Gareth rolled onto his stomach and fumbled beneath the bedding. He gathered a group of thumb-sized figures he had woven from the bed’s straw and stood them up around one another to make a little scene.
There were several: The hunched figure of the old woman with her cane and a little piece of straw sticking straight out to represent her bony nose. Tyber, the tall one, who ordered the others around and sometimes picked on them. Johan, with dark red hair that Gareth had painted using a bit of blood from a skinned animal. Marc, the smallest, with a tiny scar also painted in blood on his face. And Evin.
Gareth had used some of the lightest brown straw to represent Evin’s hair. He couldn’t get it to lie down right and there was more of it than Evin really had, but he was not unhappy with his work. He ran a finger over it, imagining how Evin’s hair must blaze in the daylight and wishing he could see it.
When all the figures were arranged, he wiggled the old woman so that she gave orders to the boys. They struggled to carry cumbersome, invisible crates for her until Marc stumbled.
“Kshhh!” Gareth made the sound of fragile somethings breaking in the crate.
No, Marc! You’re doing it wrong! You’re stupid! Look what you done
! cried Tyber. Gareth tweaked the tall stick figure between a thumb and forefinger so that it twisted and its arm slapped little Marc.
Waaaaah!
Wah, wah, wah
! Tyber said.
Don’t hurt him no more
! Evin said.
Tyber laughed.
He’s just being a baby!
Gareth brought a new figure into the play, one that was larger than any of the others.
It’s Gareth
! said Johan.
Yay
! said Evin.
Marc ran to hide behind Gareth.
Stop
! said the figure of Gareth, who looked just like the others so they wouldn’t be scared.
Don’t hurt him no more! You’re not the leader!
Who’s gonna be our leader, then
? said Marc.
Evin will
! Gareth said.
He’s nice to everyone!
Yayyyyy
! everyone shouted.
Okay
! Evin said.
I’m the leader! But what do I want to do?
Let’s go play in the river
! Gareth said.
Yayyyyy
! everyone shouted.
“Spshh! Spshh!” Gareth made the happy sounds of young men splashing and wrestling in the water. They all had adventures together at the river until Gareth’s yawns and droopy eyelids made everyone too tired and they all curled up in a heap on the bed’s burlap shore.
* * *
Vibrations rumbled through the cellar walls and interrupted Gareth’s dreams. Horses approached and stopped somewhere outside the cabin. Footsteps thumped on creaking floorboards. A door opened, and voices exchanged muffled words as his parents received their guests.
Gareth remained quiet and still, though he was deep enough underground that it could hardly matter. His hiding place was good.
Father always complained that the queen’s taxes kept everyone poor, but he was sure to keep perfect records and pay every coin. He would never give the queen’s men a reason to wonder if there were places on his property where goods or money might be hidden.
After the rumble of horses signaled to Gareth that the men were gone, he slept again until evening. He was next awakened by the light bump of the armoire being set aside and the crash as Father threw open the trapdoor—his signal that Gareth could come up to dinner.
When he climbed into the main room, Father was already eating at the table. Mother glanced at him, then dished stew onto a rough wooden platter. Without speaking, she placed it on the table as Gareth sat.
Before Gareth could pick up his spoon, Father asked, “Didn’t get your fill of rats in the cellar, eh?”
“No, sir.”
“That was too close today, boy. You took too long making the rounds.”
Gareth thought it hadn’t been close at all. But he wouldn’t argue or make excuses or do anything to draw attention to the question of why he’d stayed out so long. If his parents ever suspected he spied on the villagers, they wouldn’t trust him with his chores and he’d never get to go out by himself. So he said, “Yes, sir,” in a hushed, respectful tone. Head down.
“We’ve moved out this far to keep you hid. You can’t risk it like you did today.”
“No, sir.”
“You know you can’t risk it, don’t you, boy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And why is that? Why can’t you risk it, eh?”
Gareth’s face ignited. He kept his eyes on his platter and remained still, wishing he wouldn’t have to answer. Not again.
