Chapter One: The Cursed Bird

Just like every day before, for as long as he could remember, Rook awoke before sunrise, washed his face in the icy cold water in the bucket beside the cistern, and then began feeding and watering the animals in the stable. The same thing, never changing, day after day, month after month, year after year.

As the first rays of light were peeking up over the hills to the East, he picked up a rough canvas bag and then grabbed the purging stick off the wall to start collecting the daily coins. He started with the serow deer, who were less feisty when they were still groggy after they woke up. The bubals were always more docile and never gave him any problems when he used the stick.

No one knew exactly why, how, or even where the coins came from. They were called a divine gift of mercy. One coin, every day at sunrise, given to every living being, be it man, or beast. One of Rook’s morning tasks was to collect those coins from the herds in the stables and fields.

The first deer in the stable eyed Rook suspiciously as he slowly approached. He moved slowly and calmly, and soon, the deer got bored and went back to eating. In one smooth motion, he brought up the purging stick, pushing it against the side of the animal, pressing the button on the handle as it made contact.

The deer’s head bolted up, and it let out a bark of surprise, but, realizing it was unharmed, quickly went back to its meal after giving Rook an accusatory glare. They were used to the ritual, and the animals rarely made a fuss, though Rook had scars all over his arms and legs when he misjudged the mood of an annoyed animal.

Reaching down, he snatched a small brown disk from the ground and dropped it into the bag. Methodically, he repeated the process with the other three occupants in the pen. With practiced ease, he moved through the other holding pens, collecting a coin from each of the dozen deer in the stables, then moved on to the field where more than thirty large bubals slowly wandered between the feeding troughs. If any garbage appeared along with the coins, he dumped it over the fence, but was careful not to lose a single one of the precious disks.

The coins were created in the soul space, a hidden place where all living beings carried things outside of the physical world. The soul space was invisible, and could generally hold the same amount of weight as a person could carry physically, without anyone else knowing it was there, or weighing them down.

Rook had no idea how it worked, but he knew very well how the purge sticks worked. One touch, and the entire contents of a living being’s soul space would be forced out onto the ground, be it coins or any random garbage an animal might have taken a fancy to in the fields.

The bubals were kept as pack animals, and would be sold or rented out to travelers, merchants, or anyone who needed to transport a lot of goods. Large, four legged beats, covered in thick brown fur, bubals could easily carry many times as much as an adult human in their soul spaces.

His morning tasks complete, Rook walked up the dirt road to the ranch-house down the short path from the fields. He carefully held the bag, now full of heavy metallic coins.

As he walked up to the entrance, Rook held out his hand palm up. Stopping momentarily, he closed his eyes in concentration. After a moment, another brown disk appeared in his palm, this was almost identical to the other ones he had collected, but was slightly lighter in shade. Dropping it into the bag with the rest of them, he proceeded around to the back of the house, entering through the kitchen doorway.

It was his own daily coin, though he had never been allowed to keep a single one. The sting of the purging stick was a violation that he knew, as well as any beast on the ranch.

The ranch house was old and in poor repair, though it had a well-lived-in look and must have seen better days. The kitchen was full of dirty dishes, and the rooms were cluttered with wooden crates and broken equipment. There was a musty smell of decay permeating the structure and signs of vermin and other pests in every corner.

Seated at the table in the kitchen was a middle aged man. He was wearing worn-out, dirty clothing, had long, greasy hair, and a patch over one eye. The foul smell in the kitchen was strongest near the table where he was sleeping, slumped in his chair, still holding a small jar, clutched tightly in his hands.

“Rhaeger, I got the coins.”

Rook set the bag on the table, the noise waking the man, who jolted upright.

“Damned rat! Always sneaking around…”

As his one good eye caught sight of the bag, he stopped mid-sentence and grabbed it off the table greedily. Without a word, he hefted the bag to feel the weight, then poured the coins onto the table and started to sort them into stacks.

Soon, there were four tall piles on the table and one more half as tall. Rhaeger examined each of the towers closely, measuring them against each other to make sure they were all the same height. Finally, he touched each stack with a finger, and as he did, they disappeared.

Once the table was cleared and the bag was empty, the man seemed in a daze for a moment, then he looked down and found the jar he had been holding earlier. He raised it over his head and peered into it, then held it over his head, tipping it over his open mouth, trying to catch any liquid that came out onto his tongue. The jar was bone dry, however, and he tossed it into a bucket full of dirty dishes by the door.

