and he glanced down the valley at the village. Beyond it, something moved through the fields, a mass of yellow and blue, glinting with silver. Faint plumes of smoke rose beyond it, and running figures fled the village in its path. Reaching the house, his father released him and turned to Rykar.
“Go and fetch your mother and sisters. Run!”
Rykar sprinted down the path towards the stream, and Conash gripped his father's coat, staring at the approaching horde.
“What do we do?”
His father shook his head. “Pray that the border garrison reaches us before they do. Someone will have alerted them by now.”
“We could hide in the Deep Forest.”
“They'll hunt us down like deer.” Jarren gripped Conash's shoulders. “It'll be all right. They won't kill us; we're just farmers. They'll steal, that's all. We'll be safe. Now go and fetch Orcal.”
Conash dashed to the goat shed, his heart hammering. The Cotti army approached at a gallop, spreading out to burn and loot. Some chased fleeing villagers, but still more continued to advance. There seemed to be an endless river of them, more men than he had ever seen before. The thunder of hooves reached him, mingled with distant screams. As he dragged Orcal from the goat shed, he knew that they were going to die. His father was wrong, or had only been trying to comfort a frightened boy. When they reached the house, Rykar arrived with the panting women. Ryana wept and clung to her mother's skirts. Shinda held her hand, ignoring her familiar's whinnying and cavorting as Cavat tried to persuade her to climb on her back and flee. Shinda was the only one who had a chance to escape, but she would not leave her family.
Misha approached Conash and hugged him. “Be strong, my baby boy. Nothing can harm you. You're blessed. You're my special son.”
Conash clung to her, tears burning his eyes. She kissed his brow, released him and stood up, holding his hand.
Jarren went to the shed and emerged with two pitchforks, handing one to Rykar. They exchanged a meaningful glance, alike in temperament though not in animal kin or looks. Conash longed to run, but watched the Cotti advance with a lump of terror in his throat. He clung to his mother's hand, which gripped his so tightly that it hurt. Rivan crouched at his side, glancing up at him with a look of fearful confusion. The cat's urging thrummed in the boy's mind. Flee flee flee flee. Conash would not leave his family any more than Shinda. He shook his head at the cat. It seemed to take only minutes for the Cotti to reach the farm, and a group of five split from the rest.
Alenstra ran into the house and emerged with a kitchen knife, her eyes bright with defiance. The bronze-skinned soldiers cantered around the dwelling, shot burning arrows into the thatch and set it ablaze, driving the family from the shelter of its walls. Jarren lunged at a rider with his pitchfork, forcing the man to rein his horse aside. Misha lifted Ryana onto her hip and clutched Shinda to her skirts, watching the circling men with wide, terrified eyes. She looked at Conash, a slight smile curling her lips.
“Be brave, my boy,” she murmured. “You can't die. You were born dead, in a river of blood. I have it from the priestess. You'll survive, you hear me? You'll live, no matter what. I love you.”
“I love you, Mama,” he whispered.
Rykar stabbed a soldier's horse, making it rear with a squeal. Another Cotti trotted up behind the youth and raised his sword. Conash's warning yell made Rykar spin around, only to receive the weapon in his throat even as his father tried to fling himself in between. Conash's scream mingled with his mother's and Alenstra's. Rykar fell, clutching his neck. A wolf's agonised howl rent the air, and Rykar's familiar attacked in a frenzy of grief and pain. The men impaled him upon a spear and sliced off his head.
Jarren charged the Cotti, pitchfork lowered. He stabbed a soldier's horse, and the animal fell, thrashing. Two men jumped down, and one hurled a spear. Jarren fell to his knees, clutching the shaft that spiked his gut.
Conash backed away, the sickly stench of blood twisting his stomach. Jarren collapsed when the soldier yanked the spear out, clasping the wound. Misha ran to him with Ryana clutched to her breast and Shinda clinging to her skirt. The Cotti laughed and jeered, allowing her reach him before one plunged his sword into her back. She slumped over Jarren, and Ryana fell into his blood with a shriek. Shinda screamed and tried to pull her sister away, but Ryana clung to her mother. Conash cried out, frozen with shock.
Alenstra struggled with a beefy soldier who tried to sling her over his shoulder. She stabbed him, and he struck her down with a savage backhand blow. A man grabbed Orcal and shoved him to another. A Cotti headed for Conash, his eyes gleaming. As the boy turned to run, Rivan leapt at the soldier and raked his face with razor claws. The Cotti roared and smashed the feline aside, blood oozing from his cheeks. He tried to stab the cat, but Rivan dodged and leapt at him again.
“Rivan!” Conash yelled as another soldier chopped at the cat, slicing a shallow gash in his flank.
“Rivan!”
Agony shot through the boy, and his knees buckled. Rivan's scream mingled with his when the soldier thrust his sword into the cat's gut. Warm entrails spilt onto the grass, and the cat writhed, biting himself in his agony. Conash thrashed as the pain ripped through him, clutching his belly. The Cotti laughed, and one kicked Rivan. Conash scrambled to his feet and charged with a shriek of rage, beat the soldiers with his fists and shouted until his voice broke. A soldier stepped forward and slit the cat's throat.