“Why? Why, can’t you risk it? Answer me.”
“Because.”
“Answer!”
“Because I’m a monster!” He clamped his mouth shut tight and tried to keep it from quivering. He wouldn’t cry. He
wouldn’t.
With a grimace of disgust, Father grabbed his hand and jerked it up to hold it in front of Gareth’s wet eyes, so that the horrible, sickening green of it filled his vision.
When Gareth closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at himself, Father made a fist around the unresisting hand and smashed it into Gareth’s face. “You have got ta be careful. You can’t never be seen by
nobody
.”
Father released Gareth’s hand. Gareth dropped it to his lap and struggled to keep himself calm. A couple of tears escaped to run down his nose, but he didn’t compound his humiliation by weeping. He snorted the wetness up when it irritated him and glanced up quickly to see Father still glaring at him.
“Is that snot, or just
you
?” Father stood up, scraping his chair back from the table, and walked away with his food as if he could no longer bear to sit so close.
Gareth took a deep breath to push all the hurt down, away from the tight throat and leaky eyes threatening to betray him. He wouldn’t be a baby. He swiped an arm across his face to dry it, then spared a guilty glance at Mother, who snapped, “Eat!”
His supper was a greasy stew of deer meat, gone too soon. There was never enough.
After finishing the meal in silence, he prepared to take the bath he had missed this morning. He went to the fireplace and, being careful not to burn himself, poured some of the hot water from the kettle into a large copper tub standing nearby. A block of the soap his mother made from animal fat rested on a shelf within easy reach, so he only needed to drape a rag over the side of the tub to be ready to bathe.
He looked around to be sure that his parents had averted their eyes—they didn’t want to endure the sight of him as he cleaned himself—and stripped off his clothing. Then he stood in the tub to wash. As long as he didn’t look down at himself, it felt good to wash away last night’s dirt and today’s tension. It tickled a bit when he scrubbed his cock, which tried to embarrass him by stiffening. Lately that happened far too often. He moved on to other parts of his body, made himself very clean, and enjoyed the water’s warmth as much as he could without wasting time. He didn’t want to inconvenience his parents further.
Once dressed in clean breeches and chemise, he was ready to go out, but his parents made him wait until well after dark to leave the house. Finally they did let him go, and he went straightaway to the campsite to check on the trespassers.
There had been no mention of the trespassers at dinner. He was sure Father hadn’t found them today. The tithe collector’s visit would have kept Father close to the cabin, if indeed he had gone outside at all.
As Gareth filtered through the woods toward the camp, hope and nervousness warred within him. Yes, he had been late and in trouble this morning when he fled the boys’ camp; but in truth, he had run away as much because of the happiness, tightness, and shame that overcame him when he saw Evin naked and joyful. What a baby, to run away from seeing a villager piss! But something was different this time. With Evin, it was different.
Gareth didn’t know what he might see tonight, but he couldn’t keep from smiling as he imagined the possibility of seeing Evin happy again. Of being close enough to hear Evin’s laughter. Of sharing Evin’s carefree joy, just for another moment.
This time he wouldn’t flee.
He traveled silently through the forest without slowing down but remained alert in case Evin or any of the others were nearby in the woods. They were his friends, as close as any friend would ever be, but they could never know or see him.
At the tree line, he paused to look out before stepping into the open, searching for any potential observers. But there were none.
The boys’ camp by the river was gone. They had returned to the village.
Chapter Two
The next evening, the thump of the trapdoor woke Gareth as usual. He didn’t realize anything was amiss as he pulled off his nightshirt and dressed, but when he climbed up into the cabin, he found his father preparing a collection of traps to carry out. Father was going to work with him tonight. He wouldn’t get to see any villagers.
Father handed Gareth a trap meant to catch a
kenzul
hound—one of the creatures whose fur would sell for a good sum—then loaded into it a couple of smaller traps meant for minks and raccoons. This work would be easy enough for Father to do during daylight hours, but it would be faster at night when Gareth could be there to help. Tonight they would walk together to various spots on the mountain to place traps and hopefully discover prey in some of the existing ones. It would be Gareth’s job to snap the neck of any captured creature, as it had been since his earliest memories. He hadn’t known what it meant to kill when he was that young, but he did know Father would be terribly angry if he accidentally tore or tried to eat the prey.
