Shepherd Hunted

by Christopher Kincaid

  “We?” Kit said around a mouthful.

  “I..I don’t have anywhere to go now. I don’t have anyone.” The girl glanced away. “Can I…come with you?”

  Kit curled her lip. I just want to travel with my shepherd. “No. We are going without you.”

  Yuzu’s shoulders quivered, and she bit her lip.

  “Just let her come with us,” Timothy said. “You know how it feels to be alone, Kit.”

  “We don’t need her,” Kit said.

  “Kit.”

  Kit growled. “Fine. Just don’t go gawking at her, wool brain.”

  Yuzu let out a long breath. “I…thank you. Do you know where you are going?”

  “Belafonte,” Timothy said.

  Yuzu froze. She looked at them through her dark locks. “Why do you want to go there?”

  “So you know something about it?” Kit asked. Might as well make her useful. Darn shepherd. How am I going to take care of my tail now?

  Yuzu shook her head, and her voice was tight. “Cursed. I heard a story about the only man who managed to get out. Somehow he escaped the church soldiers stationed out there.”

  “Wait!” Kit brushed back her bangs. “So people know about it?”

  “Why wouldn’t they? It is only a few weeks journey on horseback. The Church posted soldiers to protect us from the demons that used to live there.” Yuzu tilted her head. “Why do you want to go there?”

  Timothy squinted at Kit and said, “So your grandmother didn’t have as far to go as we first thought.”

  “Tell me more,” Kit told Yuzu.

  “Well, the man was out of his head, talking about fox spirits and skeletons that dance. He…the story said the man was possessed by a fox demon. Soon after arriving in town, he tore out a woman’s throat with his teeth.”

  Timothy gazed at Kit and rubbed his neck. He grinned, and Kit rolled her eyes. “So he was here?” she asked.

  Yuzu nodded without looking at her. “I not only heard the story, but I…I saw him. He was in a cage. He kept lunging at the bars and growling, and…” Yuzu glanced at Kit and away again. “He had red hair.”

  “Are you sure it was him?” Timothy asked.

  “The man who told me the story pointed him out. He said it was his sister that the man killed.”

  “We will just have to see if that story is true for ourselves.” Kit said. Timothy yawned, and she touched the back of his hand. “Sleep. I will keep watch.”

  Yuzu stood. “I will take the first watch. You need to sleep too.”

  Kit sighed. I don’t trust her yet, but at least she smells honest. She tossed Timothy a blanket that she had tied onto one of the packs. “Sleep would do us well.”

  * * *

  Timothy and the two women spent the better part of the week traveling east, away from Honheim. They were not the only ones. Small clumps of people moved in a daze with their lives strapped to carts or, more often, their backs. Timothy felt grateful for Kit. Somehow she convinced a couple to part with their cart and mule. He didn’t see how much money she handed to them, but he doubted that he could have walked much farther. After buying the mule and cart, Kit set a faster pace. She said they were too close to Honheim to stop at any of the villages. After seeing the second village empty of people with a trench full of half-buried bodies, Timothy agreed.

  Each day brought deepening cold. Variegated leaves floated on the wind and crunched underfoot. Early winter chased a short autumn.

  The two women nattered over him like mothers. Kit was the worst. She made him walk beside the cart every morning while fretting over their lack of food. Kit skipped meals, shoving hard biscuits, salty meat, and apples at him like he was a pig needing to be fattened. As his strength began to return, he hoped Kit wasn’t pushing herself too hard. He knew little about foxes. Perhaps they didn’t need as much food and sleep as people? But then, he knew from past experience that Kit could out-eat him. He wasn’t sure if she could even get sick. Was she that much different from him? Yuzu also offered some of her meals, but for the most part the girl kept to herself. She spent a lot of time watching him and studying people they passed. She spent a fair bit of time pulling on her lower lip as she watched Kit.

  On the seventh evening, a village came into view. Wooden houses were clustered on top of a flat-topped hill.

  Kit looked Timothy up and down.

  “You look like you have enough padding that you won’t stick me,” she said. Her breath frosted the air.

  Yuzu wrapped her arms around herself. “A bed would be nice. And a fire.”

  “Don’t get ideas,” Kit said. “I can warm Timmy better than you.”