With a grunt of effort, another young boy entered the kitchen through the same door Rook had come in. He was thinner than Rook, but had sandy brown hair, and similar threadbare clothing to the rags that they all wore. Struggling, he carried two large pails filled with milk and attempted to put one on the table. Just as he was about to spill some of the liquid, Rook reached out and grabbed the handle and steadily placed it on the table, then helped the other boy with the second pail.

“Piggie, you useless weakling. If you spill any more milk, I’ll whip you so hard!” Rhaeger threatened.

“You both, grab your breakfast, then get to cleaning up the stables.”

As he growled out his orders, the man held out his hand, and another jar appeared in his hand out of thin air. Looking around, Rhaeger found a bowl near one of the dish-filled buckets on the floor. He cleaned it by wiping it on his stained shirt, then dipped it into one of the buckets to scoop up some of the milk.

Placing the bowl onto the table, Rhaeger ripped the lid off of the jar and poured half of the contents into the bowl, mixing it with the milk before downing the entire bowl down his throat.

Rook and Pig looked at each other. Rook went over to a large sack in the corner of the room. It was half full of old, hard bread. He found two small loaves that only had a small amount of whitish mold growing on the outside and brushed them to clean them off. Meanwhile, Pig found two more small bowls and filled them with milk.

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The two boys walked out of the kitchen and, squatted down in the shade of the building, before exchanging bread for milk.

They quickly downed their humble breakfast in silence. Pig had come to the ranch only a couple of years prior, when he was twelve, and was three years younger than Rook. In that time, he and Rook barely shared more than a half dozen words on a given day. Still, they built up a sense of camaraderie and would help each other out when they could.

Sooner or later, Rook knew that Pig would leave, as the others had. It was something he had long ago given up any hope of happening for himself. Much to Rhaeger’s chagrin, no one wanted a troublemaker like him enough to pay his bond.

Their amicable relationship may have also been fostered by their shared antagonist, Rhaegun, the son of Rhaegur, and the only other permanent resident of the ranch. Rhaegun’s favorite pastime was torturing and beating Rook and Pig. He wasn’t an unusually cruel child, no more than any of the other children in the village.

He did it more from boredom. Younger and physically weaker than Rook, Rhaegun was usually content to simply throw a punch or a kick when he thought his father wasn’t looking. Most of the time, he would just interfere with the other boy’s chores, or follow them around criticizing their work.

After breakfast, Rook and Pig moved quickly to get back to the stables before Rhaegun woke up. As they walked down the path in silence, both were shocked to see two figures walking towards them from the opposite direction.

It wasn’t that unusual for people to visit the ranch. What was strange was that it was so early in the day. The ranch was a long walk from the village, so anyone coming from there would have to have left before sunrise. If they were coming from anywhere else, however, then that would mean that they had come through the forest at night. Only soldiers and mercenaries would dare attempt that.

Rook stood in front of Pig, and they stopped, waiting for the figure to draw closer. Soon, the two cloaked figures stood facing them. The two young boys lowered their heads and avoided looking into the faces of what appeared to be two men, covered in the thick dust of travel. It was clear they did not come from the village.

“This is Rhaeger’s place, innit?” A young male voice came from under one of the hoods.

Both Rook and Pig stood there in silence, afraid to say anything that might get them in trouble.

“Aich! Yer scarin the kids! This is the place, truth. You there blackie, you member this one, aye?”

As he spoke, the taller of the two figures pulled back his hood to reveal an older man with grey and white hair and a full bushy beard.

Rook kept his face down, but from the corner of his eye, he sole a glance at the man, who indeed looked slightly familiar.

From time to time, merchants and travelers would come to purchase beasts of burden from Rhaeger. It seemed as though the older man recognized Rook, likely from his unusual black hair. As for Rook, he never looked too closely at the guests, and so could not definitively remember the old man.

Instead, he simply turned to look up the path toward the ranch house.

“He’s home then?”

Rook nodded, then returned his view, staring back into the dirt.

“That’s joyful. Gratitude to yeh blackie.”

With that, the pair continued walking up to the house, leaving the two boys, still standing in the path with their heads down.

As they parted, Rook heard the shorter figure mutter from under his hood.

“Dirty bondlings. They smell of shite!”

Once they were gone, Pig finally succumbed to his curiosity.

“Who were them?”

“Mercenaries, by the look of em. They must have come through the forest.”

Pig’s eyes went wide.

“The forest? At night? How? Why?”

Rook was already fatigued by the strange meeting and had no interest in entertaining Pig with stories. He started back towards the stables instead of answering.

“Rook! Come on! Tell me!” Pig complained.

