Shepherd Hunted

by Christopher Kincaid

  “Get some warm cider for the lad. And some roast with mash. He needs meat on his bones,” Big Al said.

  Elsie glared, and Big Al scratched his cheek with a finger.

  “Please, honey? I mean, Mistress Doni?”

  Elsie tossed her gray-streaked hair. “You will know manners one day.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Yes, well, wives are stories of their own,” Big Al said. “Now, my story! Oh, it’s all on the house for listening. These louts don’t know a good story if it grabbed them by the ears. And I think you have ears to listen.”

  “That’s because we hear it every week,” a grizzled farmer said.

  “And you never add anything new,” another added.

  “Bah. A good story doesn’t need lies to spice it up,” Big Al said. Elsie reappeared and slapped a plate heaped with slices of roast and gravy placed on top of some type of lumpy white vegetable. “There you go; eat up so you don’t look so sickly. A woman needs a strong man. Two women need a thick man.” Big Al boomed a laugh. Elsie shot him a long-suffering look before returning to the tables.

  “I hope the room is cold enough for ya, lad. Cold is good for getting a woman to bed. Needs to be colder for two.” Big Al winked. His lined face became serious. “You saw that stag over there, lad. When I was young, I used to live by Belafonte. Hunted there often, I did. That stag was from my last trip five years back. My story is from my younger days. It is a pity it is such a long ride. I am too old for two weeks in the saddle now. Burn my bones for true.”

  “You are too old and fat for walking to the dinner table,” the grizzled farmer said. The common room filled with laughter.

  “Could you add something new this time? I don’t care if it is a lie or not,” Jer said.

  “Be quiet, Marc. You are older than me! You haven’t heard this story, Jer. It’s one I never told nobody. Never thought I would either.”

  Jer rolled his eyes. “You always say that.”

  Timothy was surprised to find his plate half empty. Big Al noticed and boomed another laugh. “Mash is good stuff with gravy roast, eh?” He cleared this throat. “No. This story is one I have never said. God burn me for truth. The lad’s redhead—she is a pretty one—has me in the mood for telling.”

  The grizzled farmer, Marc, chuckled, joined by several of the other farmers. “Is he old enough to hear this one?” Marc asked. “The boy doesn’t look to be bedding those two. They be nursing him more than anything else.”

  “Every lad has wild oats to sow, Marc. You did your fair share. This is not one of those stories anyway.” Big Al turned to Timothy. “I was just a lad then. Younger than you. Back in those days, as you know Marc—Jer is even too young—there used to be a village in Belafonte.”

  Marc and several of the older farmers frowned. The younger men looked in askance.

  “The lot of us—Marc, Giffer, and me, among others here—used to live close to Belafonte and hunted the woods. That was before our farming days here. It was a village full of red-haired people. Like our guest there.” Big Al waved a fat hand at the red-haired man. The man lifted his mug. “The girls there,” Big Al made a baritone grunt of approval, “looked like your lass. Only many had something for a man to grab onto. I thought being wrapped with their warm…arms would be the way to die. Fierce ones too. Pity I was too young for much more than looking and dreaming. Don’t frown at me, Marc. I don’t doubt you had a dally, being older than me. There were men there too, of course. Never seen hunters like that in my life. They could bring down that stag over there with just a belt knife. That they could.”

  Timothy stirred a pool of gravy. Kit should be hearing this.

  Big Al noticed the empty plate and grinned. “Elsie! Bring the lad some of that pie of yours before he eats the plate. You remind me of one of my sons, lad. They could all eat a horse and not show it. Anyway, I was hunting a bear on that day. A big, black bastard with a head the size of my belly.” He smacked his barrel stomach for emphasis. “It was far too big for a lad like me at the time, but I was young and dumb. I had a boar spear and my bow. Not enough to hunt what I was hunting. I was stalking his trail when I heard screams. They were nothing like I have ever heard. Screams of pain, high and sharp. No animal I’ve ever known made noises like that.”

  “You really shouldn’t be telling this story,” Marc said. The room grew quiet; not even a mug thumped a table. Timothy swallowed. I never would have guessed I would meet someone from Kit’s town. He glanced at the adjoining hall. Was Kit listening?

