plik

Learning To Dharn

Ann Somerville

‘Learning to Dharn’ Copyright © 2011 by Ann Somerville
Cover image © Ryan Aréstegui. Cover artist Fia M. Ryan

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
For more information please visit my website at http://logophilos.net

Smashwords Edition 1, March 2011

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If
you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.
If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to
Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Published by Ann Somerville

Acknowledgements

This book received the gracious and generous oversight of individuals within the deaf community and others, especially Fia
M. Ryan, who did their best to help me remove the more egregious instances of hearing privilege. What remains is entirely
my own failing, and I apologise to anyone who is offended by the content of this story.
Thank you to those who helped, especially to Fia, who went above and beyond the call of duty on this one—as well as
creating the delicious cover art. Her advice was invaluable in improving both the writing and the story. Thank you.

Chapter 1

Kelten tucked a disobedient strand of hair behind his ear, straightening his collar for the fifth time

since joining the queue. After an hour in the noisy, charmless hall, he was now but one from the head
of the line. He clutched his Certificate of Competency and wondered if it would mean anything here, so
far from the university which had awarded it.

Was it a mere two months ago that he imagined he would be swept from the boat bearing him to

Inades like a hero returning from battle? Six weeks in steerage had done a great deal to knock him off
his self-erected pedestal. Now, qualified physician or not, he was just another travel-grimy foreigner
applying for work at the Labour Exchange. The stories he’d heard about there being a shortage of
doctors in this country now seemed like the tales of sea beasts with which his fellow students had
regaled him once they’d learned of his post-qualification plans. The sea beasts had, of course, turned
out to be fanciful. He hoped posts for newly confirmed physicians weren’t just as mythical.

Finally, he was before the desk of a frazzled woman. “Name?” she snapped.
“Rhede Kelten, physician.”
She looked up, and, to his knee-shaking relief, gave him a delighted smile. “Ah, good. Looking for

work as a doctor, Ru Rhede?”

“Yes, ma’am. I was hoping for a post in a hospital. I am recently qualified with a year’s experience

at Jerlde Infirmary. I attended Bunes Elite University. It’s the best in the country.” He hadn’t graduated
top of his class, though not far from it, but he’d graduated and that was all that mattered. His reports
from his internship had been glowing. That counted a good deal more than his marks.

“Ah. You’re Bunesee.” Her bright smile became somewhat less enthusiastic. “Let me see your

papers.”

She examined the certificate and his scripts carefully. “We do need doctors, Ru Rhede, but as you

can appreciate, our own people, especially those with local experience, are given preference. Someone
like you can only hope for a position in a rural hospital until you have some further training. Few of our
doctors want to work in the remote regions.”

“That’s fine. I expected that. Are there any vacancies?”
“Yes, indeed. The hospital at Gark is desperate for doctors. They’ll pay your train fare too.”
“Oh, good.” His funds were severely depleted. He didn’t think he could pay a hefty price for a

train ticket—not yet, anyway. “When can I leave?”

“Immediately, in theory. But unfortunately the overland train that goes through Gark was derailed

two days ago. They don’t expect it to be running again until three-moon. You’ll have to find lodgings
here in Tuwilo until then.”

“Is there no other way of getting there? I can’t afford a month in a hotel. Is there no other post?”
“None that can be reached without that line running. I’m sorry.” She scribbled on a form and

handed it to him. “If you’re still here and interested by the time the line is clear, present that at the

station and they’ll exchange it for a ticket. If not....” She shrugged. “I can’t do anything else. Unless
you want to try other employment in the meantime?”

“No. I mean, thank you. I need to think.” He bowed. “Thank you.”
She waved him away, not rudely, but with the air of someone with too many people to see in too

short a time. He picked up his pack and medical bag, and moved away. He had no idea how much it
would cost to stay in a hotel for a month, but based on prices back in Jerlde, he doubted he could
survive for half that time. Perhaps there were other options for accommodation.

He consulted the well-thumbed but distressingly thin Gentleman’s Guide to Inades that he’d

purchased before departure. He discovered there were indeed other options in the form of inns to the
west of the city, catering to visitors from rural parts and transient workers. The guide sternly warned
against several establishments as being too low in standard for any well-bred person, however tempting
the cheap tariff. While Kelten had lost a good deal of his airs during a gruelling and uncomfortable sea-
journey, he had no wish to be robbed. He enquired of a friendly face on the street how he could get to a
more genteel inn listed in the guide. On their advice, he paid a cu for a cramped ride in an omnibus,
walked along bustling and noisy streets feeling most out of place, and found himself outside the
“Harvest House” inn. It looked promising, clean and neat without the fancy decorative touches which
would indicate high nightly rates.

