by Tara West
Alec dropped his shoulders, a wry grin crossing his face. “I don’t know.”
“I wish you’d stop,” Markus growled, before turning his back on his brother and tossing the rabbit carcasses on the skinning table. Pulling the boning knife out of his belt, he grabbed a rabbit and pierced the animal just below the belly.
“Why?” Alec hissed at his back. “So he can beat you?”
“Well, don’t provoke him then.” Markus bit his lip before
he said too much, before he admitted his fears. He sliced the blade up to the rabbit's neck and the blood from the exposed flesh warmed his shaking hand.
Taking a deep breath, Markus forced himself to relax, putting all of his effort into skinning the rabbits and trying to block out the memory of his father's face and the sound of his voice. For a brief moment, he savored the stagnant air, smelling of blood from all of the animals he had slaughtered on the weathered, red-stained skinning table. The pungent odor of the freshly killed rabbit carcasses blended with the old blood. To some the smell would’ve been overpowering, but to Markus, the stench brought an unexplained sense of peace.
“If he’d acknowledge me as his son, and treat me as a human, then mayhap I wouldn’t.”
Markus sighed. His brother's words refused to allow him to push the image of Father from his mind. Besides, Alec was right. Why did Father hate him so? It was not Alec’s fault that he’d been born with an infirmity and Father's daily beatings did nothing to improve his condition.
But at least Alec had the one elixir that neither Markus nor Father could lay claim t —Mother's gentle touch, her soft, soothing voice and tender smile.
“It is no special honor.” His throat tightened with emotion. “At least you have our mother’s love.”
Markus ripped open the rabbit's flesh at each extremity with brutal strokes, slicing his way toward the belly before hacking off each foot. After cutting off the tail, he pulled the pelt of the rabbit up over its neck.
Father had repeatedly told him it wasn't mannish to savor the soft caresses of a woman, but how he longed for Mother to brush her fingers across his cheek, to hold him and stroke his hair as she did with Alec. But Markus’s hair was as black as the night sky and coarse, like straw, unlike the soft, pale wisps of his brother's. And he was far too large to fit in the cradle of their mother’s arms, while Alec could still fold his slender frame into her lap without crushing her.
Of course, Mother only showed affection to Alec when Father was in the barn, drowning himself in brew. Alec would come into the hut with a fresh bruise, his eyes pooled with moisture and Mother would open her arms to him. Markus had no choice but to turn away, an aching in his heart, for he never knew that kind of love from his mother.
“She loves you too, brother,” said Alec, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. “Father forbids her from showing it, is all.”
Markus exhaled a long breath, choking back the rising tide of anger. “That, I cannot accept.”
“The Great Hunter cannot be fierce if he is coddled.” Alec mimicked their father's stentorian tone.
In one swift stroke, Markus chopped off the head of the rabbit. It rolled down the gentle slope of the table and landed in a bucket. Blood pooled from the empty cavity.
“I wish I never had such skill. I wish I was more like you.” Tossing the blade aside, Markus turned toward Alec.
Eyes narrowing, Alec's gaze intensified. “Do you wish for every breath to be a struggle? To be weak and infirm, and hardly a man even at nine and ten winters!”
“You are the strongest man I know, Alec. It takes strength and courage to stand up to our father. And your kindness to me...” His voice quavered as he dropped his gaze. “I do not understand.”
“You are my brother.” Alec gripped Markus by both shoulders, looking up into his face with a pained expression. “What is there to understand?”
Markus shrugged and swallowed the lump in his throat that seemed to originate from a hollow pit in his belly. “He beats you, even for my mistakes. A lesser man would despise me.”
“You have good in you, despite our father’s best efforts to make you a monster.”
“I do not stand up to him as you do. I do not defend you as I ought.”
