Companions
Bishop - I
"Arran! Arran! You get here right now! Don't make me come after you!"
The four year old child ignored the cries of his father. He was cold and hungry, and quite used to begging meals off the women in the village. And where begging failed, he scavenged and stole. The village was nicer than his house, anyway. His house was empty; his father left for work on the farm early in the morning, never returning until late evening. His mother was often gone all day too, and even when she wasn't she often forgot to feed him. Sometimes she lay in bed until late, reeking of the ale that his father drank every night in ever increasing quantities.
"Got him!" a voice shouted. The child felt himself lifted by the back of his trousers, and a strong pair of hands encircled his waist. He squirmed, kicking with his feet to try and get out of the grip. Then, when his father approached, he ceased struggling, and cowered instead, holding onto his captor.
"By Chauntea's tits, boy, I told you to stay in the house when I'm working," his father said.
"He's a regular little wandering tomcat, this one," his captor said, handing him over to his father.
"Aye. Wanders almost as much as his bloody mother. Come on then, tomcat, let's get you back to the house and put something in your belly. Doubt that whore's remembered to feed you today, has she?"
He shook his head. He didn't know what a whore was, or what a tomcat was, but he knew that he hadn't eaten since his father had fed him last night.
His father carried him under one arm back to the house, slamming the door closed behind him. The child was seated on a chair whilst his Da started a fire in the hearth, warming their home for the first time all day.
"What did you do today, tomcat?" he asked.
"Went fishing with Rosie," he replied. His father grunted, which meant he was pleased.
"Catch anything?"
"No. We're going to try again tomorrow though. Rosie's brother said a monster lives in the river, and it eats children up for breakfast. We're going to look for it."
"And you would, too, wouldn't you? If there was a damn child-eating monster in that river you'd just walk right up to it, wouldn't you?"
"Rosie's not scared of it, so I'm not scared of it," said the child defensively. Before his father could reply, his mother staggered into the house. She smelt of wine and vomit, and the child wrinkled his nose at the stench.
"S'pose it's too much to ask that you have a warm dinner waiting for me after I've slaved my balls off on the farm?" said his father angrily. The child tried to make himself smaller, to shrink into the seat. He knew what was coming next.
"Maybe if you weren't such a rotten husband I'd have a reason to make your bloody dinner," she said, rubbing her head as if it hurt her. She often complained of a sore head, especially when she smelt of wine and ale a lot.
"You're a pathetic excuse for a woman and a mother. How many days have you left that boy alone here, now? And to think I was once happy to marry you."
"Shame I can't say the same. I only agreed because you knocked me up and my Pa threatened to send me off to some bloody convent. If I'd known I'd have a son who's as worthless as his father, I would have wished for a girl."
There was a loud smack; the first of many that night. Though the child was never beaten by his father, his mother often was. It was the same scene over and over again. His parents would argue then his father would smack his mother. Instead of shutting up, his mother screamed at his father and fought back.
His mother finally retreated, her nose bloody and her left eye black. His father turned wordlessly to the kitchen and began making food. It wasn't much; jam and goat cheese on stale bread, but it was more than he had had all day. His father had ale to wash his down with, and he gave the boy water. After their meal his father continued drinking, and the child retreated to his bedroom. It wasn't a large room, little more than a storage cupboard, really. But it was where he had slept every night for the four short years of his life. It wasn't much, but it was home.
o - o - o - o - o
"I'm going to make us crowns," said Rosie, smiling as she picked daisies in the field. "Then we can be a prince and princess. Princess Rosie and Prince Arran."
"I don't want a crown," the seven year old boy sulked, though secretly he was pleased. Rosie was the only one who still called him by his name. After his escapades in the village, the nickname 'tomcat' had stuck, and when people couldn't be bothered with it, they just shortened it to 'tom'. But not Rosie. Even when his father called him 'tomcat' and his mother called him 'you little bastard', his friend still used his real name.
"Well, you're having one," Rosie said, fiercely determined once she had made up her mind. "You can have a gold one, made out of buttercups, and I'll have a silver one, made out of daisies. Then we can get married and live in a castle and live happily ever after."
He rolled his eyes. That stuff was just in stories; there were no castles in the Mere, only farms and ruins and dead things. But he did not protest as she began measuring his head with her hands, working out how many buttercups she would need to make a crown for him. He knew that she indulged him often enough; whenever he wanted to go exploring the old ruins, she always went with him, even though it was dangerous with the lizardmen around. And whenever he wanted to go fishing, she never complained, no matter how cold the water was. So he would suffer a crown of flowers if it would make his best friend in the world happy.
"Do you think we'll really get married and live in a castle one day?" Rosie mused as the began pushing daisies through the stems of other daisies. He shrugged. From what he had seen, getting married involved lots of swearing and violence and drinking alcohol that smelt really bad. He had tasted his father's ale, once - and got a half-hearted clout for it - and the stuff was revolting. He was never going to drink alcohol ever again.
