“Mother… I have returned,” the boy said, stumbling through the hut, “I’ve brought water.”

“Black sky…” She croaked, “It eats me…”

The boy shook his head, pouring the bucket he held into a chipped cup, he dripped it into her mouth. Suddenly, without warning, she sprang up from her bed, and throttled him. “Didn’t I tell you to find your siblings!?” She roared at him. “Uwihel told me to miscarry you, and I should have done so, you weakling! I don’t need your help, go find your brother and sister before I sell you to endenturment!” As he fell back, she chucked the wooden pail at his face, causing water to spill and his nose to bleed. He stumbled out of the hut and onto the fields.

The road was all but unpaved, as money had been spent elsewhere, into things that did not benefit the bottom classes – and not even the middle classes either. He walked carefully down the long road, with endless plants sprouting up from either side. It was a long walk for his twelve-year-old legs, and he would often take more rests than he would have liked. His much older siblings had no problem earning his mothers love, and he would often think that she had forgotten him, but the occasional beating had reminded him she was aware of his existence.

Almost two years ago, his brother and sister left the house, and they never returned. His mother also fell ill, and the sickness crawled into the mind, slowly eating it. And she had not the money to pursue treatment, for his brother and sister had taken it all when they left the house for the last time.

The boy’s name was Galwyn, and it had seemed to him that his brother and sister would not return.

Galwyn’s older brother, Zerik, was well known – and feared – throughout the village, he was calm in demeanor, but violent at a moment's notice, being able to contend with his much larger peers – at least according to his sister. One would have to think he was an expert hunter, for he certainly knew his way around a bow and arrow, even a stone and sling. But the way he killed animals was so incredibly sloppy and wasteful, that he was quickly expelled from the hunters group. He did not seem to mind all that much, coming home to drop off his stuff, and leaving once more that day. When he had returned, he carried the bloody, fresh skull of an elk. Galwyn’s mouth gaped in shock at the kill, but Zerik brushed it off and went to his room silently, and he did not come out until the next morning– not even to eat, and he returned to his much more meagerly-paying job as a farm laborer.

As for the reason he was feared… When Galwyn was younger he was pushed around and abused by a gang of thugs, men much older and stronger than him. Coming home with cuts and bruises, his mother could have cared less; looking at him with undeserved disappointment– but Zerik… Galwyn had never seen Zerik so enraged in his whole life. And it became the first time Galwyn bore witness to the dark side of Zerik. Zerik had taken a deep breath, and left the house. He did not return until Galwyn was sleeping on his hay bale, and knocked as quietly as he could.

The door was not locked, and it did not even have a knob– But Zerik was a polite man, or so it had seemed, until the very next moment, in which he had entered the room, quietly placing a soft, yellowish-white thing on the board that jutted out of the wall as his nightstand. It was crimson at one end, and the other end seemed to split off into long limp straws of their own.

He left addressing Galwyn with only one phrase: ‘I’ll be back.’

Galwyn had been to tired tending to the fields that day to even heave his sore body out of bed to take a closer look at the object. He squinted, the dark playing tricks with his eyes. The object looked like many things in his innocent mind. He decided it looked much like a glove… That was until Zerik had returned, and Galwyn figured out what it really was: A severed human hand.

Zerik had returned with an appendage, then another, and he continued to walk through the door, carrying different body parts and tracking blood on the floor, all while the horrified Galwyn lay paralysed in his bed, unable to cry or open his mouth. Finally, Zarik returned with a sewing kit, and went to work with his back to his younger brother. Galwyn’s suspense and terror grew until Zerik revealed his horrific creation: A full human body, stitched together crudely– no, the parts had seemed to be mismatched… All the parts were from different people, and the head was of none other than the ringleader himself, the one who had tossed him around, beat and slashed Galwyn; A vulture had finally fallen victim to the vicious hunter. Galwyn knew not if it was merely a figment of imagination, as it had been many years ago, but he could have sworn the man had been alive– Barely, but enough to dart his eyes around, trying to make sense of his situation, and opening his mouth, letting out a stream of blood.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Galwyn’s screams shook the whole house, and he continued his long terrified plea for help until his throat became irritated and lost all vocality, leaving him raspy and tired. He fell asleep shortly after, waking in an undisturbed room. There was no sign of last night’s events, no blood, gore, or loose threads, leaving Galwyn wondering if it had all been a strange nightmare.