“You might be as strong as an ox, but you are a lad still. Your time will come, brother.” Alec's voice cracked before he coughed into his hand for several interminable seconds. Finally, Alec righted his posture and looked at Markus with a glazed-over expression. “On the night you were born, I made a promise to the Goddess that I would teach you compassion. A promise I will give my last dying breath to uphold. This is why I scold you when you kill more than you can eat. A kind hunter respects those animals he kills and does not take their lives unnecessarily.”
Markus turned back to his kill. Picking up the knife, he cut through the meat of the rabbit before ripping open the ribcage with the tip of his blade. “Aye, brother, but when I see an easy target, I cannot stop the blood that pumps through my veins, driving me to kill the beast. It is a feeling I cannot explain.”
With a hand on Markus’s back, Alec breathed at barely a whisper. “You must not surrender to your impulses.”
Repressing the urge to laugh at his brother’s request, Markus pulled down the animal's innards before ripping them free of its body. A smile crossed his face as the gutting was finally finished. All that was left were meat and bones for the stew.
“I cannot help it.” He shrugged before tossing the organs in the bucket.
Alec stood speechless behind him, leaving nothing between them but the wheezy sound of his strained breathing and the odor of fresh blood.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Killing comes too easily to you, Markus. It would seem your gift is more of a curse.”
Chapter Two
Markus stalked his prey with little effort. Their tracks had been fresh when he'd come upon them in the late hours of the morn. He'd swiftly circled them downwind, just below the sloped field of overgrown grass in which they'd been grazing. Mountain goats, two large billies and several ewes. They'd make a fine addition to the festival tonight. The people would be in awe when he hauled their carcasses into town on his father's cart. Dianna would also be there, helping the other women with the preparations for the event.
It was a festival in honor of him, The Mighty Hunter, for saving the town from starvation. Tonight there would be dancing, and Dianna wouldn't dare refuse the guest of honor when he sought her for a partner. She was such a beauty – hair pale and smooth, just like his mother's, hung nearly to her waist. Although she usually wore it tucked into a woolen cap, he'd seen its length once, cascading down her back like soft falling snow.
He wondered if she'd wear her hair down tonight, and how she'd feel in his arms when they danced. If only she’d look up at him with something other than scorn reflecting in her wide, emerald eyes. He'd give anything for a glimpse of her smile.
Eyes locked on his target, Markus silently drew back his bow. The muted thwack of the string releasing was the only warning the large billy goat received before the arrow struck the center of his lungs. By then, another arrow had been fired, and another. Both billy goats and a large ewe were down, and the rest began to scatter in panic, but a newborn lamb had been trampled in the confusion. He lay on his side, crying out for his mother. Markus knew she'd return, and when she did he would shoot both mother and lamb.
His chest swelled with pride; four large goats and a succulent little lamb for dinner. He would be sure to save the lamb for himself and Alec. Mayhap if Dianna agreed to sit with him, he'd share the tender meat with her, too.
PERCHED ON THE ORNATE throne the townspeople had carved for him in the shape of a snow bear, Markus watched the joyous dancers with a scowl. He should have been honored, but instead he stewed in his misery. Though many mothers offered their daughters as partners, he was in no mood to dance.
Dianna had refused him.
Protesting that she could not leave her brother wi
thout a partner, she danced with the boy for the first three songs. All the while the boy glared at him over Dianna's shoulder. Markus thought he should teach the pup a thing or two about manners.
And where was Alec? His brother's chest had felt especially heavy today, so he stayed behind while Mother prepared him a special brew. But they both should have been here by now. Unless Father...
Markus tried to purge the image of Father beating Alec from his mind. It would be in Father's nature to beat Alec until he was too sick to attend the festival because he was so ashamed of having his infirmity paraded about the village.
Markus silently cursed himself for going ahead of his family, but Father had insisted that The Mighty Hunter couldn’t be late to his own celebration. Markus tried to shake off such dark thoughts by once again focusing on the dancers.
On her.