Things had been changing, at home. His father didn't hit his mother quite as much these days, and when he did, it was just an occasional cuff. Nothing like the beatings she had endured in the past. Obviously, his father's leniency was doing his mother some good; she was putting on weight, getting fatter. Which was strange, because he hadn't seen her eating any more than usual. Maybe she was being fed in the village, like he sometimes was. Most of the time, it seemed the women in the village fed him so that he would go away and stop staring hungrily at them as they worked in their kitchens. Not that he cared; food was food, no matter where it came from.
"Are you even listening to me?" Rosie asked, waving a hand in front of his face. "I asked if you wanted to play explorers again this afternoon and you just completely ignored me."
"Sorry. I was thinking about my Ma," he admitted. "I think she's dying. A few months ago she was being really sick all the time, and she didn't drink any ale at all. Now she's getting fatter and fatter but she doesn't really eat that much."
"You're silly," Rosie grinned, positioning a crown of yellow flowers on his head. "She's not dying, she's just pregnant. That means you're going to have a brother or sister."
"Really? I am?" Could it be true? He had always wanted a sibling. Rosie had an older brother called Peter, though he wasn't a very nice older brother. He was sure that if he had a little brother or sister, he would be much better at it than Peter was.
For the rest of the morning and afternoon his mind was full of thoughts about his new brother or sister. He didn't really mind which it was. It would be nice to have a brother who he could play explorers with, but it would be nice to have a little sister, someone like Rosie who would put flowers in his hair and be nice to him when nobody else was. As night fell he returned home early for once, and began making jam and cheese on bread. It was something he had seen his father do a hundred times or more. Now that he was going to be a big brother, he needed to learn how to do these things so that he could take care of his little brother or sister when his parents were out all day.
When his father came home he seemed somewhat surprised to see his son in the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of wine and watched in silence for a few moments.
"Whatcha doing?" he asked at last.
"Making dinner," he replied. Wasn't that obvious?
"It's a woman's job, to cook. A man's place isn't in the kitchen."
"You cook all the time," he pointed out.
"Your bloody whore of a mother's practically emasculated me, that's why."
"Rosie said Ma's gonna have a baby. Am I really going to have a brother or sister?" he asked, handing one sandwich to his Da while he made another.
"Half brother or sister. I s'pose it's time I told you about the facts of life," he sighed. "Y'see, when a man and a woman want to have a baby, they have sex. I'll tell you about that when you need to start shaving. Until then, all you need to know is that it's a wonderful thing... or it should be... and that the end result is a baby. That's how your Ma and I made you."
"And now you've made me a brother or sister?"
"No. Your mother is a filthy, worthless whore. When I'm out on the farm, growing food to put in that dirty mouth of hers, she goes out and has sex with other men. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, 'cos in cities there are lots of whores, and they all get paid for having sex with other men."
"Why would a woman get paid for making babies with men?"
"Ugh. Too bloody sharp, you are. Why can't you just snicker like all the other kids do when their parents mention sex? The reason, if you must know, is because most of the time, having sex doesn't make a baby. It's only occasionally that it happens, otherwise every woman would be constantly pregnant and us men would never be getting any."
"Any sex?"
"That's right. As I was saying, prostitution is one of the oldest trades around. It's fine, nothing wrong with it. But your mother isn't just a whore, she's also a stupid whore. She doesn't even ask the men she has sex with for money, so not only are we poor and starving, but you have a whore for a mother and I have a whore for a wife. Your Ma and I haven't had sex in a long time. That means that some other man will be your brother or sister's Da. Only the fucking gods know who he is... it could be just about anybody, really. And that's the sad truth of the situation. Every man in the village is happy to fuck your mother, but as soon as she's thrown out a kid you can bet they won't be pitching in then. Meanwhile, I'm married to the whore, I work my balls off to feed her and her children, and I'm the only one not getting anything from her."
"What are we going to call the new baby?"
"Have you even heard a word I've said, tomcat?" his father sighed.
"Yes. Ma's a whore and you're not the baby's Da, and she should at least be asking men for money for having sex with her," he said seriously.
"You're a good kid. Smart, too. You must get that from me. You certainly don't get it from your Ma. Make us another sandwich each, tomcat. I'll get another cup, and you can try some of this wine. You're old enough, now, I think. Hells, I think in your head, you're older than your fucking mother, and that's saying something."
He didn't bother telling his Da that he didn't like the wine. After a few cups, the man wouldn't notice him not drinking it. But one thing was for certain. Whether the new baby was his real brother or sister or not, he did not care. He was just looking forward to having someone else to talk to. Someone to look after. Another friend.
o - o - o - o - o
"Tag, you're it" Rosie giggled, slapping him sharply between the shoulder blades. With a mock growl he turned and chased her through the ruins, following her as she leapt nimbly over broken stone walls and ducked under half-destroyed arches. Before he could tag her, however, Peter stepped out in front of them, blocking their path. Rosie's giggles ceased under her brother's glare.
"Ma says you're to get back home right now and feed the pigs," said Peter. He planted both hands on his hips and stood straighter, making him look taller. Not that he needed to 'look' taller... at five years older than them, Peter was thirteen; practically a man.
"But I'm playing!" said Rosie, her voice petulant. "Ma said I could do the pigs this afternoon."
