THE SAGA OF BOY: BOOK ONE
CHAPTER 1: Fire on the Farm
Mayana opened her eyes and saw him standing over the crib with his forehead wrinkled in thought. He reached out one hand to straighten a blanket over the sleeping child and the faint glimmer of tears on his face caught the fey light of the moon outside their window. An uneasy presentiment kept her from stirring as she watched, and she closed her eyes again in a pretense of sleep. Her lover lifted their baby son from the crib and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. He spoke to the child in a language familiar to her, but alien to other humans.
"Peace, my son. I gave up everything to have you, and now it is the hardest thing in the world to leave you."
He carefully embraced the baby and laid it back in its crib, reluctantly pulling his hand away from the tiny fist that grasped his thumb. With a shuddering breath he turned towards the bed, where his keen eyes caught the flutter of Mayana's eyelids.
"May love, my love…"
She gave up the pretense and threw back the covers. She darted across the floor in her bare feet and embraced him fiercely.
"Your child is barely born!" She sobbed into his cloak, "and you're leaving again?"
He smoothed the long hair away from her face and whispered soothingly, "May love, my love…I must, but I don't know for how long. I could be back before you know it!"
"Or you could leave us forever and your son could grow up never knowing you."
"May love, better for him to grow up without a father than to never live to grow up at all. My people are forbidden to travel here, and if they knew of him they would hunt you both down to kill."
"Then stay and protect us!"
He shook his head in sorrow. Sobbing, she clutched the edges of his cloak and pulled him closer to her.
"Then promise me you'll come back, damn you. I want your word!"
His eyes suddenly reflected his hundreds of years of life, his expression weary and harried. "I promise May, all right? I promise that I'll come back as soon as I can."
Nathanial Holt ducked his head and went for the boy's knees, just like Brand had taught him. He even remembered to tuck in his legs and elbows to better effect what Brand had dubbed the "Sling Bullet Tackle." The bully was no lightweight, but he went down with a satisfying crunch just the same and the crowd cheered at the audible crack of his skull on the flagstone. Nathanial didn't stop to count his own bruises from the impact, but continued to roll clear and scrambled to his feet to appraise the fight's progress. He saw that Brand had the two oldest brothers under control, fighting with a full-throated ferocity and lack of ethical constraint that always startled and intimidated his attackers regardless of how many times they'd tangled with him in the past. Nathanial circled the three anxiously, searching for his opening and trying to ignore the shouts and suggestions from the ring of boys who'd drifted in on the instinctive lure of violence. They stood around the fight as close as they dared, cheering with an adolescent appreciation of bloodshed and half-serious, half jealous outrage at the dirty tricks on both sides. Brand's fights were always a good show, as long as you weren't the one he was fighting.
Nathanial saw an opportunity in the younger brother's lack of balance and seized his flapping shirt tail. He jabbed the boy in the soft back of the knee with one foot, then rocked backwards using all the weight he could muster. The bully released his grip on Brand's hair and sprawled on his back in the dirt, howling and cursing with rage. Nathanial managed to duck out of the way, but not fast enough to avoid a solid clip across the temple from a stray fist. He was knocked into the ring of spectators, who jeered and shoved him back towards the fight.
Brand found himself free to deal with his single attacker and let loose the pent-up savagery he'd become famous for. With a pure animal snarl of rage, he sunk his teeth deep into Corey's fleshy forearm. There came a unanimous gasp from the awed onlookers, and an impossibly pitched hysterical shriek from Corey. The shriek drew out into an inhuman keening as Brand ground the bloody wound between his teeth and jerked his head back, tearing a substantial piece of meat from the arm. Grinning through a savage mask of blood, he spit the boy's flesh sideways onto the ground and lunged for another attack.
At once the sound of a slamming farmhouse door dispelled the high-pitched hypnotic atmosphere of the fight, and the ring of observers faded undetected back to their assigned chores. Nathanial ran to pull Brand away from the fight.
"Farmer Alderson's coming! C'mon Brand you know you'll catch it if he sees you!"
Brand struggled to control his surging adrenaline and paused to leer at his sobbing victim.
"You were bit by a dog Corey, get it?" he snarled, "Else I swear I'll rip your throat out while you're sleeping….."
