Cinders and ash exploded from the impact. Evin had to close his eyes. Gareth screamed. Burning fragments rained down to prick Evin’s face and torso. He opened his eyes to see Gareth spin to face Tyber, who raised the branch to strike again. Evin scrambled to his feet.
An ugly mark of seared flesh ran across Gareth’s arm, shoulder, and neck.
Lords, save him!
The log came down again, and Gareth swept wide with his unburned forearm, taking the blow on the bone and knocking the log out of Tyber’s hands. It nearly landed on Nicolas, who scrambled away, then returned to pick it up.
Though weaponless, Tyber was enraged beyond reason. He put his hands to Gareth’s throat and squeezed with the might of fury, and the two seemed to dance together in the firelight as they grappled.
They were both insane. The others stood around dumbly, but someone had to stop them. Nobody was dead yet. It wasn’t too late.
Evin looked around and spied a fallen ax. He could use the handle just as Johan had done, and crack Tyber in the skull. But as he turned to start toward it, something hot splashed against the side of his face.
It blinded him on that side and ran down his face and neck. As he turned back toward Gareth, he wiped at his eye with the back of a hand, then drew it away to see.
Blood.
Gareth held Tyber’s body by the shoulders. Gore covered them both. It made Gareth’s face shiny, wet, and red in the firelight. Tyber’s body had no head, only the ragged stump of a neck. A weakening stream of blood pulsed from it.
Gareth still screamed with aggression. His features twisted into a grimace of bared teeth and hatred, empty of all intelligence. He held the body with one of his claws now and stabbed the other into the midsection, tearing effortlessly through the leather that Tyber had thought was armor. More blood gushed out, enough to hit the ground with thick plopping sounds. Gareth tore steaming entrails out of Tyber, stretching ropes of dripping tissue from the limp body.
All the others watched this impossibility with ashen faces. Nicolas dropped the half-burned log club, but otherwise nobody moved. Evin dared not breathe.
Marc was the first to scream, a high-pitched knife of sound that somehow made it all real. Evin sank to his knees and stared helplessly as Gareth raised the gory mass of Tyber’s entrails. Evin’s thoughts warred. He wanted simultaneously to save Gareth, to save Tyber, and to run away from the ravening monster. He wasn’t even aware at first that he had joined the chorus of screams.
Gareth had opened his mouth to eat when something changed. He glanced at Evin and gave a visible shock of recognition. He looked down at the body and at his own claw full of dripping meat. He threw the ruined body down and held his hands, palms up, to see. Staring at the blood-soaked claws, he began to make a low, keening sound.
Marc and Nicolas fled. Johan stumbled to the edge of the cave, rested his weight on his undamaged arm, and vomited violently.
“No,” Evin whispered. This couldn’t be happening. “No! What have you done?”
Gareth looked up as if seeing him again for the first time. His blood-coated face crumbled, and he shook his head. “I didn’t—I”—he looked back at the headless, dripping corpse—“I couldn’t—How…?” He looked back at Evin, his eyes searching for some answer that would make this horror make sense. “Evin…?”
But Evin had no answers or forgiveness to offer. He turned and ran away from the cave and the fire and the madness. He fled into the dark woods.
* * *
Evin didn’t have any destination in mind, just away. In his panic, he looked back occasionally to see if Gareth chased him. Despite the moonlight, it was too dark in the woods. He tripped and stumbled into branches, sending fresh spears of pain through his wounded leg. He had to stop.
He could still see the flicker of firelight in the distance when he paused to breathe and try to think.
Tyber is dead.
Images flashed through his mind of their days as children. Running, laughing, playing, wrestling. Fighting too, the way children do. All gone.
But it had been gone for years now, since everything went wrong and Tyber became the leader of the boys. He became so mean and destructive. The person who had attacked today wasn’t an old friend. Today Tyber had done his best to kill Gareth. And then the mock trial.
He would’ve killed me too.
Evin was covered with Tyber’s blood. He couldn’t go back to the village like this.
Tyber is dead!