  “It is past time I told this story. People need to know it. You remember those people too. Kind and good, if different.”

  Marc pursed his lips and gazed into his mug. Elsie plopped a plate with a still-steaming wedge of pie in front of him. Timothy smiled at her. The pie smelled wonderfully of apples.

  Her streaks of gray hair contrasted oddly with her smooth round face. She shot a look of concern—and fondness?—at the innkeeper. She scooped up the gravy-smeared plate and scurried off. Jer watched the innkeeper. His mug sat forgotten.

  Big Al continued. “I followed the sounds deep into the forest. The evergreen trees made it as dark as night, even at midday. The screams grew louder. I could make out sounds like this.” He picked up a fork and a knife. They clanged together in his meaty hands. “Only louder. I could feel the fire at the edge of the village. People were yelling something fierce. I almost rushed out to help them put out the flames. You know how our little village went up years back. Only other sounds stopped me. Steel. I saw men wearing armor and white cloaks—black-robed priests among them. Priests with swords of all things! People ran everywhere. The priests and the soldiers were spitting people like I would a boar.”

  “With a fork?” Marc asked. A few chuckles broke the silence.

  “Hush. This is serious, and you know it,” Big Al said. “Those priests had less remorse and even less reason to it. I could only stand there and watch as a priest skewered one of the girls I was eyeing. She was my age too.”

  “If they were such good hunters, why didn’t they fight back? Why were priests there in the first place?” Jer asked.

  “You speak of Riley, don’t you, Al? She was a good lass,” Marc said. “I stole a kiss from her once. Those ears of hers…”

  Timothy’s slice of apple pie was good. Was. How is Kit going to react to this? Wait. Did he say ears?

  “They did, Jer. Or they tried. Yeah, Riley was her name. Wait, you stole a kiss?” Big Al asked.

  Marc’s grin showed missing teeth. “I am older than you, Al. You would like that story.”

  “Lucky bastard. You need to tell me that one,” Big Al said. “They did try, Jer. Urien was one of the hunters; he taught me how not to stick myself with a spear. I saw him and a knot of hunters going hard at the soldiers. But they were hunters without armor against trained soldiers. A trained man is different from hunting an animal. Well, Urien and his men blooded them something fierce before they went down finally. I tell it true. I was scared. It was a wonder I didn’t fill my pants. I am man enough to say that too.” Big Al cast a challenging look across the common room. Not a man said anything.

  Big Al stroked his beard. “I managed to slip away. I couldn’t save even a one. I hope God burns me forever for that. Not even one lass, lad, or grandmother. It is past time we be telling this story, Marc. Seeing two reds after all these years tells me that.” The grizzled farmer looked Big Al in the eye and nodded once. Big Al returned the nod. “Our entire village was told to move by those priests a few days later—forced to move to tell the truth of it. Now only ghosts haunt Belafonte. One day I will return and confess my sins to those poor souls. I will.”

  “I will too, Al. I miss Riley. Don’t be telling Ira that now,” Marc said.

  The common room was quiet except for a few coughs. Timothy felt numb. To read about an event was one matter. Hearing it from someone made it feel real.

  Big Al groaned. “Ah, well. Good way to kill the mood. A common room should
be a place to relax, not to be worried. Pretty women always make me eat my beard, even when they are not around.” Big Al grinned at Timothy and leaned close. “Speaking of women, I once had—”

  “It’s getting late. We will need to be leaving early tomorrow.” Timothy said.

  Big Al pulled back and nodded. “I understand, my boy. You can’t be keeping your red wife waiting—lucky lad! Don’t try to deny it. I could see right off she is your wife. The dark-haired girl is just icing for ya. A lucky man to have a wife willing to play a little.” Big Al’s hearty laugh pulled a few from the other men in the room. “Redheads have fire between their legs. A man with a wife like that needs more meat on his bones.” He slapped Timothy’s shoulder.

  “That hasn’t helped you with Elsie,” Marc said.

