by Beth Wirth
Those eyes wandered past Alex to settle on Terry. "So." The corner of his mouth twitched, but there was no further indication of what emotion Bill was feeling. "You found something last night, didn't you?" He watched them for a long moment, then stepped away from the door, inviting them in without actually inviting them. Terry wouldn't have entered alone, but Alex was already trying to push the door open with one hand and maneuver his chair with the other. Terry sighed internally and held the door for his brother.
"Used to be every man in this town ran the hunt of the moon at least once a year," Bill was saying as he poured warm coffee into mugs and set two of them at places on the table. Alex rolled up and took one eagerly, sitting attentively, eyes on their host. Terry slunk up to the table and took his mug carefully, eyeing it warily. Bill continued, "The woods would be full of people, so many that it was almost not worth it to try to hunt anything else for days after. Wasn't until fairly recently, in the grand scheme of things, that a few families guarded the knowledge of the true hunt and kept it for their own." He snorted and sat at the table across from them. "Not that that's entirely a bad thing." He frowned at Terry, his eyes heavy, and Terry wilted under the intense gaze. "To run the solstice hunt without understanding it is barbaric."
Alex perked up further. "So you know it's about the solstice magic?"
Bill eyed him askance. "There's a reason those in the know only go out on the Cold Moon and the Strawberry Moon, son. Though I'm sure the jackasses running it now have mostly forgotten why." His eyes rested on Terry again. Terry found the gaze not altogether comforting. The silence around the table stretched. "So boy," Bill said suddenly and loudly, "what is it you're planning on doing with your very own usdi spirit slave?"
Terry flinched. "I ... don't know, sir. I ... wanted to ask you ..." he trailed off.
Bill grinned nastily. "What I did with mine?" Terry nodded, unable to speak. "Why don't you ask your uncle?" he said with rancor, eyeing his own mug as if he wished there was something stronger in it than coffee. Despite town rumor, Terry didn't see a drop of liquor in the kitchen. Bill drank the steaming liquid down in one long gulp. There was silence in the room. Uncle Martin, as infamous as he might be around town, was not something the family spoke of and both Terry and Alex sat tight lipped until Bill chuckled. "Suppose I'm glad you'd rather come to me for advice." In those words he sounded more friendly than he had before.
"Well," his voice raised a few decibels. "You're not the first to ask, you know." Bill leaned back in his chair and regarded Terry for a long moment. "I kept him," he said finally, "as my slave, to serve my needs." He grinned again, the expression pulling aside wrinkled skin to reveal teeth yellowed with age and tobacco. "If you need me to spell it out more clearly, boy, then you're too young to have gone on the hunt."
Terry was flushed dark red, and a glance showed him Alex had understood the meaning as well, but it was Alex who found his tongue first. "What happened to him?" he asked, eyes firmly on the table's surface and cheeks blazing red. "Did he die?"
There was a flicker of the same haunted look that Robert had had about Bill's eyes in that moment, but when he answered his voice was steady and even. "Spirits don't die, son. They can be killed, though—and despair'll kill one faster than anything else. That and being kept from the forest that's his home."
The sound of the door opening broke the stillness this time. A man entered the kitchen and stilled suddenly upon seeing company present. Bill grinned, the expression softer than anything he'd shown to Terry and Alex since they'd been there. "Boys just wanted some information on the Cold Moon, Darby. No need to worry, they were just leaving." He said the last with finality. Terry noticed the similarity to Robert's tone of dismissal and wondered if it was the men or the subject under discussion that caused that tone.
The man in the door eyed Terry and his brother, his expression carefully controlled. "The solstice was last night," he observed, his voice deep and rich. His face was shadowed, but his eyes were some dark color and his skin was darker than most of the townspeople's; Terry guessed he was Sioux—or maybe just part, given the name.
"Yes," Bill said, some significant information being imparted in that word between the two of them that went over Terry's head. Darby was staring at him and Terry looked away under the scrutiny.
"Well, we should be going, sorry for taking up your time." He stood and moved to help Alex, mostly because he wasn't sure Alex would leave without some aid in that direction. Terry knew he was still red-faced and he ducked his head to hide it like a teenager.