He let Nathanial pull him back without breaking eye contact with the terrified bully. It was only when Corey sobbed and turned his face away that Brand wheeled and ran to the nearest cattle shed, half pushing Nathanial ahead of him. They both collapsed, panting on the fresh straw of the shed and listened for the click of the farmer's bolted boots on the cobblestones in the yard.
"Take a look Nate," hissed Brand.
With a gulp of apprehension Nathanial crawled carefully to peek around the corner of the stall. The sun had dipped behind the oat fields on the horizon, leaving most of the yard in shifting shadows. Nathanial closed his eyes for a moment to adjust them to the dimming light and then surveyed the scene in the yard. Once his eyes adjusted, the scene was as clear as if it were high noon. Voices carried over the light evening breeze across the farm and he held his breath to let his acute hearing pick up what it could. He kept low to the ground until he'd seen enough and then crawled back to the stall to report.
"Farmer Alderson's dragging Corey into the house; he's still bleeding like a stuck pig and crying like a baby. I don't see any sign of Pietro or Geil. Corey's getting a right ear-chew from the farmer."
Brand nodded absently, dabbing at a cut on his leg through the tear in the heavy cotton. "Any sign he'll point us out?"
"Nah, as scared as he is of you right now he'll remember what you said."
Brand nodded in satisfaction and gave into the weariness that took him after a big fight. He turned his head slightly to one side to spit blood, then sat back against a straw bale and closed his eyes. Nathanial waited patiently for him to rest, trying not to fidget. After a few minutes Brand stood and went quietly to the artesian well that flowed through the cattle trough. He scooped up a handful of the icy clear water and ran it around his mouth, spitting it back blood-red into the straw. Nathanial tried to look unaffected, but he had to swallow several times to quiet his suddenly lurching guts. Brand's fighting always awakened a sort of empathetic horror inside him for the victims, which he took great pains to suppress.
"You wouldn't really do what you said, would you Brand? I mean tear his throat out."
Brand gave a ghoulish grin, "I dunno Nate me mate; I might get a taste for him."
Nathanial shuddered and felt suddenly like making a sign averting the evil eye. He restrained his hands only by conscious effort. Brand laughed at his reaction and licked his lips theatrically.
"After all, I expected Corey to taste as slimy as he thinks, but he taste like rust, same as you, me and the effing tax collector."
Nathanial cracked something of a nervous smile at a reference to the summer when the farmer had been elected to collect the annual crop taxes from those in the town limits. Alderson was bitten on the leg by a crazy hermit on the very first day, and limped back to town to hand his resignation to the council. That had been Brand's first summer on the orphanage farm, along with a handful of other survivors of the border disputes that raged through their section of the unclaimed territories. From the first, he'd treated Nathanial like a kid brother, and patiently drew the boy from the quiet shell he'd developed over years of isolation. Nathanial began to worship Brand as a hero, and did his best to imitate him.
Five years later Nathanial's hero sat back against the wall of the lean-to cattle stall with a wisp of sweet clover hay between his front teeth, hiding from the farmer. He eyed the rising moon as if daring it to move too quickly and chase him indoors. When it reluctantly crested the eastern hill he sighed and tossed aside the well-chewed stalk.
"Time Nate."
The two dusted themselves off as best they could and snuck towards the farmhouse under the cover of the long evening shadows. Whether by luck or instinct, they made it just as the curfew bell rang both boys and girls in to supper, leaving Corey's friends no opportunity to enact revenge on their way. Brand leapt lightly to the top of the farmhouse doorsteps and gravely tipped his battered leather hat to Nathanial.
"Nice job tonight Nate, taking out Pietro and Geil. You're finally come into your own." He swept off his hat with a brush of his hand and sent it rolling perfectly down one arm, a trick that always fascinated and confounded Nathanial. With a glint of laughter in his eye Brand snagged it by the crown out of mid-air, made a show of dusting it off, then dropped it on Nathanial's head.
"There Nate, something to cover those oddities you call ears."
With a grin he turned and left Nathanial standing on the moonlit step, struggling not to beam. The praise was rare, but the hat! Nathanial knew it had belonged to Brand's father, and what it meant to the older boy. Throughout supper he fidgeted to finish quickly and rush upstairs to the dorm mirror. Once there, he turned from side to side and noted with great relief that the hat did indeed cover his strangely deformed ears, which swept up into long points and served as a constant reminder of his unknown father.