  Timothy left the common room with laughter blooming behind him. The innkeeper’s story had made his head swim. He could see why Belafonte was a place to avoid. Not because of bears and stags. The Church could label anyone who went near a burned fox village as a demon or heretic, even if they didn’t know about it. Timothy frowned. Did Al know about foxes? He had a hard time believing an entire village would hide their ears and tails. But then, how else could they have avoided the Inquisition for however long they did? Big Al’s story didn’t seem to be a lie.

  Timothy wondered how Kit would take the story. His stomach felt heavy with more than food. As he approached the room, Kit’s muffled voice slipped from the wooden door. He took a deep breath and swung open the door.

  Yuzu and Kit were wrestling on the rumpled bed. Each had a hand in the other’s hair. Fury painted Kit’s face. Yuzu laughed.

  “I need to wash. Get out!” Kit tugged at the dark locks as if she wanted to haul Yuzu out of the room.

  “Why? We could wash together. Like sisters!”

  “You are no sister. Timothy! Tell this…” Timothy lost the word when Yuzu shoved a pillow into Kit’s face, “to get out so I can wash!”

  “Oh, so he can stay?” Yuzu slipped out of Kit’s grip and bounded across the floor. Her hair stuck out at all angles.

  Kit untangled herself from the coverlets. Her tangled hair ruined her effort to look dignified, and her head scarf threatened to show her ears. A flick of red and white fluttered, barely hidden under the rumpled skirts. Yuzu didn’t show any signs of noticing Kit’s tail.

  “He has seen me many times. Only he can see me,” Kit said.

  “Belafonte is gone. Big Al…he saw what happened,” Timothy said. He slumped onto the bed. “The innkeeper told me a story from when he was younger. It seems many of the farmers around here used to live around the woods.”

  Kit shrugged. “I know.”

  “Kit—” Timothy stopped what he was going to say. “What? You know?”

  Kit settled beside him. She ran her fingers through her hair to tease some of the snarls. “I heard some of it when she,” Kit stabbed a finger at Yuzu, “wasn’t pestering me. I also remember what happened. I…I think I have always remembered, but I didn’t want to admit it.”

  Timothy wanted to ask, but the look on her face stopped him. She laid a hand over Timothy’s. “Someday I will tell you. Not now.”

  “So does this mean we are not going?” Yuzu asked.

  “We are still going. “ Kit’s voice fell into a whisper meant for only Timothy. “I have to see for myself. There is nowhere else to go anyway.”

  Despite himself, Timothy yawned.

  “I agree,” Kit said. “It is past time for sleep.” Her smile forced Timothy to lean away. “It is going to be a cold night.”

  “The bed isn’t too small,” Yuzu said.

  “You are going to sleep here.” Kit pointed to the floorboards.

  Yuzu folded her arms under her breasts. Her lips pressed into a line. “Sisters share.”

  “I am not your sister.”

  “Really,” Timothy said. “I will sleep on the floor, and you two can take the bed.”

  “No!” They both said.

  Kit leaned in and licked Timothy’s cheek. Licked his cheek! “He has already enjoyed a meal. Roast and gravy, I am guessing. I doubt he is hungry for both of us.” She smiled fangs at Yuzu.

  “He is still bony. He needs as many meals as he can handle,” Yuzu said.

  Timothy swallowed. Yuzu had missed what Kit had meant. Then again, red splashed her cheeks. Timothy jumped to his feet and made for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Kit snatched his hand.

  “I am going back to talk with Big Al.”

  “You are not going anywhere, shepherd.”

  “Yes.” Yuzu snatched his other hand. “You need to sleep; otherwise you will get sick again.” She smiled at Kit.

  “You won’t be sleeping near him.” Kit tugged his arm.

  “You really are a selfish older sister.” Yuzu said.

  Kit pushed Timothy down. “You won’t be sleeping in those boots or those clothes.”

  Timothy found himself bootless under the coverlet a few moments later.

  Kit ruffled his short hair. “You are pretty when you sulk,” she said.

  He suppressed a sigh and turned his back to her. She pressed her own against him. Kit still wore her skirts and lay over the coverlet. Yuzu lay on the other side of Kit, wrapped in a cloak.

  “You should change, Sister. What happened to washing up?” Yuzu asked.