He was pushing a reluctant Alex, who was too smart to protest out loud, toward the door when Darby's hand on his arm stopped him. "Words spoken under the Cold Moon remain a truth bound in your heart. That is the only true binding." He looked as if he would say more, but some sorrow passed over his face and he released Terry.
Terry left so quickly they were almost out of sight of the house before he realized they were back on the road.
Alex took his wheels back in hand. "Well?" There was less force in the question this time. "Do you think that helped?"
There was no question that talking to Bill had changed how he felt about the usdi but Terry flushed. "I ... I can't ... do that. I can't ... do what Robert or Uncle Martin did either." He sighed, a deep chest-filling and body-emptying exhalation of breath, and allowed himself to settle in the reality of his situation for a moment. "I don't know what to do."
Alex nodded. "You could let him go," he offered, but they both knew the futility of thinking along those lines.
"Dad wouldn't let me." Their father had been jealous of Uncle Martin forever; there was no way he'd let this prize out of his sight. If Terry did suggest anything so radical as a catch and release he'd probably be disowned, assuming there wasn't a more physical reprisal first. He'd never been confrontational with his father, preferring avoidance as a method to solving problems, especially concerning matters on which he knew his father would hear no argument.
They continued on in silence for the moment, but Alex was never one to be silent long. "So was it weird, talking to him?" He eyed Terry sidelong. "Have you been able to talk to many ... you know, guys?"
Terry rolled his eyes, but it was a safer topic, he guessed. "Crazy Bill gives me a weird vibe, but I think that's just cause he's Crazy Bill. I feel like he can see right through me just by looking at me, not to mention he's older than Grandfather. And yeah, I've made some friends." He grinned, shaking his head at his brother. "I know my way around, if you know what I mean."
The words implied more than was strictly true, but Alex responded with a hearty laugh that Terry hadn't realized he'd been hoping to hear. "You should come, next semester," he offered to his brother suddenly, the words born of a desire for the companionship of family, but also of his guilt for having been gone for so many years. "Come see the campus. Have you thought about taking classes somewhere?"
Alex nodded, and there was another long period of silence. "I ... It's difficult, you know." It was the closest Terry could remember Alex coming to acknowledging his limitations out loud. "It's too much trouble to get me to class, and there's no signal out here to do anything online. And ... There's no money either, to help with any of it. It's not like I can work like you did, to get enough to get out of here."
"Scholarships could help, and you wouldn't need to save up beforehand like I did."
Alex shook his head ruefully. "I like learning, but to get scholarships you need to be really good, not just enthusiastic." He shrugged. "It's alright." He turned to grin at Terry. "I'd rather just read books and stuff anyway, I think."
If there was anyone who was really good, it was Alex. He'd been wrong before when he'd said Terry was the genius in the family. Terry wasn't a genius at all, just a kid determined to get out. But Alex was the genuine article. If there was something holding him back, it wasn't grades. But Terry smiled anyway, even though he thought his face might break from the strain of it. "Then I'll be sure to bring you back a cou
ple next trip."
Alex nodded. "Thanks, that'll be nice."
*~*~*
When they got back to the farm Terry took charge and pointed Alex's wheelchair toward the stable with a deliberateness that took Alex aback. "Um, Terry? Where're we going?"
"You wanted to see a usdi, didn't you?"
Alex's eyes opened wide. "Dad won't like it. He's always telling me to stay out of the stable." Even though his words were cautionary he could hardly hide his excitement.
"Peanuts for Dad," Terry said under his breath. Alex laughed into his hand; it was one of their mother's favorite sayings. She read her husband better than either of his sons did, and was adept at picking out the rules a control-hungry Terrence wouldn't mind her fudging, but after winning the hunt Terry was pretty sure he could get away with sneaking Alex in for a peak. Besides, if Terrence understood anything, he understood interest in the Cold Moon.
They had to leave the wheelchair by the barn door, mud and icy slush caked on the wheels. Curious faces peered over the half doors of the front stalls as the horses watched them pass, Terry carrying his brother. There were five years and twenty pounds between them, and Terry was breathing heavily when they got to the door to the back box stall.
Alex lifted the latch and pushed it open. The late afternoon sun had mostly passed the window by, but there was light enough to see that there was nothing to see. Terry stepped in and set his brother on the floor, dropping down to sit beside him in the straw.