  Timothy liked the thought of Kit’s warm tail. The wool cloak Kit had found for him did a fair job keeping some of the cold away, but he missed the coat she had bought him. He scratched his beard. It itched, but at least it kept his face warm.

  He was out of breath by the time they topped the hill. Kit refused to let him ride in the cart. The dirt road cut through the town and rolled down the other side of the hill. In the far distance stood a single mountain surrounded by a green smear. Snow began to fall.

  “Are you going to just stand there?” Kit shoved Timothy. It was more gentle than normal.

  “Tea. Hot tea. And soup!” Yuzu said. Her ears were red with cold.

  The Warm Bed blended with the other houses except for a carved sign creaking in the wind. Kit sent Yuzu to stable the mule and cart. She herded Timothy into the inn. The busy common room filled him with relief. He had started to wonder if the entire world was sick. The healthy faces of hunters and farmers watched the pair with curiosity, not sickness or wariness.

  “Tonight you will lose that fur,” Kit said. She patted Timothy’s bearded cheek with her knuckles.

  “What?”

  She tugged his chin. “I am done with this fur.”

  “So you are jealous,” Timothy said.

  “I am going to ignore the way you insulted my tail.”

  “Not so loud!” Timothy glanced around the room.

  Kit laughed, knuckled his cheek again, and approached the innkeeper at his counter.

  “What can I do for you, lass?” the man asked.

  Kit’s hand dropped a few coins on the counter. The innkeeper watched her hand more than the coins. Timothy knew those hands lied. They looked delicate, but they could crush boulders. Well, not boulders. Mountains perhaps. But those hands looked thinner than he remembered.

  Was she serious about his beard?

  “A room with one bed,” Kit said.

  “Three beds,” Timothy said.

  Kit’s foot smashed his shin. Her smile never faltered. “One bed. We need hot wash water as well.” She must have thought him better to return to her normal level of fond abuse.

  The innkeeper made the coins disappear. His hands were huge, with course black hair across the knuckles. He smiled.

  “Name’s Al Doni. Call me Big Al. Do you know any good stories? It looks like you’ve seen the road a ways.” He bounced the coins in a meaty hand. “A good story for one of these coins back.”

  “Have you heard of a story of a fox and a shepherd?” Kit asked.

  “Don’t think I have.”

  “Kit…” Timothy said.

  Kit giggled and snatched Timothy’s arm. “Well it is a dull one. It looks like my husband is anxious for a warm bed.” Despite her light words, Kit’s glance told Timothy she was still concerned about him.

  Big Al boomed a laugh. His shirt strained against his broad chest and stomach. “I can’t fault him with a chill night like tonight. We don’t get many travelers this way, so welcome. The room is down that hall. Fourth on the left. I will keep these coins until you tell your story, lass.”

  “A black-haired girl will be coming in shortly,” Kit said. “Mind sending her with the wash water?”

  “Sure. Saves one of my girls from doing it.” Big Al cocked his head. “Not many in these parts have servants. From the looks of you, I should expect so
me good stories, eh?”

  “Like you’ve not heard before, I’d guess. Thank you.” Kit led Timothy down the hall. “I think you are well enough for me to play with again. It has been a long while.”

  Timothy shrugged. Memories of Honheim, though fragmented, still hounded his sleep.

  Kit whispered, “You can’t let what happened bother you. You are alive.”

  Timothy had thought he was doing good job of hiding how much Honheim troubled him. But apparently he had not.

  She nestled his arm against her chest as they walked. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Yes, but…” Timothy said.

  “Here it is,” Kit said. She opened the door. A single bed with a dark green coverlet dominated the room, and a small fire crackled in he hearth. She flung Timothy at the bed hard enough that he bounced on the hard mattress. She leaned into him, a hand pressed against his chest.

  “No buts. You forget it, and I will also forget it. It bothers me too, you know. I lived. You lived, and you are with me. That is what matters.” She hesitated. “I…I am sorry for what I did.”

  “No! I—sorry for what?”

  Yuzu entered with a steaming wash basin balanced in her arms. Her tongue stuck out at the corner of her mouth. She stopped at the sight of them. An eyebrow lifted before she shrugged, sloshing a little water on the floor. Yuzu plunked the basin on the room’s table and crossed her arms. “I didn’t join you to be your servant. I was barely through the door before some girl shoved that at me.”