He couldn’t go back at all. Ever.
Johan and the others had seen everything. And Tyber was dead.
* * *
When Evin found his way back to the cave, flickering firelight revealed splashes of blood all over the dusty ground. It soaked into the dirt. Tyber’s draining body lay discarded in the dust. Lords knew where the head was.
Gareth and Johan had gone.
Evin walked down the hill and on to the river, where he and Gareth had washed before. The full moon’s light made it easy to see; he had no difficulty now that he was out of the woods. He found Gareth in the water, trying to get clean again. Something was wrong with what Evin saw in the moonlight, but it took a moment to understand.
The blood washed away from his skin, and he was whole.
The sword and arrows had left no mark on Gareth. Wounds that should have killed him were gone.
Gareth glanced at Evin. A hurt look and then he turned away. Now Evin saw that the burned places on his back and arm had not vanished. If anything, they looked darker and uglier than before. Gareth hissed in pain as he washed around them.
“It’s not your fault.” Evin stepped to the water’s edge.
Gareth kept at his work and ignored Evin.
“He would have killed you. It’s not your fault.”
Gareth scrubbed the palms of his hands—hands with his normal fingers, now—up and down the thighs of his breeches. Trying to get the bloodstains off.
“I’m sorry I got scared. You were like an animal. I didn’t think—”
Gareth paused again, but he still didn’t look at Evin. “I am an animal. Or a demon. Some evil thing. Should have stayed away forever. From you.”
Evin watched in silence for a bit. Gareth took his breeches off, bunched the cloth together, and scrubbed harder. When he finished cleaning, he turned and started out of the water. Moonlight played over ripples of the dark, wet skin. Light was lost in the hollows but sparkled on the wet planes of his chest and curves of his arms. Evin watched in sorrow and amazement. Gareth was so beautiful. How could he be so terrible, so dangerous?
Gareth’s gaze never wavered as he walked to stand before Evin. His expression was flat and hopeless. They stood facing one another for a moment. Water dripped off Gareth’s body and the crush of clothing he held. Finally Evin moved in and wrapped his arms around Gareth, keeping his hands low to avoid the burns on Gareth’s back, and laid his head against Gareth’s chest. Gareth exhaled a shuddering sigh. He threw his breeches to the bank and held tight to Evin.
Evin wanted to ease Gareth’s heartsickness and sorrow and take comfort in return. They held on for a few moments, sharing without saying anything. But Evin knew it could not last.
He spoke into Gareth’s chest. “We can’t stay here.”
“I’ve ruined everything.” Gareth’s voice was matter-of-fact, as if he lacked the energy to feel any worse.
“You’re alive. He came to kill us. Tyber wanted murder.” Evin pulled back to look into Gareth’s eyes. “We can’t stay here. They’ll get back to the village soon, and the people will come. We don’t have any more time for you to blame yourself. We don’t have time to argue. You have to believe in me now.”
Gareth nodded dumbly.
“Say it! Tell me you believe me.”
Gareth’s words were choked. “Not my fault.” He snuffled and said in a louder, hoarse voice, “Not my fault. I believe you.”
“Okay.” Evin held on for a moment longer before freeing an arm to gesture back toward
the cave. “This—all of this—is finished. All we think about now is, I’m going to protect you and you’re going to protect me.”
Gareth nodded again.
“How did you… I mean, why aren’t you…?” Words failed Evin. He touched Gareth’s neck and chest, feeling for the wounds that should have been there.
“I don’t know. Hurt places just grow back. I don’t know why.”
Evin looked into his eyes. What are you? He bit the question back. He didn’t want to hurt Gareth more by asking, but Gareth saw it in his face.
Gareth said in a plaintive whisper, “I don’t know, Evin. I don’t know nothing.”
Evin clasped Gareth against him again and reached up to pull Gareth’s head down to rest on his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad you didn’t die! You have to be strong now. We both do.”
Gareth pushed Evin gently away, scrubbed a hand over his eyes, and took a breath. “You’re right. I’m all grown up now. I’ll protect you, I promise.”