He silently retrieved the bowl in the middle of the room and poked through what the spirit had left. There wasn't much—mostly just the oak leaves he'd added as a last minute whim. Alex regarded the bowl with barely concealed excitement.
"Where is he?" he asked.
As if in answer to his words, the usdi spirit moved, stepping out of the shadows and revealing his location. The breath froze in Alex's throat.
Terry had to admit the spirit looked better than he had since they had first met. While still cautious of coming too close to them, the hunted look in the spirit's eyes was gone; instead, he looked curious and eager. He approached where they sat.
"Oh," Alex gasped, desperate to breathe but far too caught in the moment to remember to do so.
Terry slapped him on the back lightly. "Breathe, Alex. This is Alex, my brother," he addressed the spirit. "He wanted to meet you, so we decided to come by." Terry frowned at the bowl. "If you're still hungry, I could go find something else for you. I—" he stopped as the spirit touched the bowl's rim, across from where Terry was holding it.
Terry stopped breathing himself. Slowly, he looked up and met the spirit's eyes. The usdi was so close to him. They hadn't been this close since Terry had leapt on him to capture him. Those dark, full eyes met his and the spirit shook his head slightly.
"I think he's not hungry," Alex said. "Oh Terry ..."
"Yeah," was Terry's only response. According to his father the creatures were not intelligent enough to understand human speech. "Don't tell Dad."
The spirit seemed to recognize the mention of his father, and immediately withdrew. Alex sighed in disappointment. "As if you needed to say anything," he chided Terry. "But I think we're disturbing him now. We should leave."
Terry nodded, and gathered his brother up in his arms.
When he'd deposited his brother back into his wheelchair, Alex reached out and touched his hand. "Do you," he began, then swallowed convulsively and pushed through with, "I mean, he's a guy. Do you think he's ... good looking? Couldn't you do like what Bill did and keep him? It's not like he's an animal."
Terry froze. "I ... I couldn't." Alex withdrew his hand, but Terry explained, because his brother deserved it, and only someone who'd heard Bill's words would be able to understand the conversations Terry'd been having with himself. "I do think he's attractive, which is why I couldn't. You're right; he's not an animal. He ... you saw, he knows, he understands. I couldn't ... force him." He sighed, eyes closed. "And I don't think that it would ever be something he would want."
Alex spoke, the words barely a whisper on the air. "You've got to do something with him, or Dad is going to figure out his own use for him."
Terry sighed again. "I know."
*~*~*
The next morning he surprised his father in the usdi's stall again. Father and son regarded each other with astonishment. It was a bit early for Terry to be there, but he'd pulled together a particularly varied selection of greenery and he was interested in seeing what his spirit would make of it. His eyes narrowed when he saw his father, and his gaze immediately searched out the usdi. He didn't see the spirit at first, but as soon as he started to look, the spirit moved and revealed himself. His eyes were filled with relief, and Terry realized the spirit had been hiding from his father.
"Thought I would check on him, didn't think you'd be up so early," was his father's excuse, and Terry nodded. It was true; he was no longer counted as one of the hands who worked on the farm and, on his previous brief visits, his father had stopped requiring him to be up at the crack of dawn to see to the animals. Terrence had every reason to think that the creature needed feeding this morning, and any other tending. Terry was suspicious that feeding the spirit hadn't been what his father had been doing, only in light of the information he'd gathered yesterday.
Once Terrence left, the spirit moved closer to Terry, though he still kept to the shadows along the edge of the room. Terry took the opportunity to look at him. He really was beautiful, well-proportioned and fit of body. The graceful curve of the antlers that crowned his head drew the eye, primarily because of their incongruity on a body that appeared mostly human. "But it's strange," Terry found himself murmuring, his hand reaching out of its own accord to touch the hard ridges of bone, shivering with the sudden realization that the spirit had moved within reach of him. "They fit you so well. You wouldn't be you fully, without them." He stroked the antlers, his hand slowly moving down until it was resting on the spirit's head. He'd been a bit off in his initial appraisal—the spirit was barely taller than him; in his boots, on the straw-covered floor, they stood eye level to each other, and the usdi looked straight at him with those impossible eyes. They were so brown, like forest loam, and large enough to almost swallow the spirit's face. Terry let his hand fall from the thick, curly hair, to trace a finger down the spirit's cheek. The spirit raised a hand to lay it over the back of Terry's. The touch felt intimate and knowing, and Terry pulled away, his mind too full of thoughts he didn't want to think. He turned away and set the bowl he'd brought in the middle of the room, as he had yesterday. "I suppose I should come up with something to call you," he said to distract himself, "if you're going to be hanging around for a while."