However, even its modest charges threatened to deplete his savings to nothing in three weeks. “Is

there no discount for an extended stay?” he asked the clerk at the reception desk.

“Oh, yes, sir. If you’re here for two months, we have excellent long-stay discounts. But many of

our guests are here for a month. We don’t consider that a long stay at all.”

“Oh. I don’t suppose there’s any way I could have a room on credit—”
The clerk frowned, his hand creeping towards the bell on the desk as if he might summon help to

throw Kelten out. “Cash only, in advance. Now do you want a room or not, sir?”

He took a room for three nights, feeling that was the smallest time he would need to find

alternative accommodation and recover from the journey. Really, he felt quite close to fainting. Ah,
perhaps because he was hungry. “What about meals?” he asked.

“Breakfast and supper are included in the price. There’s any number of places around here where

you can find luncheon, Ru Rhede.” Having taken Kelten’s money, the clerk was disposed to be kind. “I
personally recommend Green Fields. Across the street, first left. They do an excellent bowl of stew
with bread for two cu.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.” It was the first thing he’d heard of since he arrived that

hadn’t threatened to beggar him.

After a hasty wash and a solid if dull meal at the Green Fields eatery, he felt more optimistic. If

necessary, he could perhaps seek a few weeks’ work in the hospital as a porter, as he had done during
his holidays while studying, much to his stepfather’s disgust. That had been good enough reason to do
it even without the fact it helped him eke out his inheritance a little longer. But would he be hired for
less than a month? Was there another answer? A cheaper inn, perhaps? Maybe there was some way he
could obtain a line of credit, since he had a firm offer of work. Yes, that might be a reasonable course

of action. He did have an impeccable background, even if it lay in another country and he knew not a
soul in this one. There had to be other Bunesee with similar difficulties living in Tuwilo. Enough of his
country folk had come over on the ship with him.

He walked the streets near the inn, noting the places looking for help and the pawnshops.

Unfortunately he had sold all his textbooks to help pay for his passage, and he had nothing else of
value, other than his pocket watch, which he could pawn. The watch’s value wouldn’t be worth the
sacrifice of giving up a useful possession. He spoke to two establishments offering credit to workers,
but both insisted on a letter from his prospective employer—the note from the Labour Exchange was
insufficient.

Things didn’t look very hopeful, but he wouldn’t be deterred so early in his journey. Despite

everything, he wasn’t sorry to be here. Tuwilo was such a different city from Jerlde—clean and wide
and new, like the whole country. His little guidebook had no information about the hospital, but the
area around Gark was said to be one of the most fertile regions of a large and fertile continent. The
richness of the land enticed people to live on remote farms, hundreds of miles from the nearest large
town. Kelten had never lived anywhere but a densely thronged city on a small and crowded landmass.
What would it be like to be so far from other people? It must be tolerable, or no one would ever do it.

He would find it exciting once he got there, he was sure. And it must be possible to get there. He

refused to admit defeat, not after the battles he’d fought and won just to be standing on this street, in
this foreign city, in this land. If his bloody-minded stepfather hadn’t crushed his will and destroyed his
dreams, a small matter of a couple of hundred cuin wouldn’t either.

Using the plentiful hot water and generous bathing arrangements at the hotel, then doing a little

laundry and having a much-needed nap, filled up the rest of his day. Though he wasn’t particularly
hungry, he was paying for an evening meal so he would have it, by blessed Mother Sret.

The dining room was full. He wondered how many of the clientele had been affected by the

derailing of this overland train. Certainly many of the diners looked like rural visitors, clean and neatly
dressed in a manner he considered old-fashioned, though whether that was his foreign taste showing, he
had no idea. He sternly told himself that he needed to resist interpreting local Inadian manners
according to his Bunesee standards. He would not give the Inadians any reason to look down upon his
nation on account of his poor behaviour.

So crowded was the room that there were barely any seats left at all, and certainly no table free for

a single person to use. He looked around and spied an elderly couple whose cheerful expressions
encouraged him, so he approached, then bowed. “Excuse me, sir, ma’am. Would you mind sharing
your table? I’m sorry to have to ask, but as you can see, there’s little space.”

“Not at all, young man. Have a seat, and gladly,” the old man said, as the woman smiled in a

kindly way at Kelten.

