Shepherd Hunted (13 page)

She walked into the Warm Bed, as the sign proclaimed. Evelyn’s breath frosted the air. Dark clouds overhead threatened to fall. A dim part of her mind remembered the beauty of snow, as if anything in this sinful world could be beautiful. Well, the fires that cleaned Honheim were beautiful, but that was a spiritual beauty.

Evelyn entered the inn. A few men looked up as she entered and then glanced away. A round man with a bushy beard bellowed behind the bar, and a plump woman with gray touching her temples scurried about the common room. The hearth danced warmth. Not as warm as Honheim. Not as warm as the fires that burned away her sins, but her body still welcomed the feeling. The woman kept the room reasonably clean. Evelyn knew who the owner was. Men didn’t appreciate a clean room, a clean mind, and a clean soul. Except Joseph.

What you are doing is wrong.

Evelyn squashed that tiny, mad voice. It had grown more insane and incessant since she’d renounced being the Prophetess. If only she could spread more of God’s truth. These farmers needed to drink of the purging fires. Evelyn still did not understand why God decided to pass the fire from her. She could have done much good if she’d carried the fever in her bones.

He wants everyone to live and be happy. How can they find him dead?

“Get out, get out, get out.” Evelyn chanted to herself. She ignored the eyes on her and found an empty table. Greedy eyes. Hungry eyes. The round man with the beard told a story with wide gestures. His eyes, too, were greedy and hungry.

“Hands on the rack. I pulled and twisted. The burned thing dragged me toward the pond…”

“Cold night for a woman to be out alone.” The plump woman cast a shadow over Evelyn.

“I am looking for my little boy. He is dirty, filthy…He travels with a red-haired slattern—girl.”

“Little boy and red-haired girl? There was a red-haired girl who left this morning.”

Evelyn smiled at the owner. She had to be the owner of the inn. The big man telling the story was too much of a buffoon, like all men. Except Joseph. “I am Timothy’s mother. He ran away with that girl without my permission.”

“He is a man. If those two are not married, I’ve never seen a couple.” The woman looked over at the big man.

The man acted as if he was holding onto something above his head. “There I dangled, holding on for dear life. The stag and I slipped farther down the hill. Not even the big bastard was strong enough for my meatiness.” He slapped his wide stomach. People laughed.

The laughter clattered in Evelyn’s mind. These people should be praying for salvation! Mirth was sinful. Joseph was gone. How many other people were dead and gone? So many. So many broken promises.

“He ran away from me.” Evelyn wanted to rant. She wanted to be the Prophetess. Maybe just once more.

“You have the same eyes and look. The boy looked like he was recovering from illness. Is it true about Honheim?” the plump woman asked.

“It is clean. Burned. Fire burns and cleans.”

The woman backed up a step. “Well, fire does do that.”

“Which way?” Evelyn leaned toward the woman. “Which way did my baby boy go?”

The woman hesitated. Her eyes darted around the room before settling on Evelyn again. “West.”

East. Evelyn saw the lie. Joseph always said she was dangerous with how she could know the truth. It was people’s eyes. The eyes always gave it away. They flicked and dodged. Truth made people see straight and true. Truth made people look straight into the soul.

“Splashed all over me!” The big man finished his story.

“Al, your embellishments are better than the real stories,” a man said. “Why did it take so long?”

“Bah, Marc. This isn’t an embellishment. It is God’s own truth. It is just not one of my finer moments.”

Liars. The world was full of liars. Except Joseph. He had taught her how to live. Why did he have to leave her? It wasn’t right. They were barely together for a year when he had broken his promise.

Evelyn stood up. The inn owner’s gaze followed her. Her eyebrows lifted as Evelyn felt the Prophetess surge within.

Don’t do this again. You are not the voice of God.
The insane voice squirmed in her mind.
Leave these good people alone.

Evelyn squashed the voice.