But he had been wrong. For that morning, while in the field, word came to him that a body had been hung up on the bell into town. Perhaps the memory had simply been fabricated entirely, even if the body was real, the fact that it could have been his brother’s doing, and not simply the barbarians of the south, that had done the horrific deed – and something like this would not be uncommon as far south as the village laid, though usually, the parts would be strung up and scattered, often as a warning message. And the Brootizh kept their promises when they made one. Galwyn had remembered Zerik giving him an awful smile. Galwyn allowed that memory to be one he questioned to this day, and with more time than ever on his hands,

His sister, Jhilvea, was the middle child. From the earliest he could remember, she was just like any other girl, bubbly, friendly, and full of energy. But as she and Galwyn grew older, he began to observe Jhilvea lose that spark – one normally meant to fade out much later in one’s life, when they would enter adulthood – and become more… Mature. Mature in speech, formality, and wisdom, it seemed. Jhilvea was incredibly smart – at least, to Galwyn. And as she got older, she interacted with Galwyn less and less, leaving him and his older brother alone at night, while their mother drank her way into sleep.

As much as Galwyn admitted he could fill an entire journal with endless pages about his brother, his sister was far more mysterious than his brother; Jhilvea was – albeit, still far more motherly than his actual mother, she would often cut him off without prior notice, and much like his brother, she would leave for long times – but she was much more furlative with her trips, as they would usually take place under the cover of night – and she would not head into town like her brother, rather, she would head opposite of the town: deeper into the wilderness – not past the borders, Galwyn had hoped. Sometimes, she would see him at the window, watching her leave off into the fields, he would pull back at the last second, and when he would look again, she would be gone into the pitch-black, 7-foot-tall crops, only to return for breakfast, usually providing it, in fact.

Galwyn often felt rather ashamed to admit it, but he had felt more maternal-like care come from her. She seemed to care for mother as well; Galwyn had seen her sneak into mother’s room many times when he was very young. And so one night, when she had prepared the substance, and had delivered it to mother, Galwyn had confronted her when she returned to her room.

“What have you been giving mother?” Galwyn had asked, head tilted high to meet his sister’s gaze, her cold, yet somehow loving -eye stared back for a moment before answering: “Well, Galwyn, it’s a medicine that makes bad things go away.” She smiled at him and ruffled his hair, “Go to sleep, and I’ll bring you that bread that you like.”

Galwyn would watch Jhilvea wander off into the night yet again and would fall asleep to his mother coughing endlessly.

Galwyn assumed Jhilvea knew what she had been doing. He had often seen her with books on various topics relating

Galwyn found himself at the center of town now, off to once again try and look for any sign of his brother and sister. He was almost sure they would be long gone by now, but he did not want to displease his mother.

He quickly crossed the roundabout which the carriages would be wheeling through, and marriage at the center where many shops were laid, as well as the bell. He had taken his own money, as he knew that mother would have spent all off hers on alcohol, and went to some of the shops, to see what he could pick out.

He deeply missed his siblings, they seemed like the only family he had, and now that they were gone, he was left with his mother, who harbored nothing but disappointment and resentment towards him, and he had no clue as to why.

Luckily, Jhilvea had left much of the medicine she had concocted for mother in a cupboard, and had entrusted Galwyn in giving it to her when she was not around.

“She is not aware of the medicine. If she becomes so, it will lose its effectiveness, do you understand Galwyn?”

Galwyn had nodded and pledged to not let his mother know of her treatment until she was healthy once more. He hoped that day would come, as she only seemed to be getting sicker and sicker in the past months.