He bowed again and sat. “Thank you. I’m Rhede Kelten.”
“Do I detect a Bunesee accent, Ru Rhede? I’m Fet Bern and this is Merl. We don’t stand on

ceremony, so may we call you Kelten?”

“Certainly, and yes, I’m from Bunes. I’m travelling to Gark to take up work in the hospital. Or I

will if I can afford to stay in Tuwilo until the overland train is working again.”

“Moon curse, that’s why we never use the thing,” Bern said. “We brought our cart down, and I’m

glad of it now.”

It turned out, as they were happy to explain in cheerful detail, they had brought their daughter east

to marry her childhood sweetheart, now working in a bank near the capital. They only planned to spend
a week in Tuwilo for Bern to have some non-urgent medical treatment and to attend to some legal
affairs.

“Perhaps I should buy a horse too,” Kelten said. “Riding to Gark might be cheaper than staying

here until three-moon.”

“You don’t want to do that,” Merl said in her quiet voice. “That’s a long road to be travelling on

your own, and you’re not used to such, are you?” She looked at her husband. “Neld is only two days’
swift ride from the farm, Pa. He could catch the train from there at three-moon. He could stay with us
until then, or at Neld if he prefers. And he doesn’t take up much room.”

Her husband nodded. “An extra hand on the reins and an extra look-out at night? Kelten, would

you be willing?”

“Oh, but I can’t—”
“T’would be a favour to us,” Merl said, touching Kelten’s hand. “We’re not as young as we once

were. We wouldn’t ask for anything but the help with the driving and keeping a watch.”

“But you can’t afford—” He stopped as she gave him a look. “I could buy supplies at least. And

what about at the other end?”

“Our son can drive you to Neld. He does it all the time,” Bern said. “He’ll likely have good reason

to go as soon as we come back, with his young lady living halfway there. Funny how he finds reasons
to head to the co-op so often.” He and his wife shared a smile.

Kelten couldn’t think of a single reason not to agree. Though he would only get to his destination a

few days earlier than he would if he waited for the train line to be repaired, he would save at least three
hundred cuin, see a little of the countryside, and have congenial company. “I’m inexperienced,” he
warned, “and know nothing of living off the land.”

“Well then, we can teach you how to manage, for it’s a useful skill. You’ll want less fancy

clothes,” Bern said, glancing at Kelten’s best, now somewhat travel-stained suit. “And you would be
wise to put anything heavy or valuable into storage here, with instructions to ship it along once the line
is clear. But for the rest, we have everything you’ll need. And the company would be welcome,” he
added earnestly.

Kelten gave in, for the offer was too timely to refuse. “When do you depart?”
“In four days. Is that convenient for you?”
“Very. And thank you. It’ll be an adventure.”
“That it will be. So eat up, young Kelten. Enjoy other people’s cooking while you can for there’ll

be no dainties on the road. It’ll be camp bread and rabbit stew, and good plain tea.”

“I’m sure that’ll be just lovely,” he said.

Chapter 2

Three weeks later, Kelten had no reason to revise that insouciant opinion, nor regret taking up the

kind offer of Ru and Rusa Fet. Sleeping under canvas had been no more difficult to become used to
than the lumpy mattresses at his boarding school, and his kindly companions far more gentle and
patient instructors than his schoolmasters. He approved of Bern and Merl’s attention to hygiene, the
economical handling of the latrine and food preservation, and the compact and efficient camping
equipment. The little cart, laden with supplies and personal effects, and drawn by a stately cart horse,
rattled along a dirt trail and made his arse numb and his kidneys complain, but they stopped every three
or so hours to relieve legs and bladders. He grew used to the motion in a day or so. Merl and Bern were
a fine distraction, talking about their quiet yet enviably happy lives, and asking him about his less
happy existence. Merl commiserated with Kelten over the loss of his father and, ten years later, of his
mother, which had left him to the mercies of a hostile, unloving stepfather.

“I can’t imagine it,” Merl said after drawing all the details out of him by gentle, concerned

questioning. “To marry a woman with a child, and to be so uncaring. Then to be a mother and put your
husband over your own flesh and blood.” Her voice held wonderment and sorrow. For the first time in
Kelten’s life, he felt an adult actually understood his pain. Never before had he felt the sympathy of a
mother towards the child he had been. Though he had worked hard to leave his anger behind, Merl’s
kindness soothed the pain he tried not to let overcome him.