Maybe, if I wear the hat long enough, people will just forget I'm different. Maybe they'll stop talking about devils and fey when they think I'm out of earshot. Maybe….
With a sense of all being right in the world, Nathanial drifted off to sleep.
He dreamed without memory. Sitting on the floor with his head on his mother's knee, he listened to her sing in a language he hadn't heard since her death. She taught him to speak it and he worked tirelessly to learn the small portion she knew. He believed, as only a ten year old boy can, that if he learned the words perfectly his father would return and be proud of his effort. He dreamed of the song, winding its eerie melody through the forest where he walked alone with his thoughts. He dreamed of pursuit, a woman with long ears and glittering black eyes slinking through the forest behind him. He dreamed of a man and woman standing over his infant crib, she weeping while he embraced her. Then all dreams and memories fled and left him to sleep peacefully through the night.
Brand and the local Tavernmaster eyed each other appraisingly over the breakfast table the next morning, and neither appeared particularly impressed. Nathanial hovered close by under the pretext of serving the farmer's breakfast, hoping to be allowed to stay. Brand was finally sixteen and eligible for a position as apprentice to one of the local businessmen. Nathanial's eyes were drawn nervously to the man's scarred and grizzled face, his dirty tunic, and his thick, perpetually swollen knuckles. As he poured tea for the farmer, he was fascinated by the way the Tavernmaster's fingers flexed, as if they kept trying to assume their natural form of a fist, but were checked by the lack of opportunity to hit anything in these plain but civilized surroundings. Nathanial nearly jumped out of his skin when those calloused fingers were suddenly snapped under his nose.
"Here now boy, are you simple? What are you staring at?"
Nathanial barely managed not to yelp. After a brief second to come back to the situation he shrugged and assumed a position identical to Brand's, down to the degree of slouch and the cool expression. Brand grinned and winked at him from behind the man's back, causing Nathanial to struggle to keep a straight face.
The farmer looked at them and his eyes quirked as if he too, were suppressing a smile.
"Run along now Nathanial lad," he said in a soft voice, "I must discuss business with the good Tavernmaster."
Nathanial left reluctantly, but when the heavy door swung shut behind him he immediately turned and pressed one ear against the wood. The rough, booming voice of the Tavernmaster carried easily through the door, but the farmer's murmur was more difficult to pick up.
The Tavernmaster watched Nathanial leave with a wary eye, then snorted and raised one eyebrow to the farmer. "I don't know how you can stand to have that demon freak around. He gives me the jitters!"
Brand made a movement to stand with a murderous glint in his eye. The farmer gave him a quelling look and sipped at his cooling tea.
"Nathanial's a perfectly ordinary boy from everything I've seen," Alderson told the Tavernmaster in a reproving voice, "Fifteen year old gossip and a birth defect are not enough to condemn a good child."
The man grunted, but it wasn't clear if in agreement or disbelief. Brand subsided, but still shot resentful, disdaining looks at his new employer. He affected total indifference to the negotiations for his terms and wages, trusting the farmer to strike a fair deal. He did feel a twinge of guilt towards the farmer, since Brand had no intention of serving out his apprenticeship. He'd made plans to leave this town the moment he arrived five years before, and the only thing that had changed was that he no longer planned to travel alone.
The men negotiated back and forth for what seemed a long time before a deal was finally struck. Nathanial caught the heavy tread in time to get away from the door before it flew open with a crash and Brand's new master stomped out onto the porch. Brand let the man get somewhat ahead and pulled Nathanial aside.
"Stay out of trouble Nate, and don't let the others kick you around while I'm gone."
There was a summoning bellow from outside when the Tavernmaster realized his new apprentice was not on his heels; Brand looked annoyed and flicked a bare glance in that direction.
"Nathanial I want you to promise me that if too many boys come after you that you'll run. You can't take on more than one by yourself right now and they know it."
Nathanial looked hurt and resentful.
"I hate running! C'mon Brand I think I can take them now, I've been practicing really hard!"
"You run like hell if more than one comes after you unless I'm there to help, got it?"
