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Ravan sat cross-legged on his bed in the attic, his hair disheveled from the incident downstairs. He frowned and picked at the loose threads on the hem of his sleeve, recalling the evening’s awful events. Outside, snow started to softly fall as though to erase how horribly the evening had turned.
As is the human way, he replayed repeatedly in his mind what happened, imagining the revenge he would enact upon Steele for the liberty the man had intended to take with him. It disgusted him thoroughly.
As the threads of his sleeve unraveled, so did his resolve, and his melancholy deepened. He’d grown mistrustful about the motives of monsieur LaFoote, and it devastated Ravan to think that the Fat Wife might also be a part of it. Who is Duval, and what does this unknown person care about me? What does it have to do with the Innkeeper? Why did they lie to me? He was indignant and angry, and down in the deepest recesses of his being…he was afraid.
The boy absently rubbed the red scratch marks that Pierre left on his arm and reached down to finger the weight of Pig-Killer in his boot, comforted by its presence. It would seem this blade has specific purposes and is suitably named. He sneered at the thought.
He recalled the horrible wound across Pierre’s face. What a spectacle it had been! The fat nose was practically detached, flopping down over the screaming mouth, blood streaming down the folds in his jowls. It had glistened with blubber as it ran off, oozing into the red, the oiliness of it greasing the chin and chest of the detestable man. Dark scarlet and vulgar, it was not at all like the blood of hunting—not bright, not pure. It did not flow as it did from creatures that were truly alive.
Recalling again Pierre’s awful intentions, his stomach turned. Ravan was no stranger to the notion of rape. More than a few of the children at the orphanage had been sexual victims of their homelessness before finally coming to a safe haven. Those particular orphans carried with them a wound which would never heal—an eternal mistrust. These were invisible scars, painful and ugly nevertheless. Ravan would rather die, he thought to himself.
As his rage seethed, he held silent satisfaction for the hideous wound the man would forever wear, a badge of cowardice, and he had given Pierre the mark. Now people would point and whisper when they saw him, and this gratified Ravan a great deal.
Bellowing erupted from the kitchen below, probably as the Fat Wife sutured Pierre’s face back together. It enraged Ravan that she should have to touch the pig-man. His eyes narrowed, and a new thought occurred to him; he had an enemy for life. This was a first for him, and it tasted foreign. He allowed the awareness of it to settle somewhere into his subconscious—a new gift in his growing repertoire of slanted experiences.
Next time, he would not wound Pierre—he would kill him. Then, he would leave the carcass for the creatures of the forest to finish off. His mind twisted as he figured this scenario into his future. Next time, it would not be Steele’s nose he would sever! Ravan sneered, his lips parting, and quietly, very insidiously, hatred planted its first seed in his belly.
He lightly tossed Pig-Killer back and forth, one hand to the other, familiarizing himself even more with the weight and balance of the elegant weapon. Scowling at the quiet rapping at his door, he sheathed the blade, dropping it smoothly into his boot. Sliding from the bed, for he wished to be standing when he confronted the Innkeeper, he tossed about in his head what he’d already rehearsed—what he intended to say.
It was not the Innkeeper, however, who spoke softly from the other side of the door. Ravan unbolted the lock and was greeted by the Fat Wife. Her face was drawn, her eyes damp, and she promptly glanced away. Pushing her bulk into the room, she turned to re-latch the lock.
Ravan softened immediately. She seemed distressed, and he briefly looked her over to make certain the monster, Pierre, had not hurt her. For that, he would kill him tonight! As she turned back to him, drying her hands on her apron, it occurred to Ravan that she’d probably only just moments ago washed the blood of Pierre from them.
“Get your things together; you’re leaving.” Her voice trembled, and she moved quickly to his night chest, carrying a flour sack.
“Why?” Ravan moved between her and the chest.
“Because if you stay, you will belong to Duval. You have to leave before he comes for you.” She said it as though Ravan should have known this all along. “He wasn’t going to come for you just yet, didn’t think you were ready, but word has been sent to him.” She frowned. “He is in town already, close by.”
He reached out, grasped the flour sack, and forced her to face him. She paused, her round eyes dreadfully sad and pale.
The branches from a black alder tree scratched on the windowpane, a lonely and foreboding sound that seemed to say, You must listen to her—you must leave. The wind moaned in agreement. A light snow whipped past the window as the evening light began to fade.
Taking her hand, he pulled her around. “You have been kind to me, a friend. I’m going nowhere.” He argued his point, grasping at purpose. “I work hard. I provide more than I take. I don’t know who this Duval is, but he doesn’t frighten me. I want to stay!” He tried to produce a smile, secretly knowing she loved when he smiled, but the edge of his lip quivered sadly, and he failed miserably.
“You can’t, child.” She pulled her hand from his and took him by the shoulders, shaking him gently. “Ravan, you don’t understand. Duval isn’t a man you can fight. He buys what he wants, and he wants boys—men, like you.”
Ravan peered fierce and unyielding into her eyes. Releasing his shoulders and with a heavy sigh, she sat down on the bed, flopping her hands onto her lap. The bed creaked beneath her weight, and Ravan eased down next to her, more comfortable sitting by her than standing over her.
“I don’t want to go. I’m happy here, as happy as I think I can be.” He defended his position. “Besides, there are other boys. I would die before I would let him touch me like that!”
