“Feeling squeamish?” she asked, dangling the rabbit over him.
He could almost feel its fur against his cheek and resisted the urge to swat it away. Though he was a bit unnerved by the dead thing hovering near his face, he would never admit it. “No, I am merely annoyed by your smell. I had hoped that you would bathe before returning. Mint leaves help remove the stink, you know.”
Her eyes narrowed slowly, but she did not stop her attack. “Isn’t there some sort of prayer you Vaettir say over dead things?”
“I would be happy to teach you our prayers. Some piety would benefit you.”
Paedrin saw Annon stifling a chuckle. Wisely, he kept poking the fire with a stick.
“I did make sure it was dead before I brought it,” she said, lifting the rabbit slightly. “I wrung its neck, of course. I did not want you to have to see that.”
“It does not shock me at all that you would do that with those hands.”
She turned toward the fire, but the pelt brushed against his cheek. Again, he nearly jumped away and swatted it, but he knew she was looking for that reaction. He kept himself perfectly still. And he watched, moment to moment, as she gutted the beast, impaled it on a spit, and then cooked it over the fire. She glanced at him several times, looking for a reaction. He smiled at her and ate some day-old rice with his fingers.
Later that night, as Annon and Hettie slept, Paedrin lay awake, staring at the flickering coals of the fire. He was restless, anxious for the dawn to come. He was sick to his stomach at what he had seen Hettie do to the rabbit. It violated every ethic of the Bhikhu order. Part of him wanted to scream at her, but he would never give in to her taunts.
He stared at her form, the crumpled blanket covering her shoulder. Dark hair fanned over the cloak, which she had stuffed beneath her head as a pillow. Her back was to him, deliberately, and he watched the rise and fall of her breathing. Annon faced him, his eyes closed, his expression pained by his dreams. Paedrin stared at him for a moment, realizing how young they all were. A Druidecht, a Romani, and a Bhikhu on a journey to Havenrook to seek Erasmus. Something was impossibly wrong. There were details that Annon had offered which concerned him. There was much that concerned him.
He would not forget the sly look in Hettie’s eyes as she mutilated the rabbit in front of him—and that he did not flinch while she did it. It was a look that said she was impressed by him. He was not sure if he even cared anymore.
“When the kingdoms banded together to create Kenatos, they minted new coins and forged common laws that all could agree to abide. While Kenatos has not authority over any other kingdom, its laws are inviolate within the city itself and the Bhikhu mete out the Arch-Rike’s justice. For, you see, in the absence of justice, what is sovereignty but organized robbery?”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Waken, Druidecht! The Fear Liath comes!
It was just before midnight, and Annon awoke to whispers in his mind, his heart surging with terror. He blinked awake rapidly, sitting up, and listened to the chittering voices in his mind. A spirit of great power and danger stalked the woods, sending panic rippling through the denizens of Mirrowen. The tiny spirits whispered its name—the Fear Liath. It typically hunted high in the mountain passes of Alkire, but it had sensed intruders in its lair and was hunting them.
Sweat gathered on Annon’s brow as he waited, fearfully, for the warning to flee. The spirits could not describe it, but their kind were all helpless against its magic.
Paedrin was awake, staring at the embers of the fire. “Bad dream?” Paedrin asked, looking at his expression.
“We are in danger,” Annon said, tossing aside his blanket. He rushed to Hettie to shake her shoulder, but his voice had already roused her. As she rolled to her feet, he saw the dagger in her hand.
“What danger?” Paedrin asked, looking around. “An elk passed near the camp not long ago, but other than that…”
“Hush!” Annon warned, trying to understand the spirits swarming around him. Mist began roiling through the trees. The spirits warned that the Fear Liath traveled in the mist.
Hettie glanced around the camp. She sheathed the dagger and drew her bow, fitting an arrow to the string. Paedrin looked at them both, perplexed.
It draws nearer!
Annon swallowed. He had never heard of a Fear Liath before, but its presence certainly terrified the lesser spirits in the mountains. He looked at Hettie and raised his hands, nodding to her. She saw the gesture, understood the meaning, and set down the bow.
Paedrin rose from the log and stood silently, eyes shut.