“You are all liars. Sinners!” Evelyn scythed the farmers with a finger. She felt the Prophetess fill her with strength. Her voice rang across the room. “God will smite you with his justice on you unless you repent. He will burn your souls. Chop it. Chop out your sins. You will never see the Gates of Heaven or your families if you do not.”

“Now see here, woman,” the rotund man said. “We are all God fearers here and good people.”

“Only those who burn with inner fire are cleansed. You need to burn to be healed!”

“Are you mad, woman?” the fat man asked.

Farmers grumbled and looked at Evelyn like she was the spawn of demons instead of them.

Joseph would not have wanted this.

“Shut up! Leave me alone.” Evelyn told the voice. The Prophetess turned toward the sinners. “I have seen. I have been cleaned! Liars, slatterns, thieves. I am the Prophetess!”

“You are leaving. I will not hear this blasphemy.” The plump woman stepped toward Evelyn.

The Prophetess speared a finger at the woman. “You are the blasphemer for not listening to a voice of God.”

Evelyn’s vision exploded into a quilt of colors. Pain lanced up her jaw, and she hit the floor hard. The insane voice in her mind groaned.

The woman stood over her, massaging her knuckles. “I will not hear anyone speak such under my roof, mad woman or no.” She grabbed Evelyn’s coat and hoisted her.

“You will burn for eternity for this.” She squirmed in the woman’s strong grip. Her toes scraped against the floorboards as the fat demon woman dragged her toward the exit.

The women kicked open the door and flung Evelyn to the hard, frosted ground. Evelyn twisted to see the woman wipe her hands on her apron and cross herself. “Don’t speak your blasphemy here. Go and confess to a priest and hope God will forgive you. Don’t bother your boy, if he is your boy. He is a good man, if in over his head with those girls. Now go!”

Evelyn picked herself up, ignoring the pain in her jaw. “You are cursed! Damned to hell.”

The woman harrumphed and slammed the door.

You were never a prophetess. You—we—are just a crazy woman who never got over Joseph’s death. The people of Honheim were desperate. They wanted hope, and you gave them fire. Not here. Not these decent people.

“Liar! Cheat! I was the Prophetess! I did God’s will,” she shouted at the voice.

You did nothing but kill innocents. We are beyond salvation, and we will never see Joseph.

“No! You are wrong! I did God’s work. I will bring my son, my baby boy, to see his father. We will be together as a family forever.”

You will hurt our son. We are not the woman Joseph loved.

Evelyn shoved the voice to the back of her mind. Why did she have to have an insane woman in her head? She had already survived God’s cleansing illness. Was the insane voice her final trial? Yes. It was the last lock on heaven and Joseph.

East. Evelyn would head east. The fat demon woman had lied. She turned toward the stables next to the inn. A few moments later, she was galloping after her son. “He will want to see Joseph. It has been too long.”

I will not let you have him.

Evelyn laughed and cried into the biting wind.

If not for the company, Timothy would have enjoyed the week of traveling. The sun appeared each day and chased away most of the cold. Farmland gave way to forest accented by patches of open grassland. Stubborn leaves fell in a spectacle of oranges, reds, and golds. Sunlight filtered through the trees in ways stained glass could never hope to imitate. The mule set a sedate pace, dragging the little two-wheeled wagon heaped with pots, food, blankets, and clothing. Timothy wondered more than once if Kit had cleaned out the entire village and stuffed it into the wagon.

Yuzu and Kit took turns walking and riding in the driver’s seat. Kit insisted on Timothy walking most of the day. She also insisted on feeding him salted ham, jerky, and whatever fresh game Daeric brought in. At least the cheese was good. Timothy should have been pleased with how fast his strength was starting to return. He was still thin, but he didn’t feel like a strip of sheared wool hanging in the breeze.

The miles passed with increasing irritation, like a burr nestled close to a sheep’s skin—all because of that man in the fool bandana.