"Well, she changed her mind."
"I'm not going back yet."
"Oh yes you are." Peter grabbed hold of Rosie's hair and began pulling her through the ruins. Rosie screamed in pain, tears rolling down he shrieks as she screamed for Peter to stop.
"Hey! Leave her alone!" shouted the boy who only thought of himself as 'Arran' whilst he was with Rosie. He ran towards the pair and tried to pry Peter's hand open, to loosen his grasp on his friend's hair. Peter merely put the palm of his heel against his chest and pushed him over. Angry, he got to his feet and moved again towards Peter. It was enough to make him relinquish his grip on his sister.
"Well look at this," the older boy grinned. "The tomcat thinks he can fight. A regular knight in shining armour, eh?"
"I won't let you hurt Rosie!" he said, advancing slowly towards his friend.
"I wonder if she'd say the same." Peter lashed out with his fist and it connected with his cheek. Then he struck again with his other hand, hitting him in the stomach. As he doubled over in pain more blows rained down, until eventually he was on the floor, curled into a ball in a subconscious attempt to protect his face and stomach. In the background he heard Rosie screaming at Peter to stop, but her cries were dull in comparison to the pain that tore through his body.
Eventually the beating stopped, and he heard Rosie dragged away crying. As much as he wanted to move, to help his friend, he knew he couldn't. Every inch of him ached; he remembered Peter's booted foot connecting with his back a few times as he had lain helpless on the floor. Slowly, feeling every movement as exquisite agony, he uncurled his body and pushed himself to his feet. His nose was bleeding and he had to pinch it to stop the flow of blood. He cold only see out of one eye, and when he raised a hand to probe the area gently with his fingertips, he realised it was swollen shut.
It was an entirely new experience for somebody who had never felt pain like this before. Though he had gotten an occasional cuff for bad behaviour from his father, it paled in comparison to the agony he felt now. This was, he realised, how his mother felt every time that his father beat her. He had always thought that his mother was stupid and weak, for allowing his father to beat her. Now he knew that she was strong for enduring it time and time again.
The journey home was slow and painful. Had any lizardmen come along, he would have been easy prey. But the gods must have been smiling on him, for he made it home without encountering another living soul. Aching, in agony and feeling more alone and helpless than he had ever been before, he sank down onto the sofa of his family's small house.
"Where have you been?" his mother asked, coming out of her bedroom with the baby on her hip. "It doesn't matter. Here. Take the baby for me. I have to go out."
She had looked at him, seen how badly he was hurt and bleeding, then completely ignored his hurt. Not only that, but she expected him, in his condition, to take care of his sister, while she went off to spend the day in some other man's bed. His father was right; she was a whore, and she deserved every beating she got.
His mother left the baby, who had been named Scarlet, on the seat beside him. Deprived of the warmth of her mother's body, the seven month old infant began to cry. Slowly, because he ached, he pulled the baby onto his knee, rocking her as soothingly as he could. Eventually her cries grew quieter, and then stopped altogether. As night crept in, the child fell asleep, and he dozed with her in his arms.
"What the bloody hell happened to you?" his father swore. He opened his eyes and saw the man standing before them in the darkness. How long had he slept for? It must have been some hours.
"Peter beat me up because I wanted him to stop hurting Rosie," he explained.
"Is that so? Well, nobody beats up my son," said his father, striding out of the house. He tried to call out, to tell his father to come back, that it didn't matter, but he couldn't shout without waking the babe. So instead he just sat in the darkness and cold, waiting for somebody to come and take his hurt away.
When his father returned, he too had a black eye, and he held one hand to his ribs as if they pained him.
"You aren't to see that girl again," he said, reaching for the wine.
"But she's my friend!" In his arms, Scarlet woke and began to cry.
"I don't give a damn if she's Chauntea incarnate. You're not seeing her again, and I'm going to make sure of it."
He knew better than to push his father. He didn't want to be beaten again. He never wanted to feel like this. It wasn't so much the pain that hurt as the feeling of helplessness. He had been helpless to protect Rosie and helpless to protect himself. If his father decided to beat him, he wouldn't be able to stop him. But perhaps, over time, his Da might forget all of this. The only thing he knew was that nobody would keep him from his friend.
o - o - o - o - o
The next morning, his father did not go to work right away as usual. Instead, he woke him during the early hours of the morning and told him to dress for a day of hard day of work.
"It's about bloody time you started contributing to this family," he said. "If you're old enough to drink my wine, you're old enough to help pay for it. I'm not having another leech like your mother."
Then he led him from the house and into the village, to one of the furthest homes. He knocked on the door and a man opened it. The boy shivered; he recognised the man, and he now recognised the house. It was one he had always avoided because of the animal skins hanging from racks outside it, their snouts and muzzles twisted into snarls of pain, their eye-sockets empty and black with dried blood.
The man and his father spoke quietly, then his father left without a backward glance. The man watched him, and the boy shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
"Y' know why yer here, tomcat?" the man asked.
"Because my Da doesn't want me to play with Rosie anymore and he thinks you'll be able to keep me from seeing her."
