CHAPTER TWO The Game

"Father! Watch!" Steven flipped on the stout tree branch above where Father worked on the weapons.

"Yes, yes, Steven that's very good," Holtz said without looking up.

"You weren't watching," Steven whined. "Look!" He did a few more flips on the branch but even as Holtz told him it was good, he knew his father hadn't even looked up. Steven grabbed the branch and shook it hard, raining seed pods down on his father.

Holtz looked up, irritation in his eyes but that didn't faze his son. "Yes, Steven, what is it?"

"Watch what I can do." Steven tumbled some more on the branch.

"You're like a cat." Holtz smiled. "That's very good, Steven. Please come down here now."

Steven jumped off the branch, tucked in, spinning head over heels before landing.

"I'm quite sure you'll give me an attack sooner or later doing that." Holtz smiled again. "One day you'll misstep and break your neck."

"I won't," Steven assured him. "Can't break me. I have more to show you. Watch now."

"Later, Steven." Holtz waved him off. "We've work to do. Have you sharpened your knife recently?"

The boy bobbed his head and took it from its sheath, offering it to his father for inspection.

Holtz gently tested it with his thumb. "Very good. Is your larder full?"

Steven jumped back up into their tree home and grabbed the little backpack from his bed side. After the last hopper they had killed, Father had fashioned him the pack complete with water skin hanging from it. He was exceptionally proud of his pack. It meant Father trusted him to be a big boy and take care of the food. He presented it for inspection as well. It was chocked full of smoked hopper, dried fruits and nuts.

"Excellent." Holtz started rearranging the larder, squeezing in more smoked game and nuts. He even put in a little jar of honey fashioned from a tough seed pod. Steven eyed the honey greedily but soon became bored with the inspection. He started practicing his acrobatics once more.

"Father, watch!" He took a running started and executed a few no-hand cartwheels.

"You're getting very good at that, son." Holtz waved him over. "But I have a new game for you to play."

Steven jogged over, his body all but trembling from the excess energy he had to burn. "A new game?" He couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice.

Holtz indicated a place by the cook fire. "Sit."

Steven sat cross-legged, bouncing his knees impatiently. "Is it a good game?"

"It's an important game," Holtz replied, and Steven cocked his head, pondering that. "It's like the game where you find things I've hidden."

"I'm good at that." Steven's eyes danced as he smiled widely.

Holtz returned the smile more sedately. "Yes, you are. You've gotten so good, we're going to try a new version of it. I'm going to hide something, and it will be hard for you to find it but you can't give up until you do."

"I don't give up." Steven matched his father's serious tone.

"No, you don't, do you? I'll be keeping track of how long it takes you but you have to promise me this, Steven, that you're big and brave enough to do this, even if it becomes frightening." Holtz seemed suddenly sad.

It confused Steven. Why would Father look so unhappy about a game? "Games aren't scary."

"This one will be." Holtz took Steven's knife, laying it by the backpack.

Steven pushed out his chin. "I'm not scared."

"Good boy." Holtz ruffled his hair then took out a piece of cloth. Steven looked at it, more confused. He had found bits of cloth many times already. Nothing was scary about them. Suddenly his father wrapped the cloth over his eyes, blinding him. Holtz knotted the blindfold tightly, catching Steven's hair in it. He yelped and reached for it. Holtz gently slapped his fingers. "Leave it, Steven."

"But I don't like this."

"Did you not just promise me you were big enough and wouldn't be scared?" Holtz asked, and Steven subsided unhappily. He didn't like this game. He felt something going around his wrists, and started squirming, realizing his father was tying him up. "Do not fight me, Steven."

"No!" Steven whined, not sure what was happening. Had he made Father mad? Was this a punishment? No, Father said it was a game and he didn't lie. The ropes hurt, though, especially when Father tied him off to a tree. Steven couldn't help kicking nervously when Holtz grabbed his feet and got swatted for his trouble.

Once his feet were tied together, Holtz leaned close, "The game is you have to find me, Steven. I'll be what is hidden."

"No, Father!" Steven felt panic rising in him. "Don't leave me!"

"You have to be brave now, Steven. This is important. You know how to track. You'll find me." Holtz kissed Steven's cheek. "I love you, son. I know you can do this."

Steven cried out his protestations again but Father said nothing. Steven hushed, knowing noise could lure in the demon. He no longer heard Father and soon the winds cleared of his scent. He was alone. Fear swallowed him up. How could Father just leave him? Didn't he know how much Steven needed him? He trembled a little, tied too tightly to truly shake. He wanted to sob and beg his father to come back but he knew Father wouldn't, not until Steven played the game.