“She found it hard after my father died. I don’t like to bear a grudge. She suffered from his tyranny

too, and my half-sisters needed more protection than I did.”

She shook her head and patted his hand in consolation. “You’re a good man, Kelten. I hope she has

been reborn with more wisdom. I hope your stepfather learns some in this life.”

Not much chance of that. “His affairs and his family are nothing to do with me. He made that

clear.”

“Better off without him, I say,” Bern grumbled. “When I see the wastrels some folk raise, then a

man throws out a perfectly good man for not being his blood kin, I wonder at the way of things. Mother
Sret must despair of us at times.”

Kelten piously made the moon sign and agreed. “But I wouldn’t be here if he was any different,

and I’m glad to be here.”

“Well, there’s that. What a glorious land we live in, eh? I could never live in the city. This is what

I love.”

Kelten could be persuaded that life outside the houses and roads and man-made order of his

previous existence might indeed be superior. Mother Sret had blessed them with a fine, cool turn
season, which brought the colours out in the trees, and burdened the bushes and smaller plants with
nuts and fruits and hips. Merl collected this bounty, inviting Kelten to help her. Bern also turned
provider, twice taking down a fat hare for their supper, and another time a water hen, whose feathers

Merl carefully preserved.

Kelten took careful note of all he was shown and all he was told. It was a practice that had helped

him to good marks in his educational career, allowing him to survive a gruelling internship at the
hospital. Now he was in training again, this time as a cart driver. It wasn’t the most challenging task,
driving along a mostly flat and well-laid out trail, though there was much to keep a look out for, and
Bern made it look easier than it really was. He used no map, and Kelten would have had no idea how to
make his way without Bern’s considerable local knowledge. This was, apparently, the way of country
folk here, who had little use for formal instructions.

This night Bern and Merl planned to camp by the lake that fed the river they’d followed all

afternoon. “Some of the sweetest water this side of the Divon Range you’ll find there,” Bern declared.
“I’ll set a trap and we’ll have fish for breakfast. Finest food you’ll ever eat on the road. Beside Merl’s
hare stew, that is.”

Merl bobbed her head with pleasure at the praise. She’d set Kelten to chopping vegetables and

local herbs at their noon rest while she prepared the beast itself and then boiled it all up. A pot with the
stew had been sitting in a hay box all afternoon, slowly cooking. Kelten’s mouth watered even now to
think of it.

Bern called a halt an hour before sunset to give them a chance to set up while there was still plenty

of light. They had their routine well practiced now. Kelten dug a latrine while Bern and Merl set up the
tent, then he collected tinder and firewood, pausing every now and then to admire the sheer loveliness
of the lake with the snow-capped mountains rising behind it. By the time he returned to the campsite,
Merl had the hay box out of the cart, the firepit laid, and all that was needed was the fire, which Bern
quickly made and set alight.

It was a gorgeous evening, even more beautiful than those before it, which had been lovely

enough. The scent of wood smoke sat rich and warm in the air, sharpening Kelten’s appetite even more.
Eager as he was to reach his destination and begin the career for which he had spent so many years in
preparation, he would be a little sorry for this journey to end, for he had rarely felt so alive and at
peace.

“Come along, Kelten, food won’t eat itself.”
Kelten grinned at Bern’s friendly admonition and walked back to the camp. Bern had the little

silver flask ready, and Merl’s head was bent in prayer. Kelten came to her side, folding his hands
respectfully as Bern made the libation. “Accept this pure water of the earth, Mother Sret, and our
thanks for your bounty. Bless this meal, and those who partake.”

Merl murmured, “Moon bless,” and Kelten followed, feeling the goddess’ love keenly this night.

Bern’s simple piety affected him more deeply than that of any priest or priestess Kelten had ever met.

The prayer over, Merl bustled again, motioning them to sit by the fire. Bern broke the camp bread.

Kelten held out a plate for the pieces, but Bern froze, his hand rigid in the air as he peered into the dark.

“What?” Kelten asked.
Bern put his finger to his lips, and reached behind him for his rifle. “Ma, come here.”
Merl obeyed without hesitation, coming to stand by his side. The hairs on Kelten’s neck went

erect. He strained to see, but he could make nothing out in the darkness beyond the fire, hearing
nothing over the crackling of the flames and wood.

“Make yourselves known,” Bern snapped. “I see you. No point in hiding.”
Kelten saw a fleeting pale blur, then a horrifyingly loud crack rent the quiet evening. Bern

collapsed to his knees. Merl screamed. “Pa!”