"Ha! That what he told you?"
"No, he told me that I need to start contributing to the family."
"Yer a sharp one. The real reason yer here is 'cos yer girlfriend's Da beat up your Da, and now yer Da wants y' to learn how to look out for yerself, so that he doesn't have to get beat up because of y' again."
"It wasn't because of me. It was because of Peter."
"Well y' must've done somethin' to Peter, to make him beat y'."
"I told him to stop hurting Rosie."
"See, it's yer own damn fault. Shoulda kept yer nose outta other families' business, tomcat."
"But Rosie's my friend."
"Real man don't need any friends. Real man helps himself. I'm gonna teach y' that, as well as how to keep yerself alive. Y' know what I do?"
"No."
"I kill stuff. Track it down, hunt it, kill it. Then I skin it. Sometimes I eat what I kill, sometimes I just take the skin. You wanna be a farmer yer whole life, boy?"
"No."
"Whatcha wanna be?"
It was something no adult had ever asked him before. Nobody had ever asked what he wanted. Nobody had ever asked his opinion. He knew what Rosie wanted - to live in a castle and live happily ever after - but he hadn't given a thought to his own future. Nor did he know what answer was expected of him.
"A real man?" he asked, hazarding a guess.
"Yeah, real sharp one. I'll teach y', but yer have to listen to what I say. If y' wanna be a real man, you can't go blubbing when things get tough. Yer had any breakfast?" he asked, gesturing at the table that held plates of bread and meat.
"No," he said. It was something he never usually got, unless he scrounged in the village for it.
"Real men have breakfast. A big one, with lots of dead stuff all fried up. Come on in and eat something. Then I'm gonna take y' hunting."
o - o - o - o - o
"Steady," Davram whispered. The boy did not whisper back. He did not nod, or even acknowledge the man's word. He merely kept his eyes forward, looking down the length of his bow, down the arrow that was resting on it, the flight feathers pointing outwards.
Slowly, he moved his hands, aiming just in front of the dapple hind. Don't aim for where your target is now, or by the time you shoot it will have out-run you. Instead, aim for where it's going to be. That's the beauty of hunting. You have to observe your prey, get to know it, then you can figure out where it's going to be when you strike. Learn to put yourself in its place. Learn to observe your surroundings. Only then will you make a successful kill.
It was something Davram had told him over and over again. They had been hunting together, master and pupil, for over a year. In that year he had learnt much. He had learnt how to move silently through the forest and the Mere. He had learnt how to distinguish tracks of animals, and even how to track people. He had quickly mastered the bow, though he had not yet killed anything as large as a deer. His usual quarry were birds, which were much harder to hit than mammals. He had learnt how to skin what he killed and cure hides. He had learnt how to roast meat on an open fire, how to stay warm in the cold, and how to survive off his wits.
In that year he had barely seen Rosie at all. Davram kept him busy from sunrise to sunset, and at nights he took care of Scarlet while his mother went out whoring and his father got drunk. His half-sister was growing fast. At almost two years old she was already walking around the house, bossing him into playing with her, and generally causing mischief. Nobody knew who her father was; her fine blonde hair and nondescript features did not bring to mind the face of any particular man in the village, for which he was glad. Their home was complicated enough without adding another adult into the mix. His father allowed Scarlet to call him 'Da', but what he truly thought of the girl, the boy did not know.
When the wind shifted and the hind lifted its head to test the breeze, he let his arrow fly. As anticipated, the deer leapt, and against any other predator that leap would have saved its life. But the predator that was known as 'man' could use its mind to anticipate its quarry's actions. When the deer jumped, it jumped into the arrow, then dropped to the ground with a heavy thud.
It did not die immediately. It squealed and screamed as it tried to stand, as it tried to flee. Calmly, he walked towards the creature and took out his knife, slitting its throat and quieting its cries. Then he stood back to survey his handiwork.
"Not bad," said Davram, stepping up beside him. "Y' wanna skin it?"
"Sure."
Davram handed him his skinning knife, and he knelt down beside the deer to begin work. By the time he had finished it was early afternoon, and he was covered in blood. Flies had begun to swarm and they bit at his skin, ignoring his attempts to shoo them away.
"Don't waste yer time," Davram said. "Flies are just one of the things y' can't ever get rid of. Just have to put up with 'em, and wait for 'em to leave. Bit like family, really."
"Do you have any family?" he asked. Davram rarely offered insights into his personal life, and never discussed family.
"Not anymore. I'm a free man."
He nodded, and rolled the deer skin up as Davram began cutting the meat from the bones. When he was finished, they set out back to Redfallow's Watch. When they reached the town, people stared at them walking past. It was common knowledge, by now, that Davram had taken on an apprentice, and nobody was surprised that it was him. 'A lion teaching a tomcat', was what they whispered to each other. But he didn't care. He could do something they could not; he could survive alone. He was no longer reliant on them.
"How about you and me go somewhere a little more private," said a voice not far away. Turning his head, he noticed the town's blacksmith standing in front of a woman. He didn't recognise her... she must be a visitor, he decided. Redfallow's Watch didn't get many of them, and they were usually merchants.