Biting back his terror, Steven tested his bonds. His hands throbbed painfully and his legs were cramping. He couldn't get free. Steven scraped his face on the tree, ignoring the malicious bite of the bark. He kept it up until he wiggled the blindfold off. Even though he knew Father was gone, he looked for him. Giving up on that, Steven surveyed the knots. Tying-up games were a favorite of his. Father would tie him up and time his escapes. Steven hadn't liked them at first, just like he didn't care for this new game but Father insisted they were important in case a demon ever caught him. Steven needed to know how to get away. He had become very good at getting out of ropes and came to like the game.

He wasn't going to like this new one; he was sure of it. It was nearly dark by the time he freed his hands. His fingers were swollen and blue and had gone all tingly. They barely worked as he tried to get his feet free. He forced those numb digits to work because he had to pee so bad he thought he'd burst, and he didn't want to go all over himself. He tried to get up but his feet were fat and asleep and his ankles kept giving out. Steven managed to get to his knees and peed downhill away from himself.

He waited for his hands and feet to stop throbbing so bad before going into the tree house. Now he understood why Father wanted to be sure his knife was sharp and his larder full. He'd need them both if he was going to be all alone in the Quor-Tothian woods. The mere thought made Steven quake. He was too little for this. He should never have begged for the bow so much. Father thought he was bigger than he really was.

Steven picked up his blanket and tried to figure out an easy way to carry it. He tied it around his neck like a cape. He wanted to carry more stuff but he couldn't. He just wasn't big enough. He picked up Dover and tucked the worn leather toy into his belt. He knew Father said he was too old for toys like this but he had had Dover all his life. He couldn't leave him behind. Dover would help him be brave especially if the bad dreams came for him while Father was gone.

Steven jumped out of the tree, his blanket fluttering behind him. He scooped up his knife and his backpack before turning his face into the wind. He caught Holtz's faint scent and started off into the gathering fog, more terrified now than ever before.

X X X

Steven stifled a sob. He had been so excited to catch a strong hint of Father's scent that he had scurried across a rock face too fast. He didn't know how far he had fallen, but it seemed like forever. He squashed his larder back pack and lost his blanket. Dover broke stitches on the way down, and Steven's ankle was red and swollen.

Luckily the backpack didn't explode, his blanket landed not far from him, and he hadn't landed on his own knife. Steven tested his ankle, which was already looking less fat and ugly. He looked at the cliff he had just tumbled down, and realized it would be very dark by the time he got to the top; if he got to the top.

Steven looked at the shrubbery and the rocks, trying to decide where to stay the night. He couldn't hold back the quake that overtook him thinking about spending the night alone. He'd never been alone before, and he didn't want to be now either. The fear crept into his heart on tiny feet as he discovered no signs of a cave he could shelter in. There was nothing to do for it so he spent the remainder of the fading sunlight tying up tree branches to build a blind against the rock face. The winds were picking up. He'd need the shelter.

Steven couldn't risk an exposed fire. He was too afraid of what demons it might lure in, curious about the flames. Father wasn't here to help him fight. He knew he was getting big enough that he didn't need Father's help, but that didn't mean he didn't want it. Steven munched on smoked hopper and a handful of nuts. He took very little of his water. He didn't know when he might find more.

There was just enough light left to dig in the utility pack on his belt to find his bone needle and some thread he had twisted from the Secnon plant so Father could make them clothes. Steven darned the little hole in Dover. His beloved toy fixed, Steven went outside of his shelter and softly called, "Father, I can't find you. Please. I'm afraid to be here alone."

The only answer was the harsh shriek of a Tejag, a more or less harmless bird-like thing. Steven called out again, more earnestly then gave up, fearing he was attracting attention he didn't want. Steven curled up in his blanket, clutching Dover to his cheek. As it sank in that he wouldn't see Father tonight, or maybe for many nights, Steven wept piteously against Dover. What if the demons came for him? What if he really wasn't big enough? Would Father be mad if he just went back to their home and didn't look for him? Steven wished he knew what to do, and, when the Tejags seemed to get closer and closer to his hiding spot, he cried harder. They might be harmless but whatever was pushing them into dangerous night flights was probably very dangerous. Steven drew his knife and waited, too afraid to sleep, too young to fight it for long.