Giver32

I woke, shivering and crying, alone in the cave just before dawn. The last jumbled moments of a heart-wrenching nightmare still made my sweaty hands shake as I sat up and untangled reality from the bad dream.

My mother still wept in my thoughts, her fingers splayed and visible beneath the cellar door. She'd become trapped down there in the dark, and I'd desperately attempted to free her, but to no avail. The door was locked and there was no escape. I'd awakened just as my father returned home. In the dark and cold, I had almost thought the time I'd spent with my uncle to be a cruel dream.

Girl licked my clammy face and placed her paw on my shoulder to steady me as she laved my ear. The tickle made me smile, the comfort of a dog was enough to end my tears and release the tension in my neck and shoulders.

Once I was calm I had a new fear to confront: My uncle was not asleep by the dead fire. I was alone with my dog.

My eyes swiftly adjusted to the meager light and I stood to dust off my pants and venture outside. My every movement echoed off the cave walls as though I followed myself in shadows.

Girl swiftly trotted ahead of me and sniffed at the air. Each time she exhaled, her warm breath hung in the air, only to be whisked away by a breeze smelling of rain. Lightning from a distant storm spiked over the trees. We were some twenty feet above ground and able to see quite a distance into the dark gray haze of a dreary morning. The clouds swirled, churning with rain and thunder.

"We won't leave, at least not today," I said as I patted my dog's head.

She merely sighed. I suspected she was hungry and knew a day spent in a cave meant mostly sleeping and thinking about food.

The rain had not yet begun to fall, so I padded outside, pine needles and stones stabbing at my bare feet. The trail curved to the right and disappeared through scraggly trees. To the left was a weathered rock crowded by several tall trees, one of which had become the victim of a storm and lay across another.

My stomach growled something awful and I placed my palm flat over my belly as if I could quiet the disruption. Our packs were empty, our supplies barely included fresh water. I hadn't bathed in several days, so my hair stuck to my head and I could smell dried sweat on my clothing.

I looked at the dog by my side and questioned the integrity of her nose.

While we stood in silence I heard the murmur of voices from the trees and stiffened. I had to relieve myself, I suddenly realized, but couldn't move for fear of being seen. Girl perked up and moved between me and the voices, as though to guard me from possible harm.

"Easy," I whispered.

I much preferred to protect her from harm rather than thrust her before a knife or rifle.

Holding my breath, I listened to the voices but couldn't understand what they said, let alone if they were male or female. My uncle had to be amongst them. Perhaps he'd warded off strangers from sharing our cave. I frowned, wondering if he'd willingly share his space if he was alone or with a traveling companion who would not frighten strangers.

I was just about to turn back to the cave and hope my bladder held out when I heard a single word I did understand.

"Agreed."

It came from my uncle. I had no idea what he'd agreed to, but I stood and waited for him to return.

He seemed surprised to see me waiting for him. "Travelers," he said before I asked. He appeared exhausted, and his voice was not familiar. He sounded hoarse and exhausted, more so than ever before. "Six of them, all brothers and sisters. Two of them are musicians and one of them says she can tell the future, though I do wonder how one can claim to see the future and nearly scream when they are confronted in the wilds. I suppose her clarity does not extend to the present, eh?"

I wasn't quite sure what he meant, but I nodded.

"They will not give us trouble, I assure you. They have food enough to share and we have shelter big enough to accommodate. It's a perfect combination, I think. Don't you?"

Again I nodded. He was a different man, in a familiar body. Even Girl seemed apprehensive.

"Are they gypsies?" I asked, fearful of his reply.

He shook his head. "Hungarians, but not gypsies. Come with me. It's best that you show you are brave and willing to meet with them rather than displaying fear. No one respects a fearful man, Erik."

But that's what I was: Afraid. It was instinct to fear the gasps I knew would accompany a first meeting, to tense as a woman's eyes grew large or a man's face paled. I preferred the company I already had and nothing more. We were family, imperfect but perfect together. These strangers would look down upon us, upon me, with contempt.

"Now, I explained to them that your injuries were the result of a fire, not your birth."

I stared at him. Could I have been injured in a fire, I wondered? It was impossible, but I wanted to believe it. It was easier to accept that I'd been injured after birth rather than carry the burden of imperfect design.

"How old was I when I was burned?"

"Very young. You don't remember the fire or your parents' deaths?"

"They died?" I gasped.

If only, his gaze said to me. "They rushed into their burning home and rescued you from the fire. Gave their lives in exchange for yours."

His words sobered me, and my hopes of a perfect birth were dashed. My parents would have celebrated as I burned in my cradle. He'd told me a fanciful story meant to deceive our guests for the night, not twist my childhood into a romantic tale. I was ashamed of myself for wanting his story to be true.

"They'll never believe it," I mumbled.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't believe it."

He watched me from the corner of his eye, and sighed wearily. "Well, I'll tell them you still harbor a great deal of guilt. It's only natural to feel responsible for their loss."

We walked in silence through the drizzle while Girl trotted behind us and sniffed what I assumed was a rabbit's trail. A horse whinnied closer than expected, and as I searched the trees a girl and a boy, both around my age, appeared through the trees. They were thin-faced, their eyes wide and stark white, the irises pale, almost colorless. The contrast between their eyes and their dirty faces startled me. They were not pristine angels. They were wandering, vagrant children, half-starved and bone weary. In a way, they were like me. Imperfect. Only they were orphaned or abandoned, and I had my uncle.

Swallowing hard, I stepped forward, prepared for my first performance as a child of smoke and fire.