"How about you move out of my way before I turn you into a toad," said the woman, a stave held defensively in her hands.
"I don't think I like your tone of voice," said the smith. He grabbed the woman's wrist and she tried to pull away, swinging her stave at his head. The smith merely caught the stick in his other hand and wrenched it from her grip.
"Keep walking, tomcat. Ain't none of our business," Davram said. He realised that he had been drifting towards the pair, and at Davram's advice he moved away.
"Is there a problem here?" a third voice asked. It came from a man who lived in the Mere; a ranger, Davram had told him, who often made the mistake of sticking his nose where it didn't belong.
As they moved away, it seemed the ranger had diffused the situation. The smith stalked off with a stormy expression, and the woman was simpering her thanks at her rescuer.
"Y' don't need to come around tomorrow," said Davram. "I'm having a day off."
"What should I do?"
"I dunno. Whatever y' want. Go hunting. See yer girlfriend. Help yer Da. Don't matter to me."
Later that night, as he was tucking Scarlet into bed - though her 'bed' was little more than a pallet and two blankets in his tiny room - he decided what he would do. He would go and see Rosie, so that they could spend the day playing together. He would even let her make him a crown of flowers, if she wanted.
o - o - o - o - o
The next morning he woke early and made breakfast for his father and his sister. Where before it would have been a breakfast of jam sandwiches, it was now of a much better quality; fried bacon, eggs and mushrooms, with tomatoes heated in a pan so that their flesh and juice was deliciously warm. He was proud of the breakfast that he cooked, because he was the one who had provided it.
The bacon came from a boar piglet he had shot whilst hunting with Davram last week. The mushrooms he had foraged in the fields between the village and the Mere, and the eggs and tomatoes he had traded for two partridges he had shot down in mid-flight. True, his father had provided the bread and the wine, but he had contributed the rest. It felt good to be independent and successful. It felt good to know that he had worth.
"Stay here with Flash, Scarlet. I'll be back soon with Rosie," he said. Beneath the table, a collie-dog wagged its tail. He had bought the pup for Scarlet not long after Davram started teaching him. He wanted his sister to have something in her life, something that would make her less lonely than he had been whilst their parents were out all day. Now the dog watched over Scarlet like an over-protective parent... a canine parent that was much better than either of his real ones.
"Yay, Rosie!" said Scarlet, clapping her hands in glee. His sister loved his friend almost as much as he did, and Rosie loved mothering Scarlet, pretending that the child was her own.
When he was sure that Scarlet would stay and not try to follow him, he set out, leaving his bow at home. Where before he would have slunk through the town, scurrying furtively in the shadows like a true tomcat scrounging for food, he now strolled casually and confidently, his head held high.
Rosie's house was in the centre of the village, and he went around the back and stood beneath her bedroom window. He never knocked on her door, and she never knocked on his. Ever since their fathers had fought, they had both disapproved of their friendship, and tried to discourage it as much as possible. Rosie's father had become even more unapproving and suspicious since Davram had started teaching him. The trapper hardly had the cleanest reputation.
He stood on a crate below her window and peered in. Through the dirty glass he saw her sitting in front of the mirror on her dresser, brushing her long brown hair. Watching her, he smiled. She had a morning ritual that involved brushing her hair for exactly a hundred strokes. As she finished, he tapped quietly on the window, and she caught sight of him in her mirror.
As she approached, he gestured for her to come outside, to come with him. She shook her head, her face sad. Obviously her parents had other plans for her today. They probably wanted her to help out with their pigs and chickens... she had as little spare time as he did, recently. She put one hand against the glass for a moment, and he returned the gesture. Then she was called away, and she disappeared from the room.
He got down from the crate and stepped onto the main road. Now that he knew Rosie couldn't play, he would have to find something else to do. Perhaps he would go hunting, see if he could find another boar. He could even skin it, and trade the skin in the village for something nice for Scarlet. Yes, that's what he'd do.
But... he didn't have a skinning knife. Maybe Davram would lend him his. After all, the hunter was having a day off, so it wasn't like he needed the knife himself. His mind made up, he walked the familiar path to Davram's house. When he got to the front door, he heard voices from inside; low moaning, as if somebody was in pain, came from the rear of the house.
He decided not to knock. Silently, he crept around to the back of the house and fetched a large rock, carrying it to beneath the window. As he had done at Rosie's house, he stood on the object, slowly raising himself up so that he could peer over the windowsill. But instead of the fighting that he had expected to see, he found something completely different.
Davram was lying on his back naked on the bed, his eyes closed, a sheen of sweat coating his body. A woman was sat on top of him, her legs straddling his. As he watched, she moved her body backwards and forwards, her hands resting on Davram's chest. Every time she moved backwards she moaned, and Davram reached up to take her breasts in his hands. When the woman threw back her head, her hair clearing her face, he jumped down off the rock and crouched down, leaning back against the wall as his cheeks heated with anger.