“Me too. How long before your burns heal?”
“A few minutes, I guess.”
“Okay. We have to go. You can move fast at night because you can see. Think you can still carry me?”
“I think so.”
“Then we should run at night and hide during the day. Let’s go get our clothes.”
“How far do we have to go?”
Evin shook his head and reached up to caress a soft, dark cheek. “I don’t know. Far enough until we find a safe place.”
Because Evin hadn’t washed yet, his embrace had smeared Tyber’s blood back onto Gareth. They both cleaned themselves, and when they were done, Evin took Gareth by the hand and led him up to gather their few meager belongings from the cave.
Chapter Twelve
Birds leaped into the air, fleeing their forest perches at the approach of the painted wagon. It was a home built on a cart, pulled by an old horse, led by an old man. The man wore simple blue breeches tucked into boots. Despite his tall, thin frame, he had a pot belly barely covered by his faded red chemise. A wide-brimmed hat protected him from the midday sun. He trudged up the path to the mountain cabin, giving every appearance of being a weary, elderly traveler.
Upon arriving at the cabin, he tied up the horse and rapped on the door.
A woman answered. She froze when she saw him.
“Ah, dear Magareta! It has been such a long time. Well, do invite me in. I’m an old friend, after all.”
She composed herself and gestured for him to enter. “Welcome,” she said in a small voice.
The old man walked into the cabin and looked around. “Well, it’s not much, is it?” he said in a mild voice. Rhyd was there, cleaning his hands. He had been working with pelts when the old man arrived.
“Please, lord, sit here.” Magareta indicated a wooden chair, the most comfortable-looking the cabin offered, which wasn’t saying much. The visitor hugged Magareta and shook Rhyd’s hand before turning to the chair. He pulled out a wooden stick with a bauble on its tip, touched it first to the chair, then to his person, and sat.
Rhyd and Magareta stood before him.
“Well, well, Rhyd, how long has it been? No trouble here, I imagine.”
“No, lord, none. Everything quiet, just as you wanted.”
“Good, good. And the boy? What have you taught him?”
“Sword and bow, tracking, trapping.” Rhyd indicated the trapper’s gear and pelts. “Tried teaching him to ride a horse, but they’re afraid to death of him. Never could set him on one. Hard to get a hound to trust him.”
“Oh, that’s fine. Do horses flee on sight?”
“Yes, lord.”
“Excellent. That could be useful. But is he…dull?”
Rhyd and Magareta looked nervously at one another. Rhyd said, “Lord, we…didn’t educate him none, ’cept as you wished. The boy don’t have no experience of the world beyond this mountain.”
“I’m quite sure of that! But is he quick? Does he learn?”
“Oh yes, he always was quick when we showed him chores and—”
“Fine, fine!”
Magareta gave a short jump and left Rhyd’s side to go to a cupboard.
“Gareth’s room is under the floor,” Rhyd said. “Good place to hide during the day. No visitors ever knew.”
“You have done well. Raised him to maturity in utter secrecy. I’ve had other servants not nearly so faithful.”
Magareta brought cakes, which she offered to her guest.
“Thank you, my dear. Tell me, what is unusual about the boy? What have you seen so far? Beyond the obvious, of course.”
“Can’t hurt him,” Rhyd said. His nervousness was momentarily overcome by pride in having good news to relate. “Can’t hurt him for long. Bear ripped his arm clean off, and it grew back good as new before we could come home to tell Magareta.”
The old man smiled. “I had hoped. Exactly the power I wanted. And in a smart one! And the appendages? All normal?”
Magareta blushed a little, but Rhyd answered without hesitation. “Hands and feet like a man, absolutely. Five fingers and toes. Face like a prince, and I mean a prince—if it weren’t for…you know.”
The old man sat back in the chair, satisfied. He looked around the hovel and sighed.
“My, my, you surely must have missed the tower during these long years. Remember your place in the hierarchy? When even you had other servants to order about?” A pause while he waited for an answer.