Daeric rode beside the wagon on a horse. A stallion, Timothy guessed. He didn’t know anything about horses. The best times of the day were when the man rode ahead to scout. He usually returned with rabbit or squirrel for stew that evening, but each time, Timothy wished the man wouldn’t return. Daeric spent the better part of each day recounting stories of his adventures, and he spent each evening twirling one or both of the girls around to dance to the sounds of the stars as he called it. Yuzu and Kit only encouraged him with their lamb eyes and flushing cheeks. Despite his odd smell, Kit seemed to enjoy the man’s company too well.

It wasn’t that Timothy was jealous or anything. Daeric was simply the one of the few people Timothy genuinely didn’t like. Jealousy had nothing to do with it, no matter what Kit said. No man should fawn over another man’s wife—even if she wasn’t a wife in truth! If Kit’s nose was right, why did she encourage Daeric like a ewe teases a ram?

When Daeric wasn’t needling him, Timothy found his thoughts turning toward his mother. Had she made it out of Honheim? Somehow, he knew she was alive and hunting for him. She wouldn’t give up, not in the state he remembered her being in.

“You will love my hunting lodge,” Daeric said. He brushed his horse. The sun hugged the horizon, and long, skeletal shadows clawed the clearing in the trees. Timothy wrestled the tent from the wagon while Yuzu tended to the mule. Not that Kit or anyone would help him.

“Winter is coming fast,” Yuzu said. She stood beside the man, tending the mule. The mule leaned into her hand brush.

“Nothing warms a lodge better than fair company, my moonflower,” Daeric said.

Kit offered Timothy a small spade despite his hands being tangled in the tent. “Do you want dinner or a tent? A firepit needs to be dug.”

He shot her a glare and took the spade, letting the tent bundle drop onto her tapping foot. Her grunt was satisfying. He crossed to the center of the camp and drove the spade into the soft soil. He flung a few spadefuls at Kit.
I don’t ever see Daeric doing any work.

“I have books. Many books.” Daeric patted the horse and moved closer to Yuzu. The girl dropped her brush.

Kit laid a hand on Timothy’s back as he bent and shoveled. “You are getting stronger, my shepherd. That should be deep enough.” She patted him.

Just a few days ago, digging even just a shallow firepit would have had his arms complaining. As much as Kit’s ministering rankled him, he had to admit that it worked.

“Setting up camp would go faster if a certain someone would help.” He drove the spade into the ground and leaned on it. He jerked his head at Daeric.

“Yuzu has him working,” Kit said. She wrestled the iron tripod they used for cooking over the firepit.

“
The Adventures of Farwalker, The Romance of the Three Kings.”
Daeric massaged Yuzu’s neck with a hand. She seemed torn between liking it and wanting to tear the man’s arm off. He was getting too familiar.

“Yuzu treats the mule better.” Timothy bent and ringed the pit with hand-sized stones. He didn’t want to wake up with his blankets on fire. But then, it wouldn’t hurt Daeric’s face if it was singed a little. He piled tinder and brought the fire to life with his flint striker.

“You are looking better, Timmy. Almost as handsome as when I first saw you.” Kit grinned and her hands squeezed the air. “If you ride on my back now, I will have a little more to hold onto.”

He ignored her and fed the fire. Kit’s brow furrowed. She pursed her lips a moment before shrugging. She grabbed his upper arm and squeezed. “You almost make me want to carry out my wifely duties. Almost.”

Timothy spluttered. Daeric looked up from where he was now helping Yuzu with one of the tents. She had done most of the work while he spent his time touching her hands or pressing his side against hers.

Kit laughed and ruffled Timothy’s hair. She crouched and leaned her head against his shoulder. Daeric’s face pinched. Yuzu let out a long breath and shook her head.

“Daeric smells increasingly dangerous,” Kit whispered. “Yuzu also smells dangerous now.” She chuckled.

“Do you have to encourage him? All you do is make ewe eyes at him.”