  Timothy tried to sit up. Kit shoved him back and lay on his chest. Her ears pushed her green head scarf, and she smiled at the dark-haired girl. Timothy expected to see sparks. Instead, Yuzu laughed.

  “Could you teach me how to do that?” Yuzu asked.

  “Do what?” Kit kept her head on his chest. Her warmth felt nice.

  “That.” Yuzu waved her hand. “I was so awkward around Allen. He made no end of fun of me for that.” Her voice broke, and her eyes glistened. She shook her head and crouched at the hearth, out of Timothy’s limited vision. “How you handle him, I mean,” Yuzu said.

  “How I handle him?” Kit asked. She pushed away and regarded the hapless shepherd. “I’ve had enough of that beard.”

  Timothy did not like the sound of that. Kit rolled off of him and rummaged in a travel pack she had tossed onto the floor.

  “Ah!” She produced a knife and a whetstone.

  She slid the knife along the whetstone with an amused gaze aimed at Timothy. Yuzu coaxed more heat from the hearth. Timothy made for the door.

  Yuzu moved and cut off his escape. Her wide, delighted smile condemned him. “Big Sis is right. That beard needs to go.”

  Kit paused her sharpening. “Big Sis?”

  “I always wanted a big sister,” Yuzu said. “I think I can learn a lot from you. You are more capable than me.”

  Kit frowned, and the knife whispered against the whetstone faster.

  Shish, shish, shish.

  Timothy scratched his beard. Did fleas like beards? He could shave himself. His hand did not tremble that much. He wondered if he could move the dark-haired girl.

  “Unlike face fur, some things are hard to get rid of, it seems,” Kit glanced at Yuzu.

  Maybe Kit doesn’t like Yuzu because as long as she is here, she has to keep her ears and tail hidden.

  “I will not tolerate fleas.” Kit’s gaze lanced Yuzu. “Or antics.”

  Shish, shish shish shish.

  “So you grew up on the streets, Yuzu?” Timothy asked, his beard beginning to feel resigned to its fate.

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters is losing that beard.” Kit held the knife up in the feeble sunlight that filtered through the window.

  “I can do it myself,” Timothy said. Just then a knee decided to buckle, and he had to put a hand on the wall to keep from falling. Maybe no one noticed, he thought.

  “You are still too weak,” Kit said. “I can’t have you accidentally killing yourself after all the trouble I’ve gone through to get you here. Yuzu, if you are going to be here, make yourself useful.”

  “Food,” Timothy said. “I’m hungry. Do you smell stew? Smells good doesn’t it? Maybe it will even have beef.”

  The women ignored him.

  “I’ve never shaved a man before. Allen liked his beard.” Yuzu smiled and herded Timothy toward the bed. His knees gave out, and she plopped him on the mattress.

  “I can do it myself.”

  Kit brandished the knife. The edge caught the hearth’s light. “I think not.”

  “He is weak still,” Yuzu said.

  Kit glanced from the knife to Yuzu, and she smiled.

  Timothy’s mind spluttered. Just a moment ago they had looked ready to pounce on each other, and now they were smiling? He tried to get up. “I am fine.” But Yuzu’s hands on his shoulders held him firm.

  “His hair is too long,” Yuzu said.

  Kit nodded and looked at the blade. “I remember we had scissors in one of the bags.”

  Kit approached him with the knife in one hand and a bar of soap in the other. “I’ve never shaved a man either.” She grinned.

  Maybe she is my punishment for my childhood pranks.

  A moment later, lathered almost to his eyebrows, Timothy tried to remain completely still. The fire Yuzu managed to stoke failed to drive all the cold away, but his cheeks were hot under the lather. He sat in dignified silence. Yuzu held his shoulders firm and massaged them. As if he was going to stand up with that knife against his throat. Both women wore wide smiles now, and he worked to keep the frown from his face. Kit’s hand held steady as she worked, but the tip of her tongue stuck out between her lips as the knife caressed his throat.

  “Do you know anything about the fox spirits, Yuzu?” Timothy asked while Kit wiped the knife on a rag. He trusted Kit, but to have anyone run a knife over his throat wrenched his nerves. Yes, he did trust Kit. Best not to move too much though.