“We never,” Magareta said in a slow and serious voice, “never considered disobeying. Not for a moment.”
“Never,” said Rhyd.
“You were always my best servants at the tower.” The man shook his head. “You may have despised one another, but certainly you were always faithful to me.”
“Thank you, lord.”
“And here we are.”
“Yes, lord.”
“Gareth, is it? Not Garet, as they’d say here? An old name. An odd name to choose. But nobody knows him, so there’s no one to wonder. Tell me, whose ancestors do you honor? Mine…or the queen’s?”
The old man ate a cake and waited as Rhyd choked on a reply.
“No no,” the old man said. “My dear Rhyd, don’t be apoplectic! You haven’t insulted me. I’m merely having sport with you. Of course I know you named him after a hero—one of the Knights of Caerdyth who united the kingdom.” He gave them a second to relax, then continued, “You—or was it Magareta?—cleverly divined that the boy is not just an undying sacrifice, that he has a role in a larger purpose. Cleverness is ever so much more dangerous than insults. Now.” He brushed crumbs off his fingers. “Where is my son?”
Chapter Thirteen
Evin let Gareth carry him during the first few nights of their flight. It was faster that way, and the thing they needed most, at first, was to get distance from Laforet. Evin trusted Gareth to keep them going in one direction, but didn’t care which direction it might be. Just that it was away.
They moved so swiftly in the night that they never even heard the pursuers who surely must have followed. They were together, and they were leaving the tragedy behind forever. They had almost got away unscathed. Almost.
Except that after Tyber lost his sword, he had picked that log up from the fire.
Gareth’s burns did not heal. Not in moments and not in days.
Evin knew that while they traveled, Gareth tried to hide how much the burns troubled him. But when they found places in the woods to hide during the day, he slept facedown and not very well. It didn’t make sense. Wounds from swords and arrows had disappeared instantly, leaving no scars on Gareth’s body. Yet the burns had hurt him terribly, and they weren’t healing at all.
Evin’s wounded thigh, on the other hand, had sealed up nicely after he cleaned it and applied remedies from the tiny stock he kept in his pack. He had feared the cut was too long and deep—the kind that people died from, sometimes despite an apothecary’s help—but after Evin endured excruciati
ng pain while cleaning out all the bits of dirt, the sides of it stuck together and the scab looked very good.
It was unfair that he should get well so easily while Gareth suffered.
Evin foraged for food each day and made sure Gareth ate. He also tried to remember everything about the treatments Madame Tabeau might have offered for burns. The ones he had in his pack ran out quickly. Then he used plants to make the best remedies he could, but they were horrible and inept. He didn’t have time to dry anything that should be powdered, and he rarely found the plants whose oils he could use, the ones that would help the most.
It killed Evin every time he touched Gareth’s burned places to apply the useless poultices. Gareth refused to cry out or even whimper, but Evin could tell he suffered by his breathing and the way his muscles vibrated. Sometimes Gareth exhausted himself with the effort it took to be still and keep up the pretense that Evin’s ministrations were not agonizing.
After a few days, Gareth couldn’t carry Evin anymore because it hurt too much. The burns developed their own yellow skin on top of the red-black scabs, a skin that sometimes wept a green liquid that Evin feared was Gareth’s own flesh dissolving underneath.
They were too far away now to go back and appeal to Madame Tabeau for help. She was the only one in the world Evin could have—should have—trusted. He had been a fool to run, and Gareth had been a fool to follow him. Evin carried the knowledge as a stone in his heart. Gareth would die because of him.
One night as they stumbled through the woods together, making a wide circle around another village, Evin realized that Gareth was having a conversation with his mother.
“I swear, I’ll never tell, I promise, not nobody, that Father took him apart, and I’m not hungry now, I don’t want the meat, I promise!”
Evin scrubbed an arm across his face. They had not gone far since the sun set, but they were going to have to stop soon. He approached and raised a hand to touch Gareth’s cheek.
Gareth flinched. “It’s bad. I’m not hungry!”
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