Kelten froze for only a second. He thought later it was only that hesitation which saved his life.

That, and the fact he hadn’t understood Bern was dead, or made a move towards Bern’s rifle.

That second was all it took for the nightmare to take the form of three men in long pale coats,

stepping into the firelight, aiming long-barrelled pistols at them. The tallest, a blond man standing a
little in front of the others, appeared to be the leader. The other two loomed threateningly in the
firelight. One had a savage scar down the length of the left side of his face. The other was missing one
ear entirely and half of the other. Kelten grimly determined that he would remember these men’s
appearance if he was granted the chance to report them to the constabulary.

“On your feet,” the blond man ordered.
Merl, cradling Bern, didn’t even look up, but Kelten instinctively stepped in front of her. “Who are

you? Why did you shoot him?”

“Shut up, boy. Quit your wailing, bitch.”
Merl grabbed Bern’s rifle. The man with the scarred face kicked it out of her hand before she could

raise it to aim, then smashed her across the head with a clenched fist. Kelten leapt for him, but the
blond gunman grabbed him bruisingly hard by the shoulder and hurled him to the ground, standing
over him with his pistol cocked, the barrel a mere inch from Kelten’s face.

“Want to end up like the old man? You keep it up, boy.”
“What do you want? Leave her alone! Stop it! She’s an old woman, no harm to anyone.”
His words weren’t even insects in their ears. The other two men dragged Merl away from Bern—

Bern’s dead body, Kelten realised with a sick slide in his gut—and tied her in a sitting position to a
tree, wrists tied behind it. She was still blessedly unconscious. Kelten would have spared her what she
had seen, and what he feared was about to happen to her. To them both.

The men returned and seized him, dragging him up like he weighed nothing. They restrained him

without the least difficulty by holding his arms behind him, thrusting him forward over to where Merl
was tied up. He struggled and kicked but it was hopeless—they outweighed him, and weren’t afraid to
hurt or kill him if he made himself too much of a nuisance. As his hands were bound behind the tree
next to where Merl sat, he stared up into the bearded, grimy face of the blond man. “Why? What do
you want? Why not take it and go?”

The man smirked and breathed foetid air into Kelten’s face as he leaned over him. “Why boy,

that’s just what we plan to do.” He thrust his hand between Kelten’s legs and squeezed his crotch hard.
Kelten bit back his cry of agony, blinked away the pain tears, and tried not to think what the man meant
by the crudeness.

They dragged Bern’s body away from the fire like so much camp trash, then returned to amuse

themselves further. The earless man was mainly interested in the stew bubbling away on the fire, but

the other two were after something else, crouching by Merl, slapping her face, and pawing her trousers.

“Leave her alone!”
“Shut it, boy,” the scarred thug snapped, backhanding Kelten and making his head collide with the

tree.

“Gag it,” the blond ordered. The scarred man seized Kelten’s hair and, forcing his mouth open

with the barrel of his gun, took Kelten’s own handkerchief and stuffed it between his teeth, choking off
his air, and forcing Kelten to concentrate lest he choke for real.

Silenced, he posed no more interruption. They turned their vile attentions back to Merl. She roused

to find them stripping her trousers and underthings away. She cried piteously, still obviously dazed, and
the men laughed at her confused, frightened struggles as they raped her. Kelten raged behind the gag,
weeping helplessly. He couldn’t watch, not wanting to see the dignity her age and sex should have
granted her, torn away like her clothes had been. How could they do this to her? A good, pious woman,
of no harm to anyone? How could the goddess allow it? He tugged and pulled at his bonds until his
wrists tore and his shoulders were close to coming out of their sockets, but he couldn’t free so much as
a finger to help his friend.

Merl screamed as her tormentors found a new way to hurt her. Kelten closed his eyes against the

sight of the third man joining in the assault. He prayed to Mother Sret for deliverance and mercy for his
friends, for there was none to be had from the hands of these three evil bastards.

They took their time. After a break for food, they returned to violate Merl again, holding the bread

she’d made in their grimy hands as they fucked her. But finally even rape wasn’t enough to entertain
them. The leader of the gang stood, tucking himself back into his trousers, and wiping his mouth. “Old
meat doesn’t taste so good,” he said, leering at Kelten, who wished he could spit his disgust. “Finish
her.”

