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People react in different ways when attacked. There are those that when unable to run away, cringe, trying to make themselves smaller, all in hopes of deflecting future violence. That’s what the crelix often did, crawling up into small lizardy balls when attacked by a cat or human. These type of people hope for mercy. People who react that way usually share the same fate as as the crelix: maimed or dead. I tried this technique once with Deek Thurn when I was about eight years old. He was just as good at kicking a running target as he was at kicking a small stationary one. My ribs took weeks to heal.

Others try to avoid conflict, but rise to the challenge when provoked too much or left with no other choice. These people don’t actively seek violence, but they don’t cowardly shy away from it either. These are the pacifists, but only to a point. Backing this type of a person into a corner is dangerous because their initial inactivity is due to the fact that they are observing and calculating. My father and Reese Larkin fit this category. I hoped I did too.

Then there are the bulls. These are the ones that, at the slightest scent of danger, charge forward, bellowing in a red rage. The opposite of the crelix, this person uses intimidation as both a defensive and offensive move. However, there is risk in their rash action—they leave themselves open and more vulnerable in their rage. Keeping a calm head around a bull usually gives you the upper hand.

Sam Tams was a gentle giant. Or at least he was until provoked. And killing his daughter worked really well to provoke him. Then Sam was a bull.

Opening the door, I saw Sam break free from my father’s grasp and charge toward a figure hiding in the shadows behind a mound of potatoes. Roaring, Sam loomed above the figure and the potatoes, his fists raised, ready to bring them down for a savage pounding.

However, a quick fist shot out from behind the potatoes, striking Sam right between the legs. The big man deflated and doubled over, his open-mouthed roar now a high moan from the back of his throat.

My father and I both ran to Sam’s aid. Dragging him away from any ensuing aggression. Which there wasn’t. The freak stuck to the shadows. We laid Sam on the cool flagstones. He coughed a few times and pushed us away.

He spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” He glared at where the freak stayed hidden to the shadows. Only a few solar tubes brought in light to the center of the storeroom. It was built like that to keep out most light and maintain a lower temperature. Ideal for storing food. And, to my instant discomfort, ideal for spiders or a spider-like freak.

Sam dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out a palmlight. He shot the beam of light into the shadows. Before it dashed away from the light, I caught a glimpse of pale skin and a hairy face. A surprisingly human face.

I’d expected fangs, or glowing eyes. The face I saw was almost disappointing. Then the chittering started. It made my stomach turn that a human could make that noise so well.

“Sam.” My father knelt next to Sam and pushed the light down. Thankfully, the chittering stopped. “Please don’t do that. It agitates him.”

“The blighter just cheap-shotted me!” Sam gruffed and raised the light again.

“In defense.” My father pushed the light down again. This time Sam didn’t raise it again. He sat up and hung his head between his knees, taking deep breaths.

Soft laughter came from the doorway. Reese entered with the bag of food I’d left behind. He tossed it down next to Sam and my father. “It’s not a cheap shot when you leave weak spots so open.” Reese laughed some more, a rare sound from the dark man. He paused for a moment when he looked into the shadows, his smile disappeared. “Do not provoke him again my small friend. Sam Jans won’t make the same tactical error again.”

A chirp sounded from the shadows.

“I take that to be an affirmative.” Reese smiled again. “Absalom, I have work to do. I take it you three will be fine without me?”

“Yes. Thank you, Reese.” My father patted Sam on the back. “We’ll be fine.”

Reese laughed some more as he left.

“It’s not funny.” Sam gruffed, his voice almost normal.

My father patted his back again. He looked at me, obviously fighting back a smile. “No it’s not, Sam. No, it’s not at all.”

I fought back my own smile in turn.

Sam stood slowly. “Good to see you, Xander.” His tired eyes took me in. “Congratulations on surviving.”

The way he said that wiped the smile right off my face and filled me with guilt.

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He brushed past me and left the storeroom.

My father placed some oat cakes and a couple roasted crelix on the floor. He walked to the door, motioning me to follow. Before he shut the door behind me, he called out to the shadows. “I apologize for my friend. He will not bother you again. We are leaving now. The food is yours. Help yourself.”