She pulled away from him and rapped his head with her knuckles. “Think. We want him to think we accept him as one of us. Appearing to like him gives us the advantage of surprise. He will think us easy prey and make mistakes.” She gazed at Daeric. “If only we knew what he was after.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t know you are a fox? You haven’t taken any baths I don’t know about, have you? You bathing has caused us all kinds of trouble.”

“Only once to your knowledge.” She frowned. “He can’t know.”

“Abel did, remember? He knew by how you walked,” Timothy said.

“That was different. He was an old man and had lived before—we are just going to have to keep our eyes on Master Rhine.” She patted his shoulder again, straightened, and left to set up the other tent.

Timothy didn’t need the warning to keep an eye on the man. He was far too familiar with Kit and poor Yuzu, but he hadn’t done anything threatening yet. Kit’s reservations made Timothy feel a little better. Her nose and ears would give them some type of warning. Unlike the problems with Tahd, they had Daeric outnumbered and under their gaze, but Timothy suspected Kit playing the wife was a thin shield against the man. He shook his head and worked on making dinner.

Night’s chill settled in with the promise of morning frost by the time their dinner of green beans and ham was eaten.

“So there I was, surrounded.” Daeric flourished the air. His breath misted. “I demanded a challenge by combat.” He waved a finger at Yuzu. “Only I didn’t challenge him to a duel of weapons. I challenged him to dance.”

“And he accepted?” Yuzu asked.

Timothy yawned.
The man acts like a strutting ram.

“That he did. Let me show you the dance.” Daeric bowed to Kit. “I could use your help, sunflower.”

Kit yawned. Timothy wondered how no one noticed those fangs of hers. “I must decline tonight. Our travels make me tired, and it is cold.” She made a show of wrapping a blanket over her shoulders.

“Yes, I am tired too. I will love to hear the rest of the story tomorrow,” Yuzu said. She laid a hand on Kit’s blanketed knee. “I will retire with my sister.” Kit’s eye twitched.

Daeric sighed. “Tomorrow then.” He drew himself to his full height and puffed out his chest. “I will take second watch.” Daeric placed a hand on the hunting knife at his belt. “Second watch is the most dangerous in these woods. With day close, the danger grows. The waning hours are the hours of the hunt.”

“I will take first,” Timothy said. Did the man have to announce he was taking the most dangerous watch every night?

“Good night, my moon and sun.” Daeric took Kit and Yuzu’s hands and helped the women to their feet. He managed to flourish a bow at the same time. “Even just a tent away, life is dimmed without you.”

Timothy groaned. The man spoke more cheese than a herd of cows produced.

He walked the women to their tent and helped each with the flaps before turning to the tent he shared with Timothy. Timothy made it a point not to be under the same canvas as the man. Daeric disappeared without a glance in Timothy’s direction.

Timothy stoked the fire before moving out of its light. It took only a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the night. He didn’t expect any trouble from outside the camp, but he kept his eyes sharp anyway. He listened to the night. The wind whistled between the ebb and flow of insects. In the distance an owl hooted.

Honheim felt like a dream. People had died, yet Timothy felt little. He didn’t know them. He felt sad, but it wasn’t like he thought he should feel. Aunt Mae had taught him to be kind and feel for everyone. People had died, and he only felt happy he didn’t number among them. Or Kit. Especially Kit. He leaned his back against a tree. What were they going to do when they reached Belafonte? He doubted anything would really change. People would still hunt Kit just because of what she was. Maybe others like Kit lived in Belafonte still. The town was destroyed, but someone would have survived. They would have returned to their home, just like Kit. She could live with her own kind.

But could he?

The question chilled him. Somehow, Kit had become as much of a part of his life as breathing. She had risked herself to save him, and she had nursed him back to health. The thought of not seeing those green eyes or her red locks sheared at his heart. But wouldn’t it be better for her to stay with her own kind? At least then she wouldn’t have to worry about being called a demon and being hunted for her ears and tail. But could he go on without ever seeing her lovely snow-capped tail again?

Kit suddenly materialized beside him. Timothy jumped and thwacked his head on a low tree limb.