The other two pulled out their hunting knives. Kelten yelled behind the gag as Merl coughed and

grunted in her dying agonies. They couldn’t even finish her cleanly, the smell of torn bowels filling the
air before she fell silent. He didn’t look, the goddess forgive him. He couldn’t watch what they had
done to his kind and loving friend, and the horror they had made of her.

No more concerned at her death than he would have been at the swatting of an insect, the leader

wandered off to rummage through the supplies. He found the apples, chose one and strolled back to
where his men were wiping their knives on Merl’s clothes and making crude remarks about her aged
body. He looked down at Kelten.

“Just leaves you, boy. Think you’ll last any longer?”
Kelten glared his hatred up at him. Who were these men, and why did they kill so easily? If he got

free of this, he would never rest until they were brought to justice. A feeble vow, but what else did he
have?

“Untie him. Let’s see if he’s more fun than the bitch.”
If that was his game, Kelten was determined to make him fight for his amusement even if they

killed him. They certainly would kill him, so why not go down hard, if he was going down anyway?

The two men laid hands on him, ready to untie him. Kelten tensed in preparation to fight or flee.

Over their heads, their leader grinned at him, eating the apple in slow, luxurious bites. Kelten prayed it
would choke him.

Suddenly the blond paused mid-bite, his face slack. He fell to his knees, then forward. Only then

did Kelten see the bolt sticking out of his back.

The others didn’t notice right away, but something in Kelten’s expression alerted them. The

scarred one looked around and saw his boss on the ground.

“Wek, look!” he yelled as he scrambled to his feet. He never made it upright. Another bolt, utterly

silent, appeared in his throat. He fell back, clutching the death imbedded in his neck.

The last man belatedly realised his danger and took to his heels, fleeing into the darkness. His fate

pursued him in the form of a dark, fierce creature, swift and deadly, that raced after him and pulled him
down. Though Kelten had wished much worse upon all these murderers, his stomach lurched again as
he heard the choked off scream and gurgles, imagining a throat torn out by sharp, fierce teeth.

But no dog had fired those crossbow bolts. Kelten, still bound and gagged and helpless, didn’t

know if he had merely exchanged one group of tormentors for another. For agonising seconds he could
see no one and hear nothing but the revolting sounds of the man meeting his doom off to the edge of
the camp.

Then a tall figure stepped into the pool of firelight. Another man in a long coat, bearded and grimy

like the others, holding a pistol in one hand, a small crossbow in the other. Was he a rival of the others,
come to steal their prey?

Standing with weapons ready, the stranger took his time looking around, glancing over Kelten and

Merl, then around to the other bodies. He holstered his crossbow behind his back, then clicked his
fingers. The black death appeared from the shadows, becoming a dog of no great size, running eagerly
to his master and accepting an approving pat. Kelten imagined its muzzle was red with blood, though it
was in truth too dark to tell, or to know what its master looked like.

The man commanded the dog to sit on guard, using some signal Kelten couldn’t see, rather than

his voice. Then he straightened, put his pistol in his side holster, and strode toward Kelten. He loomed,
a giant backlit by firelight. Kelten cringed in fear, even though he desperately didn’t want to show how
afraid he was. He was utterly at this man’s mercy. Between the giant and the dog, he would have no
hope of escape.

But the giant apparently had no malevolent intention, at least for now. He knelt and pulled the gag

from Kelten’s mouth, allowing Kelten the first proper breath in nearly an hour.

He spat and coughed. “Thank you, sir.”
The man gave no response, busying himself behind the tree and dealing with the ropes holding

Kelten’s wrists. Kelten felt the coolness of a knife and tensed, but the man only sliced the cable, not
him, even helping him move numb arms from around the tree and to fold them in his lap while the
blood returned. He looked at Kelten enquiringly.

“My friends are dead,” Kelten whispered, inclining his head toward Merl’s body.
The man nodded, then gripped Kelten’s right arm and helped him to stand, even though Kelten

would have liked a few moments to collect himself. He found himself urged toward the fire and forced

to sit on the tree trunk where the three of them had planned to eat their supper. The dog came over and
sat, watching Kelten with intelligent brown eyes, tongue lolling, no menace at all, despite the dark
blood on his muzzle which was not in the least bit imaginary.

The dog’s master started to walk away from the camp. Kelten jumped up in alarm. “Wait! Stop,

you can’t leave me here!”

