Chapter 1 - Knub

Bone crunched and sinew parted. The clan was enjoying a rare celebration. Rhum-kar had caught a fawn and many small mouths were greedily devouring every inch they could take.

The larger kin growl and beat anyone who tries to take more than their share. This was how it was. They would take some of the food and bring it to their mates. They would have children, and the smaller ones would be left without.

Hunger, always hunger. This was the life of Knub. Go out and dig for good roots and insects. A rabbit or rodent if he was lucky. Then back to the clan to eat and rest.

Morning comes and Knub wakes. Some are already awake while others grunt and snore.

Meela is always up before Knub. Meela takes the scraps from the previous night and throws them into the clans pot. The pot is a treasure of brighter days, when the clan dared even to raid big folk.

The hunters grouse and grumble as they prepare for the day. Knub avoids them. He knows they are irritable in the morning. Instead he patters out of the den into the dark forest. The sun is rising, but the trees are tall and the brush is thick. Shadows dance in the half light. Knub feels the familiar sense of both comfort and danger as he pads through the awakening forest. 

There is no such thing as a schedule in the clan. Grub speaks to no one during his morning routine and no one when he returns in the evening. This is not uncommon as many of the clan cannot speak at all, while others simply do not bother. Thought is slow and laborious while predators are quick and terrible.

Life is cheap in the clan. Even Knub may be allowed a mate if their numbers dwindle too far.

Knub treks silently through the forest. He scales cliffs, scampers along trees, always watching for the Takk. The Takk are one of many things Knub fears. They are the size of hunter-kin, but run on all fours. They are silent, dark furred nightmares made flesh. Their claws rip and tear, leaving kin like Knub to writhe and suffer while they are slowly pulled apart.

Knub has seen it too many times. He will not be taken unawares. Around his neck is a Chlap-root. The Chlap-root is not good for eating, but the clan knows that Takk do not like its smell.

Knub does not like it either, and it slows down his gathering, at times interfering with his nose. But Knub is smart. He prefers the Chlap stench to being Takk-food.

Fortunately for Knub his journey is not long. He moves through a stream, up a series of slopes and comes to a small waterfall. Slipping between two tree roots, he arrives in a cave behind the rushing water. This cave is Knubs favorite place. Despite the water being so close the cave is dry and warm. The warmth comes from a crack in the cave floor, through which a constant draft of warm dry air flows. 

Mushrooms and other things cling to walls. Some are tasty and some are not. Knub does not have to fight for meals in the clan due to this place. 

There is one place in Knubs sanctuary that he does not go. In a dark corner where the suns’ rays do not shine there is a patch of mold. It is white with dark swirls and tiny reddish speckles. During dawn and dusk, Knub notices the dark patterns shifting and undulating. The specks twinkle and glitter. An alluring song calls to Knub. A mouthwatering scent has him drooling. It is all he can do to not eat the delicious thing.

But Knub is smart. He has nearly died several times trying new food.

During midday when the mold is silent, he takes some of it with a twig and leaf. He puts it beneath a small tasty root.

These roots are too small to be anything but a snack for Knub. They are perfect for catching smaller creatures.

It takes most of a day, but a rabbit finally comes sniffing about. It greedily takes Knubs snack. The sun has not yet shifted in the sky when the rabbit collapses. It chokes and gasps, foam bubbling around its mouth.

Knub does not know a word for poison. The best he can do is ‘Hham-ja’. Death-food.

The dark swirls, white food and red stars. He stays far away from that terrifying corner of the cave.

When times are lean Knub will take some of his mushroom trove to the clan. The hunters do not bother him then. Meela gives him a smile too. 

Knub does not fool himself. He does not return Meelas smile. She is Rhum-kars. Many kin have been beaten or killed for smiling at Meela. She is clan-mother. Many of the hunters are her children.

There is another reason Knub likes his cave. During dawn and dusk, when the Deathfood sings, Knub can feel something. More than the mouth-watering aroma, more than the bedazzling lights and sirensong, Knub can feel the Deathfood calling to him. It touches his mind and soul in a way he has no expression for. It is something he feels in the currents of the stream. It breathes with the wind just beyond his reach. It dances in the fires beneath the clans’ food-pot.

All he can do is keep coming back. Each morning and night during the warm seasons he comes and listens to the Deathfoods’ song. 

Knub knows not to eat it. So instead he sings with it. His voice squeaks like a rodent. He grumbles. He cannot make the sound. So he hums to imitate it as best he can. A long, low note. A higher one, then much lower. And again. It flows and sighs, twisting and layering on itself. It is beautiful each time he hears it.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Most visits to the cave he hums his song, regardless of whether the Deathfood is singing.

Sometimes the song is too much to bear and he hums it at the clan. Other than some strange glances no one inquires about it. Life in the forest is too brutal, too hungry to care about something so small.

Rhum-kar leads the clan. Meela prepares the food. Hunters and gatherers are killed. Young are born and replace them. Some die of sickness, some from the Takk, and others from nastier creatures deep in the woods. Through it all, Knub sings.

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- The Children -

Rain was bored. She and her brother Merlin were passing notes between them while Master Rhymian scratched away at a board with his back to them.