“Too dirty to be from the village. Must be mercenaries down from the mountain. Coming for a bubal or the deer. Now stop bugging me. Go do the water, it’s low. Do it before Rhaegun gets on you.”

At the young master’s name, Pig shut up and ran ahead towards the well.

Rook went back to the stables. It was likely a good idea to clean up things and check on all the animals in case the guests were here with coin. For certain, this was not a social visit.

It was less than a candle’s time later that Rook’s prediction bore out true.

It was not even mid-day when Rhaeger and the two men arrived at the stables, followed by an excited Rhaegun.

“As you can see, the beasts be all in the best condition. Ready for whatever yeh needin,” Rhaeger grinned through chipped teeth and bloodshot eyes.

The old man winced as the rancher’s breath carried into his face, but he quickly recovered his composure. After quickly surveying the pens and fields, the man seemed to be satisfied.

“We need three bubals and a couple of yakul… I mean serow. You got saddles for em?”

“Truth. For the deer, just though. Can’t ride a bubal, ya know.”

“Of course.”

“And are yeh planning to rent them? Or…”

“No, we are heading for the capital. We will buy them outright.”

Rhaeger’s eyes brightened.

“The capital! Well, ain’t that a thing. Long trip though. You’ll need my best for that,” greed twisting the ranchers face.

“How much Rhaeger?” The old man said through gritted teeth in a growl.”

“Well, you bein’ an old friend, Thayn, I’ll give you my best discount. Basically givin em to yeh, alls considerin’.”

The atmosphere had grown cold and tense, and Rook, who was standing by the entrance of the stable, wanted to sneak away but was afraid to draw any attention to himself by moving. Even Rhaegun had the sense to keep his mouth shut and stand passively behind his father.

“I can give em’ to yeh for… eight…?”

“That’s robbery!” The younger traveler yelled, throwing off his hood to reveal a young face and dirty blond hair. The old man simply reached out his hand to touch his companion’s shoulder, who immediately shut his mouth but glared daggers at the rancher.

“I’m almost losin on the deal at eight… but tell you what. How about seven eighty? For old time’s sake.”

The young traveler’s eyes looked murderous, and Rook finally found the courage to slowly start to creep backward to try and find a place to hide deep in the stables.

“Look, Rhaeger, We haven’t coin like that on us. I’m not askin’ for credit as we already said we’re not back this ways for a while.”

“How much coin have yeh then?”

“What if I said we got a better one, yeh?”

The younger man stiffened visible, but the old man simply tightened his grip.

“How about a skill?”

Rook stopped moving again and as watched as the greed flushed Rhaeger’s face.

“A… a skill, you say? Well, that might… might cover your shortfall-“

“Bubalshite! Don’t spout nonsense. Any skill is worth more than double that, triple.”

“Well, it’s not that-“

The rancher was taken off guard. He could sense an amazing deal, but only if he could successfully close it.

“One skill, three bubal and two deer, saddles… and…”

Rook froze as the old man’s head turned to look straight at him.

“Your bondsman, then. The blackie. We need a new porter. That should be more than enough to cover it all, his bond, and then some.”

For over ten years, Rook had lived a monotonous life of endless labor with no hope of anything but another day of the same. He had nothing, not even dreams, and had no idea what the world held beyond the confines of the fields owned by a broken old rancher. His only value was his labor and his daily coin.

Other orphans had come and gone from the ranch in those years, but no one would ever be willing to trade coin for a bondsman like Rook. Pure black hair was unlucky, after all, and was more than likely the reason he had been abandoned as a child in the first place. He was even named after the cursed bird, a bane to farmers that was killed on sight.

Suddenly, Rook’s life was about to be thrown into an entirely new world. For the second time in his life, he was to be sold like a sack of grain, not even given a price, but added on as extra.

After some more haggling, the deal was set. The old man reached out his palm and in it, he held a small reddish crystal. Before Rook had a chance to get a good look, Rhaeger had snatched it up, and it disappeared. Along with some supplies, Rhaeger pulled out a scroll of paper from his storage space, hading it over to the old man.

With that, Rook was now the property of the two strange men. He would have to leave the only home he had any memory of, and must now leave the ranch with no idea what was to come next.

Rook had no possessions. Only the clothes on his back. He had no time, or even the desire to say goodbye to Pig. As soon as the deal was struck, they saddled up two of the serow, and the two men mounted them. Rook put harnesses on three of the bubals. He would lead them on foot behind the two men, and just like that, Rook left Rhaeger’s ranch, for the first time he could remember.

He could not help but feel a shiver go down his spine as they turned, not towards the village, but up the pathway leading to the forest.