The man paid no attention, giving no sign of hearing Kelten’s cry at all. In desperation Kelten ran

after him and grabbed his arm. The man whipped around, gripped Kelten’s wrist painfully hard and
yanked it off his arm, giving Kelten a narrow-eyed look of annoyance. He pointed angrily at his dog,
then at the tree trunk seat. He kept pointing until Kelten understood. Sit and wait. The man had left his
dog to guard Kelten, and he wouldn’t be going anywhere without his dog. So Kelten sat. The man
grunted and turned, walking off to do whatever it was he needed to.

The dog lay down, never taking his eyes off Kelten. Would it attack if he took the carthorse and

ran off? But what point would there be in that? He didn’t know exactly where he was, had no idea
where the nearest habitation or constabulary was, knew little of surviving on his own. Besides...his
friends were here, and until they were decently dealt with and their belongings returned to their
children, his duty was not complete.

So he sat quietly, staring into the dying fire, trying not to think of the bloodied mess lying a few

yards from him—all that remained of a kind, loving mother and friend—or of the body of her husband,
or the brutal and pointless way they had died. For the men who’d carried out this horror, he spared no
thought or pity, except to be sorry they’d died so easily.

The man was gone so long that, despite the dog’s presence, Kelten wondered if he would ever

return. He stirred himself to throw more fuel on the fire, then looked at the remains of the stew and
bread. The idea of eating at all, let alone what those vermin had soiled with their touch, made him sick.
He was fairly sure the dog would not care who had handled the food, so when he scraped the remains
onto a plate, he expected the animal to fall on it. But all the dog did was give him a look as if to ask if
Kelten thought he was stupid enough to eat food from a stranger’s hand. The force of his scorn was so
strong, Kelten actually flushed in embarrassment. He left the plate on the ground. The dog might
change his mind.

His hands were dirty, so he rinsed them from Bern’s water bottle. He wished he could wash the

touch of those men from his body as easily.

His mysterious rescuer still didn’t return. Kelten thought he could at least do a little to set the camp

to rights. He skirted wide around the bodies of the attackers so he could use a knife to free Merl from
the tree and place a blanket over her body. He couldn’t look at her for long, nor find the peace in his
mind to say the prayers that were needed. He closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, touching her
face before covering it.

He found Bern’s body under the bushes where their assailants had discarded it, and covered it

properly too. Suddenly the idea of these decent, good people spending any more time in the company
of those who ruthlessly ended their lives, revolted him. He wanted the thugs gone from the camp, even
if he could only drag them to the edge of it.

The dog sat up and whined interrogatively, but did nothing to stop Kelten as he grabbed each body

by the ankles and dragged them beyond the furthest glimmer of light, covering them with brush
because he didn’t want Mother Sret’s blessing to fall on them. Finally he carried Bern’s slight weight
over to rest by his wife, because it was only fitting they should be together now.

There was nothing more he could do. He stood, dizzy and exhausted and overwhelmed, staring at

the ruined camp, wondering what would become of him—what he should do now. He looked over to
the fire. The dog was lying down again, apparently asleep, though Kelten had no doubt that he would
spring up alert and ferocious if danger appeared. Or if Kelten did something he didn’t approve of.

The man might have left for good, the dog acting as a gift or a penalty. Maybe the man never

existed, and Mother Sret had saved him. Or maybe Kelten was dying and dreaming all this as he died.

Bern had set up the tent before the fateful supper. Kelten crawled inside it and onto his sleeping

pad, trying not to think about the friends who wouldn’t join him that night or any other night now. He
dragged a blanket over himself, over his head, and prayed for oblivion.

Chapter 3

The quiet and bright daylight that greeted him when he woke, disoriented him completely. Why

had Merl let him sleep so late, and where was....

Oh. He swallowed as he remembered. It hadn’t been a dream after all.
Blinking, sore-eyed and dull-headed, against the sun, he crawled out of the tent. He smelled

smoke, yet the fire should have gone out hours ago. He had been careless to leave it burning overnight.
That kind of mistake would have made Bern cross.

A bark made him look around. He found the dog and the man making themselves comfortable at

the now rebuilt campfire. The man had cooked and was eating, though whether from his own supplies
or Merl and Bern’s, Kelten didn’t know. The dog didn’t look hostile, though he sat up as Kelten
approached. The man looked at his dog, glanced Kelten’s way, then went back to his food.

Kelten walked over, not sure if he faced foe or friend, though if the man had intended harm, he’d

had plenty of chances the night before. “I’m Rhede Kelten. What’s your name, sir?”

The man didn’t respond, concentrating on his plate of meat. Kelten flushed a little in anger at being

ignored. “Excuse me. I’m grateful for your help, but I must insist on knowing your name and your
intentions.”

