Heir of the Blood King

by W.O. Cassity

  ***

  Donadeir managed to carry several days worth of winter berries and nuts back to the fort. He also managed to gather a few jongar roots, some edible mushrooms, four wild potatoes, and several other plants they could use to stretch their rations. After having spent so many hours helping his mother gather fresh herbs and vegetables for the food prepared in his parents’ shop front, Donadier felt very confident completing the tasks Talia had given him the night before.

  The only encounter that had taken Donadeir by surprise was an angry, old opossum he disturbed while it slept within a hollowed tree. He hoped to come across the path of the angry opossum again, since it had gotten away from him during their first encounter. The pesky beast managed to catch him off guard, and his initial reaction had been to run away, dropping his spear as he tried to sprint to safety. If he came across it once more, Donadeir hoped he could make Talia proud by serving it up for tonight's supper.

  Several squirrels had easily managed to evade Donadeir’s feeble attempts to spear them. Luckily for the squirrels, they were in no immediate danger, as Donadeir’s aim was far from being true. He may have been a threat to a squirrel the size of an ox, but that would still have proven to be a very big maybe.

  Donadeir’s spirits were high. Today, they were gonna make progress. After surviving fourteen uneventful winters, this was his first true test. Gathering the food had caused memories of his family to drift through his mind. As he had aged, he realized he was brighter than his parents were, and they had encouraged him to use his brain for survival. His wit was his greatest strength. Talia may be a winter his elder and she may have the physical prowess and skill to help them survive the wilds, but once they made their way to the city, she would rely highly upon his knowledge and abilities. Donadeir would have the unique opportunity to prove himself and improve areas that made him feel embarrassed. Together, Talia and he would be capable of achieving greatness against any challenge.

  This was the true moment for a clean start, Donadeir thought to himself. Most of the village children and young men who strived to make his life difficult were now gone. He thought about Katterine, the beaver faced girl who would try to trip him when he went to retrieve water. She was probably dead. Thomar, Katterine’s younger brother who made squashing sounds with his mouth to mock the way Donadeir walked, was probably gone too. They were the ones who pushed Donadeir to be the one who mocked everyone before someone else had a chance to bully him ever again. All of it was pointless and petty.

  As Donadeir pondered the misfortune and fates of those in the village, there was no relief, no remorse, nor did he harbor any feelings of gratification. Donadeir gave as good as he got, using his wit to undermine those who taunted him. He held no animosity toward them. These people were of no significance. Their lives were of no consequence to his. It was their fate to be dead. Donadeir’s fate was to be alive and with Talia, so he was pleased. His mother wouldn’t approve of such thinking. Yes, she had encouraged him to stand up to those who belittled him, advocating for his self-respect. She had also taught him life was precious and should be cherished.

  Donadeir looked to the sky once more, taking note the sun was almost at its apex. Talia should be returning to camp soon. He needed to get things in order. Curiously, he wondered why everything seemed so quiet. No sounds of birds or squirrels scurrying through the nearby trees—just the sound of a gentle breeze, rustling through the grass.