“Some watcher you are,” she said. Her eyes shined in the moonlight.

Timothy rubbed his scalp. Kit untied the headscarf and tossed it aside. She sighed with relief. Her ears flicked.

“Is that a good idea?” he asked.

“My sister is dead asleep. Daeric snores. I could hear them coming anyway.” She leaned forward with her arms behind her back and squirmed. Her skirts came free and joined the scarf. Her dark leggings blended with the darkness, making her body and tail appear to float. She leaned on the tree beside him.

“You were staring. I am not your wife, remember?”

“It is only fair. I catch you watching him often enough.”

Kit produced a comb and started working her tail’s thick fur. “Stupid tangles.” She plucked at the comb. “Stupid fleas! We already spoke about this. Besides, he is prettier than you.”

“No man should look like a girl.”

Kit laughed, and her tail caressed his face. “Jealousy is good for a man.” She muttered and pulled at a matted area. “Daeric often reminds me of a rabid dog chasing a skirt.”

“He tries to look up your skirt enough.”

“Only you are allowed to look up my skirt!” Kit pressed her side against him. He enjoyed the extra warmth. She fell silent and combed her tail.

“Something is bothering you,” Timothy said.

“Humph. I almost liked you better when you were afraid of me,” Kit said.

“I wasn’t afraid of you.”

Kit’s gaze grabbed him. He leaned back. “All right. Fine. I was a little afraid of you. I still am.”

Her shining eyes crinkled with a smile. “I am glad you are not yet a fool. Fear does a man well.” She looked into the darkness. “I’ve been thinking about my home.”

“Not everyone is gone. I’m sure some escaped. Some may have even returned.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It would be nice to know I am not the only fox, but mostly I want to see for myself. I thought…maybe we could live there. If it was burned, it would be forgotten. It would be safe. We could be safe.” Kit hugged her tail.

Timothy wasn’t sure if there was a “we” in their future.
Do I want spend my life labeled as a heretic?

“I remember the fire. Like Honheim.” Kit stroked her tail’s white tuft and worked the comb into a snarl. “I remember running. I couldn’t keep up, but a man had me by the hand. Shouts. People yelling everywhere.”

Her voice grew distant. The comb worked her tail, but her eyes did not see the fur. Snores from the tents drifted across the cold night air.

“Mom ran behind me. She smiled at me. I heard thunder, and…and the smile died,” Kit said. “Mom fell, and Dad…”

She fell silent, and the comb paused. Timothy fidgeted. Should he say something? Maybe an arm around her shoulders?

“Dad told me that I had to run and hide. ‘Hide your ears and tail, Kitsune. Do not show anyone.’ He hugged me and…and I ran.”

Timothy rubbed her shoulder, feeling awkward. The silence stretched.

“Sorry, would you mind?” She shrugged off his hand. Her eyes glistened in the moonlight.

Timothy pushed away from the tree. “I feel like a walk. It is a good night for it. “

Kit nodded, biting her lower lip. Her tail brushed against his hand.

* * *

Evelyn watched her little boy and that filthy slattern from the shadows. Somehow, she had found him soon after that wretched woman had thrown her from the inn. Yes, God approved of her mission, but the timing had to be perfect. So she followed, and waited, and followed for a week. For a week, she watched that red-haired man peacock. Oh, she could see how much the man made her son jealous, but it all would end tonight. Just this morning she had decided and had let her horse run free. Enough time had passed. She was sure her terrible boy thought his mother dead. Tonight, she would surprise him.

Her son walked away from the demon. Evelyn remembered her first encounter with it, long ago at the abbey. It was a tricky thing, hiding those ears. Evelyn feared the demon then, but that was before she knew God’s approval.

The demon’s shoulders quivered and sobs drifted from her lips, but Evelyn was not fooled. Demons did not cry. Yes, tonight was best, for the sake of little Timmy’s soul. “I finally found you, my dirty boy. Liars and cheats and the devil cannot separate a son from a mother’s love,” she whispered.