Dianna had chosen the trews of a man over the traditional dress. And although the women whispered behind her back, and many men gawked like filthy dogs, she paid them no heed. He'd crossed her on the hunt once when she was wearing those same tight, doeskin breeches. Did she really imagine herself to be a mighty huntress? Had she dressed as one to mock him at his celebration?
His gaze shifted to her hair. She'd worn it down in one long, pale braid. The tip of the wispy tendrils swayed against her rounded bottom as she moved to the music.
Markus shifted uncomfortably in his seat as a strange feeling stirred in the pit of his belly at the thought of holding her in his arms. He tried to focus on something else, averting his gaze to anything but her.
Although the hall was dark, the muted flames of candles draped from overhanging branches cast a soft, shadowed light across the dance floor. As tradition dictated, most of the men had shaved their beards, signifying the end of winter, and their hair was tied behind their necks with leather bands. The women clutched the sides of their long woolen dresses, lifting the hems just high enough to reveal brightly colored, wooden shoes.
As the dancers stomped on the planks of the floor, sound waves reverberated through Markus’s entire body. But, while the room shook, it did not crumble, though the floor was suspended several feet off the ground, nestled inside the mighty branches of the Lyme tree.
Markus wondered briefly if their dancing would trigger an avalanche. But his village of Adolan was situated far enough beneath the snowcapped peak of Ice Mountain that they need not fear a slide. This was why some villagers from Kicelin, which sat perilously near the base of the mountain, had journeyed here tonight. They would not be able to dance again for many days to come.
From the corner of his eye, Markus saw his family enter. Rowlen was first, glancing about the room before spotting a group of men in the rear, already drinking heavily from their cups. Father rushed upon them without a second glance at his family, hollering and hooting in their midst while they passed him a large tankard of ale.
Mother followed silently into the room, her eyes downcast. She pulled Alec behind her to sit quietly in a dark corner at the end of a long table. Alec's entire frame seemed to turn inward like the branches of a pine tree, bending under the weight of heavy snow.
A hollow ache settled in the pit of Markus’s stomach, slicing its way up to his chest. Alec had not pulled down the hood of his cloak.
What had Father done now?
Pushing himself off his throne, Markus made his way down the wooden dais and toward his family. Alec was slumped over in his chair while Mother gently stroked his back. His brother was injured. Mother always coddled him after Father's abuse. The dread that had struck Markus’s chest began to spread through his body, icing over his limbs. What new bruise would he find when he gazed into his brother's pale face?
His mother caught his eye first; her pain-stricken gaze bore into him. The eyes of her once beautiful face were sunk low, as if receding into the hollows of her skull. Even though he provided plenty of meat for the family, she barely ate, and the bones of her frail body nearly poked through her skin.
Her stony gaze held his for a long moment, longer than he'd ever held her attention. An uncomfortable ache crept into Markus’s heart. While he had always wished for his mother's tenderness, he did not like the weight of her stare now. Narrowing her eyes, she finally turned away. At that moment, Markus felt his mother's hatred in his bones.
But why?
What had he done to her, other than try to win her affection? To make her notice him, love him. Swallowing the rising tide in his throat, he fought the burning ache of tears in the corners of his eyes. He was a man, a mighty hunter—he would not cry.
Walking over to Alec, he placed a gentle hand on his brother’s feeble shoulder and bent down to his hooded face. “Let me see, Alec.”
His brother dropped his head. “Not now, Markus.”
He tried to squeeze all emotion out of his voice. “Would you not sit with me? I am lonely up there on my throne.”
Alec sunk lower in the seat. “I prefer my spot down here with Mother.”
Biting back a curse, Markus turned away from his family, the familiar anger welling up inside his chest. He was not the cause of his father's cruelty, so why were they punishing him? Had they come to his celebration only to sulk and glare? What were they expecting him to do? He might be skilled with a bow, but he was no match for Rowlen.
Still, he could not purge the guilt that seemed to eat at his soul. If anyone had a chance against Father, he was bigger than Alec by far. But this was Markus’s celebration. He could do nothing now.