"Isi."
Terry blinked and turned, not sure he'd actually heard something.
The usdi spirit was crouched by the bowl holding an apple. He met Terry's eyes and said clearly, if shyly, "Isi." He touched his breastbone before ducking his head and nibbling at the apple.
A shiver ran up Terry's spine and his mouth went dry. He cleared his throat and repeated the name softly. "Isi?"
The usdi—Isi—chuckled at him and said the word again to correct Terry's pronunciation. He continued, after his own name saying, voice clear and firm, "Terry." His eyes fixed on Terry, and Terry felt a shiver run down his spine.
"You know me," he affirmed needlessly. He stepped back, leaning against the stone wall for a moment before sliding down to sit against it and try to calm his heart. "Well." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cool stone. There was no way this was going to turn out well. Either his father was going to kill Isi or being cut off from his home and the forest was going to slowly smother him to death like Bill had said.
When he heard Isi move, Terry's eyes opened to slits. He watched as the spirit rose from his crouch by the bowl, Terry's eyes following up the length of his body. He had hair generously scattered over his legs, around his groin, and over his stomach in a wide trail; the hair was p
aler there much as his skin was paler across his stomach and chest. Muscles twitched under that skin and Terry's eyes followed the trail of hair up to where it spread beneath the pectoral muscles, thinning as it crossed over them. His eyes were inevitably drawn to the dark nubs of nipples, and then higher, up to the slightly paler throat. He could see the rapid rise and fall of that throat, the shallow breaths, and he realized Isi knew he was being watched, evaluated. Something other than any strength he had made Terry meet Isi's eyes. Maybe he hoped that Isi would see the carnal desire behind Terry's own eyes and flee from him, answering all of Terry's questions in that gesture.
Isi merely returned Terry's gaze. Nothing in his stance said he saw anything dark or unpleasant behind Terry's eyes, but then perhaps he saw nothing at all, because the next words he spoke were, "What would you have of me, Terry?"
Terry flinched. "I ... I don't want anything," he insisted. "I'm sorry I ... I caught you, but they made me go first. You might have been better off with someone else. At least you wouldn't have to deal with my father, but I don't think there's anything I can do about it now. I ..." he trailed off, hands bunched into fists from frustration. "I don't know what to do," he admitted in a quiet voice.
Isi stepped toward him, and Terry felt his breath catch and still in his throat. Isi crouched, his eyes holding Terry's gaze. "What would you have of me?" Isi repeated, reaching out to touch Terry's face.
Terry's breathing returned to normal with a huge intake of breath as he flinched away from Isi's touch. "No," he said firmly. "I don't want that." He couldn't believe those words, much less expect someone else to, so he tried again with, "You can't possibly want that." That he did believe, and when Isi's fingers continued to explore the side of his face, he stood quickly, almost losing his balance, and fled the stable without looking back.
*~*~*
Terry had been worried when he came out to his dad. He hadn't been sure his father could take it—one son paralyzed, the other a queer. To be fair to the man, Terrence never openly said anything against his son. Terry had the feeling that maybe his parents had known the truth about his indifference toward the fairer sex long before he had been able to admit it to them. But Terry had felt bad, about letting his dad down in all the ways that a son could let his father down, between the gay thing and the not becoming a farmer. He'd learned to hunt because it had been something he could share with his dad more than having a true desire to learn how. After Alex—the "accident" they always called it, though it had been anything but—Terry had felt twice the pressure. In the end he came out to his dad because it was either that or explode. Tadd and Christoph, his best friends from college, had urged him to, saying that it would make him feel better to be honest with his father. In some ways the honesty had made things better, but in some ways it had made them worse—one of those ways being his father's corresponding honesty with him. Part of that honesty had been the full story behind the bi-yearly full moon hunt, and thus why Terry had come with this year, which was directly responsible for this particular mess. He made a mental note to thank his friends for that when he got back.