Brand waited for his resigned nod and bolted out the door to another shout from the Tavernmaster. Nathanial ran out onto the steps after him and watched the two figures recede in the distance. He continued to watch until the farmer had to track him down to help with that day's chores.
The dark cloud of loss and resentment followed Nathanial all day through his tasks. With the group short Brand, the farmer was forced to work out in the hayfield with the boys to get the harvest in before the threatening rain. Nathanial made an honest effort to steer clear of Pietro and his gang while he worked, but they were too aware that his only real protection against them was on the other side of town, polishing glasses behind a mahogany bar. They spent the day indulging in little "accidental" encounters: stepping on his toes, knocking over his stacks of hay, and the occasional sharp jab in the kidneys when the farmer's back was turned. His only solace was that they were stopped short of real violence by the farmer's presence.
The boys loaded up the last of the summer hay into the wagon and the farmer looked around, "Who's been driving, other than Brand?"
Nathanial stayed quiet, waiting for the usual clamor of the boys to drive the wagon and avoid the walk up the fields. Strangely, today there was no clamor, not even a single volunteer. It took Nathanial a moment to notice, but he eventually saw that Pietro's gang had spread themselves out between the other boys, who shot them terrified looks out of the corner of their eyes. The farmer raised an eyebrow and Pietro stepped forward and cleared his throat.
"Sir, none of us are really good at it, but Brand's been teaching his bab...I mean Nate to drive it and he's the best among us."
Nathanial's world suddenly slowed down, while his thoughts sped up. Pietro turned and winked at him with a smile that chilled the blood. He went perfectly still and replied out of instinct, sure of some sort of trap.
"Actually sir, Pietro's being modest, he's much better than I am."
Nathanial's voice was flat, and he still couldn't drag his eyes away from Pietro, in hopes of some clue to avoid whatever danger he was in.
Pietro obviously relished his triumph. He could see Nathanial was scared, but he also seemed anxious to get on without raising the farmer's suspicions. He delivered the final blow before the man could get too impatient.
"Nonsense Nathanial, you lack faith in yourself, up you go! I'll see you back at the shed."
For a moment, those in on the scheme thought he was going to bow, like a theater troupe after a performance. But he settled for a quick turn on his heels and walked away, whistling.
The farmer stepped to Nathanial's side and he broke into a cold sweat as he realized that the man was waiting to help him into the driver's seat. He stared after Pietro for a moment before taking a firm hold on his nerves. It had to be a bluff; Pietro wouldn't dare do anything with Farmer Alderson so close.
"He's just trying to scare you," he told himself, "and if you get scared, he wins."
At that thought he took a deep breath and threw his shoulders back. The gauntlet was down now; there was nothing to do but stand up to it.
The farmer boosted him into the wagon seat and handed him the thick leather reins. The horses knew which way to go and needed little guidance, but they were eager for their warm stalls and pulled impatiently at the bit. Nathanial managed to keep them at a walk but soon outdistanced the farmer and other boys. He continued fighting with the reins to slow their pace, but after years of young drivers putting calluses on the horses' mouths there was little effect. As the wagon crested the hill down to the stableyard he suddenly realized he was out of eyesight from anyone else on the farm. Instinct made him turn as Pietro jumped out from behind a bush wielding his infamous slingshot. The first shot sent a stabbing, maddening pain up Nathanial's leg. He looked down almost uncomprehendingly at the short tack nail embedded in his thigh. When the lead horse snorted and jumped in astonishment he realized that he wasn't the only target and a chill crept up his spine. He grabbed the reins tightly and urged the horses faster in hopes of outrunning Pietro, but more nails found their mark and the horses panicked.
They stampeded, kicking the wagon and each other in their rush. Nathanial wrapped the reins around the bench support for leverage and hauled with all his strength, but the horses were too crazed. The wagon rattled over the rough ground, spreading the hay crop behind it in flight. He hung on grimly, but the horses were forced to swerve around a feed shed in their path. Nathanial felt the world tilt at a crazy angle and there was a jolting, sickening crunch as the front wheel splintered. The wagon flipped in what seemed like a slow, endless arc, carrying the horses to the ground with it. Nathanial found himself trapped between the flailing rear hooves and the wagon, and was beaten unconscious long before help could arrive.