Stalking through the crowded room, Markus grabbed his cloak off a hanging branch and walked out into the crisp evening air. He needed to be outdoors, the only place where he felt truly at peace. With heavy steps, he made his way down the long plank until the brittle, dry grass crunched beneath his boots. Looking heavenward, he marveled at the brilliance of the sunset. Many colors painted the sky, the hues ranging from orange to deep crimson, in sharp contrast to the dark ache in his heart.
After several strides across a short field, he found himself beneath another lyme tree, which the villagers called the sapling, for she was small compared to the massive lyme tree where they held their festivals. But, to Markus, the sapling was beautiful, standing at least ten men tall, with a canopy of branches that could shelter an entire village.
The eve was still young, and no amorous couples had found their way beneath the tree's secluded darkness. Of that he was glad, for all he really wanted was to be alone. Exhaling a sigh of frustration, he slumped against the wall of the great trunk, hanging his head between his knees.
Thwack!
Markus’s head jerked at the instant, dizzying pain in his right ear. Instinctively, he placed a hand to his head and felt the warmth of blood trickling just below his lobe. He was too dazed to dodge the second attack as something pelted him on the top of the head. Then he ducked as a third object banged off the side of the tree.
Jumping to unsteady feet, Markus drew his boning knife and turned to his assailant.
The boy, Dianna's brother, Desryn, stood before him, clutching a fist-full of rocks. A grimy face and a tangled mop of muddy-hued locks, he was less than half of Markus’s size and could be no more than ten winters old.
Desryn's mangy, black hound growled at Markus from between the boy's legs. With stubby legs, a long snout and a limp, bushy tail, the mutt looked more like an over-sized rodent.
“She does not want you, so let her be!” Desryn squealed before hurling another rock.
“You speak nonsense, you little imp,” Markus growled, “and when I get hold of you I shall teach you a lesson!”
Desryn’s little dog stood beside his master and barked with all the tenacity of a rabid fox.
“Oooohhh, The Mighty Hunter!” the boy taunted. “I'm quivering in my boots!” His eyes narrowed before he pelted yet another stone at Markus.
This time, Markus was ready and easily deflected the object with his knife. “Do you think mere rocks can best me?”
“I see the way you
stare at her,” Desryn hissed. “You are a filthy dog, just like your father!”
Markus’s limbs froze, and for a second he thought his heart stopped beating. Rage infused his skull to the point of bursting. He was not like his father. He would never be like his father. With one swift movement, he unleashed the blade, his aim striking true. The boy's scream pierced the night sky like the whelp of an injured rabbit.
Turning his back, Markus walked across the field, leaving Desryn with his frayed locks pinned to an overhanging lyme branch. The only way of releasing him would be to cut through his tangled web of hair.
“Good,” Markus mused to himself. “Now his sister will have to groom him instead of wasting her time on the hunt.”
He had only taken a few strides when Dianna came bounding toward him, her long, pale hair falling undone and whipping in the breeze. She was so beautiful, just like drawings he'd seen of the Sky Goddess, Madhea, flying through the clouds with soft flurries of snow trailing in her wake.
With wide eyes, Dianna looked up at him before peering behind his shoulder at her pinned brother. She gasped, both hands flying to her mouth.
At that moment, Markus’s heart sank to his stomach.
“What have you done!” she cried.
Markus didn't deflect the small fist that crashed into his chest. But, gasping at the pain that seared through his lungs, he instantly regretted his decision. Her strike was powerful, even for a girl.
Dianna quickly skirted around him and rushed to her brother's side, pulling the blade free. “Are you hurt, Des?”
The boy said nothing, but only fell into her arms in a heap of sobs.
Eyes colder than a winter ice storm turned upon Markus. “Haven't you killed enough this day?” Dianna’s voice broke into a shrill scream. “Now you must prey upon defenseless children?!”
Although he'd been sorely tested this night, nothing could bring him lower than the look of hatred in Dianna's eyes.