That was his mother! His mother was being a whore with Davram! Had she done this before? Was Davram Scarlet's father? How could the man do this to his father? He was supposed to be his father's friend. He was supposed to be the one person his Da could trust not to fuck his mother. Davram must be laughing right now. He must think both his father and him blind. Perhaps he would go inside, and pretend to catch them in the act. Or perhaps he could go and fetch his father. But then his father wouldn't let Davram teach him anymore, and he had learnt a lot from Davram over the past year.
No. He wouldn't fetch his father. But he would speak to Davram about this tomorrow, when things were back to normal. He would ask the trapper straight up why he was fucking his worthless whore of a mother.
o - o - o - o - o
The next day they wandered through the Mere together, the tutor and his pupil. Neither of them spoke as they hunted, each with a bow in their hands. When a pheasant hen startled and took to the sky, it was the pupil who reacted first, his bow aiming towards the bird, his arrow flying straight through the air. He had practised with the bow every day, perfecting his technique even when Davram wasn't around to watch and coach.
"Yer awful quiet today, tomcat," said the older man, as he retrieved the pheasant and slit its throat so the blood drained from its body.
"I don't want you to see my Ma again," he replied, letting the feathers drop to the floor as he plucked the bird.
"Whatcha on about?"
"My Ma. I know she's a whore, and I know you were with her yesterday. I don't want you to see her again."
"What makes you think I'm gonna do anything y' want, tomcat? Yer Ma's an adult and so am I. I didn't force her to be what she is, and if it wasn't me, it woulda been some other guy who wanted a quick, strings-free roll."
Needles of anger threaded their way through his body as Davram spoke. He'd thought that his mentor had been better than the other men in the village. He'd thought Davram had been different. But he wasn't. He was just the same as the others.
"If you don't leave my mother alone, I'll tell my Da, and he'll come around to your house and beat you up," he said, glaring angrily at Davram.
"Don't make me laugh, tomcat. Yer Da couldn't even handle yer girlfriend's Da. Yer Da has to pick on yer Ma and beat her because he can't handle a fight against a real man. That's why he has to pick on women, 'cos he's no better than a woman himself."
The trapper's callous, mocking tone was more than he could take. What in the hells did this man know? His father was a good man. If he beat his Ma, it was because she deserved it, because she was a whore who treated him like he was worthless. Almost without thinking, he grabbed Davram's skinning knife from the man's belt and plunged it into his leg, feeling it slice through muscle. Then he pulled the knife out and jumped back as Davram took a swipe at him.
"Yer little bastard, I'm gonna hang yer up by your neck and gut yer," his mentor swore, holding his hand against his wound to try to stem the flow of blood.
"But first you'll have to catch me," he said, then ran into the Mere, his heart pounding as thoughts raced through his head.
What have I just done? I've stabbed Davram. He's going to kill me and leave me out here. My Da will wonder why I didn't come back tonight, and Davram will lie. He'll say that I got killed while hunting. Then he'll keep fucking my mother. And what will happen to Scarlet when I'm dead? She won't have anyone but Flash to take care of her. And who'll protect Rosie from Peter? Maybe I shouldn't have said anything to Davram. Maybe I should have just let him do whatever he wanted with my Ma. Just like everyone else is.
His legs carried him down familiar paths, and he found himself inside the ruins where he had Rosie had once played, back in the days when they were free. It was only a year ago, but it felt like an eternity. Would they ever play together again?
"Come on out, tomcat. Enough's enough, eh?" Davram called. From the sound of it, he was some way outside the ruins. He probably didn't want a prolonged chase, not when he was injured. "Come back now, and we'll go home and talk this out like real men, eh?"
He slipped through the shadows from one tall column of stone to another. As he reached the safety of the pillar, he felt something zip past his head. An arrow struck the wall behind him, and fell to the floor, broken in two. He felt his blood go cold. Davram was going to kill him.
Suddenly there was a snapping sound, and a scream of pain. It made goosebumps rise on his skin, and a chill run down his spine. What could have happened, to make Davram scream like that? Slowly, wary of the man trying to lure him out of his hiding place with a trick, he looked around the side of the pillar. What he saw was no trick, though. Davram was lying on the ground, his foot caught in a heavy bear trap. Obviously his mentor had forgotten that he had ever put it there.
Feeling safer now that Davram could not move, he crept forward, ignoring the trapper's screams for help and gasps of pain. When his mentor saw him, his face turned angry. But the anger was quickly smothered over, hidden behind a false smile of friendship.
"Come and help me out of this, tomcat," said Davram. In one hand he clutched at his leg, just above where the large metal trap bit savagely into it. What would have happened if his sister had wandered into that trap? It would have snapped Scarlet's tiny bones like twigs, mangling her body, smashing the life out of her.
When it was obvious he wasn't going to help, Davram's eyes went to his longbow which he had dropped not far from where he fell. He made a move for it, but was too slow, and it was kicked out of his reach.
"Y' get me out of this trap right now, tomcat, or I swear I'll skin y' and hang yer worthless hide on the rack with the animals," Davram snarled.