It was a lovely day outside and the two wanted nothing more than to upend the table and go catch something in the woods, preferably alive and squirming.

Unfortunately Master Rhymian was not having it. He did not bother to report their mischief to their father. Instead he simply used a word of Binding to prevent them from leaving their desks. There was nothing for it. He wouldn't even let them go to use the outhouse leading to some embarrassing situations for the siblings a few years prior. Throughout it all he simply wrinkled his nose and kept teaching.

“In the future, take care of your bodily functions before attending my lessons,” was all he said.

They had both tried deliberately soiling themselves to get him to let them go, but all the Master did was click his tongue and call a Scent to drift around himself while they stewed in their own messes.

He never raised his voice to the children. The most criticism or praise ever levied at  them from the man was pronouncing their work ‘unacceptable’ or ‘acceptable’.

They knew better than to overtly not pay attention. Several times he had bound them even further, forcing them to sit ramrod straight whilst he droned on.

This was not to say that Rain and Merlin weren’t interested in the subject matter. He taught them to read and write, of mathematics and chemistry, of philosophy and sorcery. Yes his lessons were interesting but it was his delivery that grated on them.

Master Rhymian had been a very important man they knew. A mage and fighter. But never a teacher. 

They had pieced together that the Master was somehow indebted to their father, and that he was repaying that debt by staying at their estate and training the two of them. He also advised both their father and the various Captains under his command at times. But there was something different about the Master.

During dinner he would eat alone. He never spoke unless he was spoken to, preferring instead to write out any requests he had and submit them to the heads of domestic duties such as the maids, the wait staff, or the gardeners.

The strange Master Rhymian did not allow any of the cleaning staff into his tower. According to some of the older servants, his tower had not existed before he’d come to the estate when they were children. It had been constructed silently overnight by the Master alone. It sat at the southernmost tip of the estate, near the forests that supplied them with game for hunting and alchemical ingredients to regret having lessons with.

Most would be nervous being so close to the forest for it was home to many sordid creatures. The Master never showed a hint of concern. In fact, he never showed much of anything.

Each day Rain and Merlin were awakened by the servants. They were hauled out of bed, cleaned, dressed and fed.

They were then bustled out the door as the sun was still rising and brought to Uric in the training yard. The yard was always filled with men. Some of them sat, seemingly daydreaming. Others swung swords and spears at one another while comrades hooted at them. Some men fired arrows at targets, and the always the most sorry looking lot were being instructed by the giant Uric.

“Good morrow to you young sir and miss!” his deep basso voice rumbled in their chests as they yawned and chafed at the early hour.

“Now now, none of that! It's a beautiful mornin’ so it is and we should be thankful for that! Now then, let's have a look at you!”

The children stepped up onto a stack of crates and stood to be inspected. They were well past being embarrassed at this by now. Enormous hands poked and prodded them, measuring thickness of limbs and flexibility of joints. He stretched their jaws to inspect teeth, rubbed their palms and fingers and squeezed their stomachs and chests until they were gasping for breath.

“Good good! Your father will be happy with the way you two are growin’. No damage! Well, not yet.” He grinned evilly. “Alright recruits, staaart runnin’!!”

They would do laps around the training area to start with. Then they would switch to an obstacle course where they had to run along narrow beams, climb ropes, and crawl in the freezing mud. If they didn’t do it fast enough Uric would ‘encourage’ the children by shooting at them with blunted arrows. 

At first they tried crying. He just shot them again. And again. And again. Until a healer warned that they would die if he kept going.

The healer was Master Rhymian. 

Merlin and Rain still shuddered at the recollection. Master Rhymian had bound them with a Word and set their bones and organs in place with a short, discordant chant made up of jarring syllables. At another word their bodies began to burn.

The children couldn’t recall much after that. All they remembered was the pain. The soldiers though could never forget the screams.

Sometimes medicine can be worse than the affliction it cures. The results however, spoke for themselves. Whether it was running, acrobatics, or combat training, Rain and Merlin did not dare to do anything less than their all.

The early mornings were with Uric, the late mornings and early afternoons with the Master, and the rest of the day was blessedly their own. 

Rain was 9 and Merlin 10 when they were truly tested. One of the forest predators, a large cat with dark fur stalked them as they played in the field near the woods.

Only the creaking of trees had alerted them as the big cat pounced. Merlin gave an aborted cry and threw a stick he was holding. It clipped the cat's head and gave Rain the warning she needed to dive out of the way. Claws shredded her jerkin and shoulder, but missed her throat.

She can't feel the pain yet, and screams a Word of Cinders at the forest tiger. She misses and hits the grass in its passing causing it to burn and sputter. 

Merlin uses a Word of Binding, trying to imitate the Master. The tiger’s will clashes with his own. His command over the word is too weak, the tiger’s soul too big, too strong. The working snaps and withers.

They are about to die.

An armored man seizes the cat by the scruff of the neck. He is covered from head to toe in black armor. The man holds the cat in one hand and slaps it with the other. The cat goes limp, completely stunned.

The armored man turns and walks away without a word, carrying the cat like an unruly child under his arm. He walks toward the Masters’ tower in the distance. Despite the pain and fear, they can clearly see the Master standing on a balcony, watching them.

They have failed the first test.