In a way he felt guilty about trapping and killing the animals. It seemed somehow a dirty trick to end a creature’s life if you weren’t hungry and going to eat it. It was true that the carcasses sometimes put a bit of meat on the table and the money from selling their hides paid for the rest, so he killed without complaint, without ripping the tiny things in two, and without taking even a little bite. But he didn’t want to be cruel to the animals, and trapping was a cruel occupation at best, no matter how it might be justified or how merciful he might try to be. If the time ever arrived when he could stop hiding in his parents’ home, his days as a trapper would be over for good.
Gareth and his father set out into the dark. They marched in silence through woods leading around the mountain. Father carried a lantern, hooded so light would shine in a beam ahead of them yet Gareth would remain hidden in the night.
At lower elevations, they set small traps along game trails and near sources of water. Most of the traps were like little coops that would close up on small animals. Others were more cruel, with metal jaws to catch an animal’s leg. Higher up on the mountain were the traps Gareth liked least of all: deadfall traps meant to crush the heads or spines of bears by dropping heavy logs on them. Gareth and his father usually took just a few bears each season, but the thought of killing the mighty creatures in such a cowardly way made him unhappy.
The thing they had to be most careful about was scent. If they carried or mounted a trap using their bare hands, animals would detect their personal odors and be sure to stay away. Therefore, they wore gloves and smeared traps with animal fat to mask other smells. Ashes and certain kinds of dung were useful for covering up anything else they might touch in a spot where they hoped to catch prey. On the other hand, some scents were good. They often mounted a chicken head covered in oil on the end of a stick and used it to brush the ground in various directions leading to a trap. Then they hung the head inside as bait.
After collecting a few animals and resetting some snares, they found that a kenzul trap was missing from the place it had been just last night. The trap consisted of a set of metal jaws chained to a heavy log, called a
drag
, which would slow down any kenzul with the strength to move it but would not resist enough that the animal might tear its leg free to escape. The trap had evidently caught a kenzul able to pull the drag for some distance before tiring, but it left a trail of broken vegetation Gareth and his father could follow.
Gareth put down the cages he carried and helped his father search.
After only a few minutes of pursuit, they were close enough to hear the animal thrashing about, trying to free itself from the trap. It had not got far, both because of the weight of the drag and because it had changed direction several times as it tried to escape the metal jaws.
Crack!
Such a loud noise from the direction of the struggling creature startled Gareth. Vegetation rustled as something tumbled through it. A series of receding, muffled thumps ended with a heavy impact.
Gareth and his father came to an area where their path dropped off an embankment into thick undergrowth. Plants were broken or crushed where the kenzul had fallen off the path and pulled the drag along behind. Father picked his way down first, but something was wrong. Gareth remained on the trail, turning this way and that, sniffing. It wasn’t right. It smelled—
Something tore through the forest behind him, hidden by the vegetation but coming on fast. Something big.
“
Father
!” Gareth leaped down the embankment. He caught up with his father just as the other man reached their quarry. Gareth saw and understood instantly. Not a kenzul, but a bear cub. It lay unconscious or dead from falling down the hill and having the drag land on it. The beam of Father’s lantern was just touching its body when something else came crashing down the hill: its mother.
Gareth had made a terrible mistake. He had hoped to reach Father, push him to the ground, and protect him, but everything was happening too fast. By running, Gareth had only led the danger to him.
A brown bear, looming larger than Gareth thought possible, exploded from the vegetation. It kept its head low, its face a mask of rage as it knocked Father aside and barreled into Gareth.
Gareth threw an arm up to protect his face. The bear’s jaws closed over his elbow, and the world turned over. As he hit the ground, a
snap
, more felt than heard, traveled through him. Crushing weight pressed him down.