He was no longer impressed with the man's threats. His mentor could not move, and he didn't have the strength to free himself. Let him stay here overnight. Let him know what it felt like to be small and helpless. He would return in the morning, and then they could talk. Like real men.
o - o - o - o - o
He crouched in the bushes down the path from the ruins, watching the scene in front of him. As he had promised himself, he had returned at first light to speak to the trapper, to come to an arrangement that he would benefit from. But he had come too late; somebody else had found his mentor first. Or, rather, something else.
Along the path, several lizardmen were cutting up Davram's corpse. Had the man died of hypothermia first, or had the lizardmen killed him? Either way, he knew what would happen next. The lizards would cut him up and take his body away in pieces for their cooking pot. Lizardmen ate people. Everybody knew that.
He quietly moved away before the lizardmen became aware of him. And as he walked down the path back to the village, he wondered if this was his fault. But he hadn't forced Davram to set the trap, had he? He hadn't forced his mentor to screw his mother. He hadn't forced the man to chase him through the ruins, nor shoot at him with his bow. Davram had gotten what he deserved. The hunter had become the hunted, the trapper had become the trapped. There was a sense of irony to it that was not lost on him.
What would the others say if they found out what he'd done? What would they do? He would have to lie. He'd have to tell them... tell them... well, something believable. Walking back to the village, he worked on his cover story.
When he reached Davram's house, he entered it and looked around. This was his, now. All of it. The house, the tools, the food. He walked through the house, making note of everything inside it. It was larger than his family's home. It had two large bedrooms and the furniture was nicer than anything his father had made. The kitchen wasn't large but it was adequate, at least for his needs. He spent the rest of the day rearranging things to his own liking. He chose the smaller bedroom to sleep in; he didn't want to lie in the bed where his mother had heaped further shame onto his father.
When night began to creep into the Mere, he left the house and made his way back to his family's home. To his surprise, his father was already there, watching Scarlet play with Flash in front of the fire.
"You're home early," his father remarked. "Thought Davram would've kept you out late, after your day off."
"Davram is gone," he said slowly.
"Gone? What do you mean, 'gone'?"
"He said that he had to go, that he had some business to take care of. I asked him what it was but he said it was none of my damn business, and if I knew what was good for me I'd keep my mouth shut."
"Huh. Well, he say when he'd be back?"
"No. He said it wasn't any of my business and to keep my nose out of it."
"Bloody pain in the ass, that man. I was hoping he'd get some skins for me. We'll be needing some for your sister, come winter. She's getting too big for her clothes."
"I'll get them," he said at once.
"What, you?"
"Davram said that I had to keep practicing while he's gone. He said if he gets back and I've let my skills go rusty, he'll skin me himself for wasting his time."
"Sounds about right. Well, I hope he gets back soon."
"He said that I have to keep an eye on his house, too. He's afraid that someone will go sneaking into it and touching his things if he leaves it alone for too long. But he said I can use his hunting equipment and stuff, as long as I keep practicing."
"Don't go slacking off because Davram's gone for a while," his father warned.
He merely nodded in reply, whilst his insides warmed with glee. His father didn't suspect a thing! Everything was going to work out fine.
o - o - o - o - o
"Here you go, kitten." He put a plate of food on the table in front of Scarlet.
"Fanks!" She gave him a grin that showed a missing tooth in the front of her mouth. Her first lost baby-tooth, and she had only just turned five. She was growing fast, but he didn't mind.
The past two years had not been the easiest of his life. His father had started drinking more and more, starting from the moment he got home and finishing as he stumbled late into bed. His mother hardly ever came home, and he only briefly wondered where she slept. Probably in the barns and sheds belonging to the men she whored herself out to. No doubt the men hid her from their wives for their own protection, rather than hers.
As the months had past he had spent more and more time in Davram's house, until he now lived there almost permanently. A few months ago he had moved Scarlet in with him, but neither of his parents seemed to care. If anybody thought it inappropriate that a twelve year old boy should live alone with his little sister, nobody said anything to his face. In truth, he did not consider himself a child anymore, and hadn't done since Davram's death. The only time he ever felt like a child was when he was with Rosie. Only then did he lower the guard that kept people at bay. Only then did he forget about hunting, tracking and killing, and allow himself precious time for laughter and play. With Rosie, he could be himself.
There was a knock on the door, and he opened it to find his friend standing there. She, too, had matured over the years, though in a different way. Where his changes had been mental and emotional, and he had grown up on the inside, her changes had been physical, and she had grown on the outside. Though she was the same age as him, she had the body of a girl beginning to blossom into womanhood. Other boys in Redfallows Watch looked at her differently now, but he never did. On the inside, in her mind, he knew that she was still a girl. She still made crowns of flowers so they could be a prince and princess, and she still wanted to find a castle and live happily ever after.
"My Ma gave me the morning off. Wanna go play in the ruins?" she grinned.
"Sure, after kitten's had her breakfast." He held the door open for her, so that she could enter.
"Rosie!" said Scarlet, catching sight of her.
"Hey kitten, whatcha eating there?" Rosie asked, slipping onto the stool opposite his sister.
"Taters an' mushrooms an' ham and tomtoes!" Scarlet replied, holding up her fork to display a small red fruit.
"Tomatoes," he corrected, and she stuck her tongue out at him. "Eat up, kitten. We're going out to play today."