“Ravan, it’s not like that. Duval is a man who…” She frowned. “He doesn’t want you for…” Struggling with a proper explanation, she finally cut straight to the matter at hand. “He enlists forces—men—into a mercenary army that he owns and trains.” She gazed toward the window as she spoke. “He will take you and break you. He’ll make what he wants of you—a killer. You will become a tool for whatever his needs are, and his needs are plenty.” She turned to face him, pivoting her weight on the bed. “You will feed his ego and line his pockets. I can’t let that happen to you, and I should have done something about this long ago.”
Her urgency was not lost on the boy, but he persisted. “You have little faith in me if you believe another man can so easily govern me.” Ravan tossed his head back in defiance. His voice belied a courage he did not totally feel. “I defended myself just fine against Pierre Steele!”
She smiled, possibly warmed by the fire in the young man. As if to make her voice more convincing, she softened it. “I have no doubt you could defend yourself from the devil himself if it were only him that’s come, but you are underestimating the danger that you are in.” She looked away, her mouth cascading into a frown. “It’s not just Duval. You see, he will come with many—however many it takes to make you bend to his wishes. And if you don’t?” Her voice caught. “He will kill you.” Taking a deep breath, she struggled to control herself. “This is a terrible burden to place upon one so young, but you don’t have much time, child. Duval has paid for what he believes to be his, and he is close. He doesn’t choose someone lightly, and you were singled out. You were chosen, child—chosen long before you even came here to the Inn.”
Ravan took only a moment to process the implications of what she said and then bolted from the bed. “What? You mean while I was at the orphanage?” He was incredulous. “It’s been planned out for me since before I came here?” He immediately believed himself horribly betrayed. Who had deceived him so? When had this all been decided? And now…who was to be trusted?
She stepped in without delay. “No, I mean, yes, I mean…child, the old man knew nothing of this. You must believe me on that. But your age and abilities—your instincts, with the hunting and such,” she paused, “that hasn’t been something easily hidden from one such as Duval.” She appealed with open hands. “Envy is a terrible thing, Ravan. A mountain stack of antlers is not going to go unnoticed,” she paused again, ashamed to have to tell him, “even if it is hidden behind a barn at an orphanage.” She hesitated. “They want you because of what you do, Ravan.” Her face was drawn, her pale blue eyes fading to almost clear. “You must listen to me. You’ve been followed for some time, by men who work for Duval. They will come for you now that they think it is time.”
Ravan had come to recognize the moods in her eyes, and he knew she spoke the truth. He thought hard, recalled the circling sets of footprints in the forest—human footprints. There had even been a time when he’d doubled back, crisscrossing his own trail before scampering up the stream to elude the strange visitors who’d invaded his beloved forest. He’d sat in the boughs of the thick firs, watching the confusion on the faces of the men below. Thinking it was random circumstance—a hunting party, perhaps—he convinced himself they’d been following the same prey, and he’d foiled them. But his instinct told him to elude the men, to remain unseen.
Now he watched as the snow brushed softly and silently against the window pane. “I don’t care. It doesn’t matter who paid whom. I have not consented to this barter. I refuse to be a part of it.”
Reaching for his arm, she turned him gently, as a mother would, to face her. “It isn’t fair, and it isn’t right. Life is not fair, Ravan; you of all people should know this.” She squeezed his hand. “Nevertheless, it is the way of things. You are in grave danger, child.” Her clear eyes fogged over. She’d begun to cry, but this time she did not look away. “Ravan, I cannot remember such happiness as I’ve had at your coming here. I love you child, like my own son. It pains me more than you can ever know to send you away like this. But if I don’t—if I allow you to stay—you will become one of Duval’s monsters, and that I couldn’t bear.” She patted him on the knee. “I have been part of this deceit, and for that I pray that God and you can forgive me.”
She turned, busying herself, reaching for the flour sack that lay at the foot of the bed. “I’ve brought you some food—some meat and bread.” She tapped him gently on the forehead and forced a smile. “You possess whatever else it is that you need, here, to get away. Of this I am sure. I’ve saved a little money for you.” She pressed a small leather purse with a draw cord into his hand. “You must go my child, before it is too late.” A tear trickled down her cheek, catching and disappearing at the corner of her mouth. “Duval is close, on his way. Steele has sent word to town, and you know it’s not very far.”
Ravan opened his mouth to object, but a sudden commotion in the great room downstairs silenced him. He heard yelling, the voices unfamiliar, dogs barking distantly from the front of the Inn. He glanced first at the door then back at the woman.
“Go far—as far away as you can,” she said urgently, rising and pulling him to the window. “Be off with you, and…run, Ravan. Give them the run of their lives.” She pressed the flour sack into his hands.
He stood for a moment staring at her, the sack hanging limply in his hands. Stunned from the sudden horror of it all, he was confused and afraid. But the commotion downstairs continued, and he could now hear Pierre wailing his story to any who would listen.
Suddenly, Ravan came to his senses, and his instincts taking over as they always did. He tossed the window sash up, paused, and turned back toward her. “I will come back. I will never forget—this I promise.” He reached out, touching her hand, and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “I remember my mother sometimes. I think she was kind, like you have been to me.”
The barking of dogs and commotion drew them apart. She breathed in a quiet sob.
The young man grabbed his coat, pulled the flour sack through his belt, and crawled out the window to slide down the skirting to the second level. From there, the boy leapt from the roof, tumbling with a grunt into the new skiff of snow. He scampered to the edge of the woods and, without looking back, disappeared into the blackness beyond.