“Thank you.” The croaky reply was barely audible, but unmistakable.

My father nodded and shut the door.

“He’s speaking now?” asked Sam. “So he did understood everything we said in there? All those questions I asked. He was just ignoring me.”

“He spoke to Xander.”

Sam glared at me.

I held my hands up in front of me. “Don’t be jealous. He kicked me in the face right after that.”

“I got some questions for you, lad.”

I dropped my hands and flopped my head back. “Sure, why not.”

He tossed the palmlight he used in the storeroom to me. “Where did this come from?”

“Um. Your pocket?”

“Don’t be smart with me, Xander. Emese found this in your jacket after that killer in there dropped you off at your doorstep.”

That answered how I got home. “So, it’s my palmlight. Why do you have it?”

“I brought it to him,” said Jamus from behind me. I hadn’t even heard him enter the room. “I took it after Mom cleaned it up.”

“Jamus,” my father said, “it was irresponsible to bring that to Sam without more knowledge. You know that’s what set him off in a rage.”

“Sure,” Jamus said indifferently.

Sam stepped between my father and Jamus. “Don’t blame the boy. He only sought to help.”

“Sam,” my father shook his head, “if Reese wasn’t here to stop you from going in the storeroom, what would have happened?”

“I might have killed that thing in there.”

“And knowing now that he is not to blame for Alana—”

“You don’t know that, Absalom.”

“I don’t get it,” I said, “it’s just a palmlight. It’s not like there aren’t a dozen of these in Brunning.”

“But that light belongs to the Jans,” said Jamus.

“Yes it does.” Sam pointed at the light. “It’s one of mine. How did you get it?” Sam rushed me, grabbing my shoulders, shaking me. “Did you find her, Xander? Did you find any of her? Tell me!”

Falling down a rocky tube sucks. Spiders chasing you is worse. Some freak kicking you in the face—all so much fun. Top that off with waking up naked to your parents in your room, not knowing how you got there, with nobody giving you any answers, then having a grief-crazed mega-man shake your sore body like a dusty rug… Yeah, that was my morning so far.

My father pulled the large man off me. “Sam. Calm down.”

A tear fell down Sam’s sneering face. “Where did the light come from?” He gestured to the storeroom with his chin. “Did he have it? Because, Yuan help me, if he did, I will kill him right now.”

I looked to my father, confused.

“Answer Sam, son.”

I sat down on a chair and dropped the light on the table next to me. “That palmlight. The one right there, came from Marigold. If it’s one of yours, Sam, I think more than likely Deek or Boyd stole it from you last time they were in Brunning.”

“Don’t care what you think, lad.” Sam pushed past my father and snatched the dinged up palmlight and held it in front of my face. “This is my tech. I know. Tech’s hard to keep running here and I just fixed this one the night Alana… went missing. See the fresh soldering? I know my own work.”

“Okay. So it’s yours.” I pushed the dinged-up thing out of my face. “I don’t know how Marigold got it.”

“You may not know how she got it.” Sam put the light back in his pocket. “But she does. And I am going to ask her.”

I thought my answer would have assuaged Sam, but it didn’t. Sam was out for blood and my answer only realigned his sights on a new target. Marigold.

I grabbed Sam’s arm. “Spiders killed Alana, Sam. Not Marigold.”

He shook off my hand. “Doesn’t matter, I’m going over there still the same. And I’m leaving now.”

“Not without me you aren’t.” I stood up after Sam. “The Thurns don’t like intruders. They barely tolerate me.”

“No, Xander.” My father gently pushed me back into the chair. “You need rest.”

“I’ll help him hitch up the mule and cart,” said Jamus and he followed Sam out the door.

My father squeezed my shoulder. ”Don’t worry, Xander. Sam wouldn’t hurt a woman. And I’ll send a message to Mr. Thurn, letting him know to expect a visitor.”

“You know he never pays attention to comm messages.” And honestly, I didn’t know what would be worse for Sam: if Pa Thurn saw the message or didn’t.