  “If I am your elder sister, you had best show me respect,” Kit said. Of course she wouldn’t change with Yuzu around. Timothy could feel Kit’s tail push against his legs through her skirt. At least if Kit was on top of the coverlet he didn’t have to worry about fleas. He hoped so anyway.

  He was almost asleep when Kit shifted. Her breath heated his ear. “You did well to tell me. It must have been hard considering the way I behaved before. I am not upset with you.”

  “I was afraid you would be upset,” he whispered.

  “Always thinking of others.” She brushed her fingertips down his cheek. “Much better without the fur.”

  “Just so you don’t give me your fleas.”

  She flicked his cheek. “If I don’t get to comb my tail soon, fleas will be the least of your worries. She needs to go away.”

  “You are her sister.”

  “Don’t start that too. I…I just want to travel with you. Only you.”

  Timothy was quiet for a time. He wanted to travel with her too. Somehow she had wormed her way into his mind. It felt like he had known her for longer than these last few months. It felt like a lifetime since he had found her among his sheep.

  “I don’t want this journey to end,” Kit whispered.

  “What will you do when we get there?”

  A few moments passed before her breath kissed his ear. “I don’t know. I don’t even know why I want to go anymore. There is nothing there for me but hurt. I just want to be at peace. I don’t want to be hunted anymore.”

  Timothy pulled a hand from the coverlet. The air was cold, as was her hand. “I have a little dream. It is a silly one, really.”

  “What is it?”

  “I dream of owning a library. I would help people learn and write my own books.”

  “No shepherding?” Kit asked.

  “Like I said, a silly dream.”

  Yuzu began snoring. The girl could rival an army of lumberjacks in an ironwood forest.

  “No. It is a good dream. You are entirely too helpful, you know. You should care about yourself a little more,” Kit said.

  “How can I when a certain fox doesn’t care enough for herself?”

  Kit chuckled. Yuzu sounded like she was tearing the sheets.

  “You are part of the dream now too.” Timothy said.

  “Now that is a silly dream. You better sleep.” She patted his cheek and turned away. He wished she would stay where she was, but she did squirm until she pressed against the whole of his back.

  Timothy’s last thought was walking through a garden with Kit’s hand in his own.

  Chapter 10
/>
  Sunlight needled Timothy awake. He stretched, feeling better than he had in a long time.

  “Good morning.” Kit watched from the pillow, her clothes rumpled. She shared his yawn.

  “You are drooling,” Timothy said.

  “Am not.” Kit wiped the back of her hand over her chin anyway. Her hair tangled around her face.

  “Yuzu is gone,” Timothy said.

  “I hadn’t noticed. Just as I didn’t notice her elbows all night,” Kit said. “I might be able to finally comb my tail in peace.” She slid from the bed and fiddled with her skirt.

  Timothy threw back the coverlet and reached for his boots. “She is probably eating breakfast.” His stomach growled. He stomped toward the door to settle his feet. “Do you want anything?”

  She tossed the skirt onto the bed and stretched her tail. “Mmm. Been too long. Keep her busy for about an hour. That is all I want.”

  Timothy blinked. “You are passing up food? Are you feeling all right?”

  “Look at it!” She waggled her tail. “My beautiful fur is still covered in ash and dirt.” She pulled something from her tail and flicked it into the air. “I blame her. If she didn’t come along, my fur wouldn’t be in such a terrible state!”

  “Well, just don’t go eating your fleas.”

  Kit grimaced.

  He closed the door behind him with a smile tugging his lips. In the common room, Marc sat in the same chair as last night. Big Al wasn’t in his place behind the counter, but Elsie scurried about, cleaning tables and chairs. The common room was cooler than last night. Frost glazed the paned glass windows.

  “Honheim took sick, and the lord burnt the whole town,” a bearded man said, leaning close to Marc.

  “I doubt that, Luke.” Marc took a swig from his mug. Foam clung to his mustache.

  “Tel ain’t a liar.” Luke stroked his beard.

  “Never said he was. I doubt the lord did the burning. Jut has the sickness too. Ira has a sister there.” Marc clunked the mug onto the table.

  “I’m sorry, Marc.”

  “Oh, Allie is alive. She is too stubborn to die. Just like my wife. Best get to home. Ira will have my hide if she finds out we were here.” Marc stood.