  Kit tsked.

  “Only what I told you.” Yuzu’s fingers dug into his shoulders. Couldn’t they see he had already given up? How long would he be treated like an infant?

  “Timothy is already possessed by this vixen,” Kit said.

  “I just might let you have him,” Yuzu said. Her voice brimmed with concealed mirth.

  Kit froze. “We will see.” She returned to work.

  Timothy groaned. Kit looked like she wanted to use the knife on Yuzu’s throat. Finally, she wiped the knife on the towel and pointed the blade at him. “You are nothing but trouble.” She laid the knife aside and wiped off the remaining lather on his cheeks with the towel.

  Timothy’s bare cheeks felt cold, but he had escaped without a single nick. He ran a hand over his smooth neck.

  “I should have cut you on purpose. A beauty scar,” Kit said. She turned and rummaged in the pack.

  “Beauty scars.” Yuzu made an approving sound and run a finger along Timothy’s temple. “Not large, but not too small. Allen had one on his temple.”

  Kit caught something between her fingers and flicked it away. She produced a pair of scissors. “If your beard gave me fleas, Timmy…” She shook the scissors at him. “I’ve never cut hair before.”

  “I have.” Yuzu held a hand out.

  Kit grimaced. “I will let you only because I don’t want my shepherd bald.”

  Yuzu had to take them from Kit. “I rather like hair on a cold night. We should leave it a little long.”

  Kit snorted. Timothy could do nothing but endure with dignity.

  “Timmy is cute when he sulks, isn’t he?” Kit said. She mussed his long hair.

  Yuzu’s smile wilted. “Should we really be doing this? After all we’ve seen?”

  Timothy’s mood slipped.

  Kit grimaced. “Do what? Live? We have every reason to laugh. We are alive.” She ruffled Timothy’s hair again. “The best way to remember people is to live and appreciate it. At least that is what Grammie used to say.”


  A grin flashed on Yuzu’s lips before fading and returning wider than before. “You are right, sis! Allen, Mira, Hoss, and Colt would want me to be happy.”

  “Sis?” Kit tasted the word and frowned.

  Timothy shook his head, earning a glare from Kit. “I’m not disagreeing,” he said. “It’s just—”

  “Just nothing.” Kit patted his cheek. “I am glad you made it. You have to repay me for the trouble you’ve caused me.”

  He sighed.

  A half hour later, Timothy escaped to the common room with pleas of needing to eat and take care of nature. Kit offered—offered!—to help him with nature because he was still too weak. At least I managed to distract her. He left the two staring daggers at each other when he mentioned he would sleep on the floor. Kit could be indecent with her jabs, but Yuzu seemed to be trying to one-up her for whatever reason. He doubted Yuzu had any interest in him. She seemed focused on dogging Kit like a sheepdog after a stray lamb. But then, he wasn’t sure.

  The common room broiled. A fierce fire danced in the hearth that dominated the far wall; a stuffed stag head watched with glassy eyes from atop the fireplace. The antlers, Timothy guessed they were called, were wider than the dressed stone hearth. The equally wide innkeeper strained his apron behind a long bar. Leather farmers filled half the room.

  “O-ho! There, my lad. I am surprised to see you so soon. Jer over there had bets going on how much creaking we would hear and when. Why, what happened to your face, lad? No. No. I know what happened. That redhead of yours kept frowning at you. A man needs a proper beard and meat on his bones if you ask me, but women have a different view on the matter.” Big Al stroked his own bushy, paunch-length beard.

  Timothy took a seat at the counter. Jer, Timothy assumed, shot a grimace from his seat at the other end. Apparently the wager hadn’t gone his way.

  “Do you know of a place called Belafonte, uh, Big Al?” Timothy asked.

  Jer groaned, and the innkeeper laughed. “Belafonte? That’s the forest close to the Grove Mountains. Certainly, my boy. Elsie!” Big Al shouted at a plump woman tending to tables. The woman straightened after plunking a mug in front of a red-haired man. The man looked at Timothy. He wore a brown bandana over his scalp, and his coat was a worn mix of brown and green. His hair is as red as Kit’s!