"Can Flash come too?" she asked. Beneath the table, the dog wagged its tail.
"Of course he can!" said Rosie, answering for him. "Flash is such a good boy!" She coo'd at the dog and he curled his tail between his legs, licking her fingers and generally fawning at the attention.
When Scarlet was done with breakfast they all left the house, and he led them to the trail that went out to the ruins. His sister knew the way by now, and she skipped ahead with Flash at her heels. In the trees above, birds sang their morning songs as they hunted for insects and beetles to feed their screaming chicks. Though it was high summer, he knew that winter was only around the next corner. He had a lot to do, before then.
He needed to hunt, to stock up on skins and meat that he could freeze and trade. He had to make new clothes for both himself and Scarlet, or at least trade for clothes that would fit. He needed to make new arrows, but that was something he could do with his eyes closed, these days. And he often did, shaping the body from wood as he sat by the fire and watch Scarlet playing with Flash. His sister loved searching for feathers for him, which he used for the arrow flights. Only if he wanted tipped arrows did he have to deal with others; the smith made iron arrow-heads, but normally he just sharpened the point of the wood. It was enough to kill a deer with, and that was all he needed.
When they reached the ruins, there was no sign of the old trap, no sign of Davram's remains. The lizardmen had taken care of the latter, and he himself had taken the trap away and disposed of it in a deeper part of the Mere. He had spent the better part of a whole week traversing the Mere, seeking out the metal traps that Davram had set. When he found them, he sprung them, so that any children playing nearby, like Scarlet, wouldn't be hurt by them.
His sister immediately ran into the ruins, chased by her dog. He sat on dry ground not far away, within earshot of her, while Rosie began picking wildflowers. Eventually his friend came and sat beside him, her arms overflowing with vibrant colours.
"What sort of crown do you want today?" she asked, sorting through the flowers.
"I dunno. Whatever you think is best," he shrugged.
"Isn't it strange how Davram never came back?" she asked as she worked.
"Yeah. I didn't think he'd be gone for this long. I hope he's alright, wherever he is."
They sat in silence for a while, the bird's morning chorus broken only by Scarlet's laughter, and the playful barks of Flash.
"Here, I've made a crown of lots of flowers for you," said Rosie, holding it up for him to examine. He recognised buttercups and daisies, bluebells and small orchids, all carefully interwoven together. He lowered his head and allowed him to place it carefully over his hair.
"What about you, Princess Rosie?" he asked.
"Don't worry, mine will have even more flowers in it than yours," she said. "Remember that time we were playing out here and Peter tried to take me back, and then he beat you up for trying to stop him?"
"Yeah." It wasn't a fond memory.
"Now he's scared of you," she grinned. "He said you always look at him like you're thinking of killing him."
"Only if you wanted me to," he said, only half joking. He was quite capable, physically, of killing a person who was bigger and older than him. His bow gave him that advantage.
When his sister tired of playing, and Rosie had completed a crown for 'Princess Scarlet', they wandered down to the riverbank to pick blackberries that grew beside the water. Then they tried their hands at tickling fish, trying to sneak up behind them and fish them out of the river with their fingers. They didn't catch anything, but Scarlet loved it.
A growl from Flash made him look up, and he saw two men approaching them cautiously. He didn't recognise them, and they were dressed outlandishly in dark leathers. They both had long dark hair, and one of them was unshaven. Something about the way they moved, about the way they watched Scarlet and Rosie, made him move defensively between the men and his friend, who had also seen the strangers and was edging his sister away from them.
"Hey there, kids," said one of the men, his hands out in front of him in plain sight. "We're a bit lost. Can you tell us how to get to the nearest village?"
When he moved slowly towards his bow, lying away from the river to prevent the string getting wet, the other man began to move towards it too, without actually looking at it. Deciding he needed to act fast, he lunged for his bow, but the man got there before him. Rosie screamed as the man who had spoken moved towards her and Scarlet.
"Rosie, run!" he shouted. He grabbed a rock from the river bank and threw it at the man who was moving towards them. It hit his arm and he turned angrily. Picking up another rock, he threw it even harder, and saw Rosie run, dragging Scarlet behind her.
"Flash!" Rosie shouted back at the barking dog. The hound barked twice more, then ran after the girls. Even as they ran, he could hear Scarlet screaming for him. But he didn't stop throwing rocks until he was grabbed from behind by the man who had taken his bow. Then he kicked out, striking the man's legs several times. He was dropped as his captor swore, but he didn't run after his friend. If he ran, they might catch them. He had to keep their attackers busy long enough for Rosie and Scarlet to escape.
He picked up more rocks and threw them as fast as he could, not even aiming for vital areas. It didn't take long for the men to back off, and he thought he had won. Then one of them took a small reed from a pouch attached to his belt, and loaded something into it. When the man put it to his lips and blew into it, he felt something sharp sting his neck, like a mosquito biting deep. He pulled a tiny dart away from his skin with his fingers, and looked at it briefly. After seconds, his vision began to blur, and his fingers dropped the dart as his body dropped to the ground.