Still no response. Annoyed, Kelten went to push the man’s shoulder, but the dog growled in

warning, standing and baring his teeth. The man reacted to the animal’s stance even before he looked
up, immediately drawing his pistol and aiming it where the dog’s nose pointed. Kelten stepped back in
alarm, his hands raised in placation. The stranger grimaced, clearly annoyed, and went back to eating.
The dog lay down again, one eye cocked in disgust at Kelten.

The clues—the lack of reaction to Kelten’s conversation, the reliance on the dog’s watchfulness,

and the man’s lack of speech—finally fell together. Kelten would have worked it out sooner, but the
night before hadn’t been a time for clear thinking.

“You’re deaf?” He pointed to his ears. “You can’t hear, can you?” He pointed to the man, then to

his own ears again. “Deaf?”

The man frowned a little, then nodded. Relief washed over Kelten. It explained a good deal of the

man’s apparent unfriendliness. “May I sit?” He indicated the log. The man shrugged and went back to
his food.

It looked like the man was eating his own supplies, as Kelten didn’t recognise the meat strips on

his plate. Kelten still wasn’t hungry, though he supposed he should eat. He looked at his companion,
wondering how to initiate conversation. Treating the deaf was a speciality he hadn’t studied, though he
had of course learned the causes of deafness. A few doctors had learned a signing language to
communicate with their patients, but that was all he knew of the matter.

He waved his hand in front of the man’s face, only to have it angrily knocked away. “Sorry. Do

you read lips? I know no sign language.”

The man waited for him to finish speaking, but showed no reaction beyond a shrug and eyebrows

raised in incomprehension. So he either didn’t read lips, or he didn’t understand Kelten’s words.

“Ah, I have an idea.”
Kelten went to his pack where he had a small notebook in which he’d made some desultory notes

about his trip, though he was no author and a poor diarist. He wrote his name in pencil in the notebook
and brought back to the campfire. He showed the page to the man, then pointed at himself. “Kelten.
Rhede Kelten.”

The man nodded, but when Kelten offered him the book and pencil, he pushed it away impatiently.

Could he not write? He could read, so it seemed. Kelten put the notebook in his pocket. Time for that
later.

He looked about the camp. Merl and Bern lay where he’d left them, still decently covered by

blankets. The only change Kelten noticed, other than the presence of dog and man, was five horses tied
on the same highline. Three were light riding horses with their saddles removed. Those they’d worn
were piled on the ground near the cart. Had they belonged to the attackers? They must have had
mounts. The other two horses, both cobs, must belong to his mysterious rescuer. He pointed at them,
then at the man. The man nodded. Kelten took out his notebook. “What will you do with the others?”
he wrote.

The man shrugged again, which wasn’t much help. It reminded Kelten that he now had a

responsibility to make sure Merl and Bern’s belongings, including their horse, were returned to their
family—along with their bodies. But he didn’t really know where the farm was, or how to get there. So
far as he knew from Bern’s remarks, he was at least a week’s ride from their home. The notion of
travelling on his own along unknown roads with two dead bodies, with the threat of more marauders,
made him feel sick with anxiety. But he couldn’t leave his friends here like carrion.

He found some of the jerky Bern had made, and forced himself to eat it. He also ate an apple,

though his stomach threatened to turn inside out as he remembered the leader eating one just before he
was killed. Kelten’s rescuer continued his breakfast, completely indifferent to Kelten’s mental torment.
What were his plans? Why was he even still here? Did he plan to take his reward from the supplies?
Should Kelten attempt to stop him?

But for now, the man was peaceable. Kelten returned to the fire, chewing the jerky and using the

time to fully assess his strange companion. In the daylight, he was a striking figure, with bright auburn
hair and full beard, brown eyes as intelligent and observant as the dog’s. He wore a long leather coat—
a patch-worked, heavily worn thing—over patched and clearly old trousers and shirt. His boots also
showed a good deal of use. A man used to hardship and travel, Kelten guessed. Last night, looming out
of the darkness, he had seemed very much taller than Kelten, and broader. This morning, hunched over
his food, he was less imposing, but still conveyed the impression of height and bulk that would make
many a man hesitate to quarrel with him.

How long had he been deaf? Since birth, or was he the victim of a disease? Kelten wanted to ask

so many things, because it felt rather odd and lonely to be unable to speak to the only person for miles
around. He longed to ask the man about the men he’d killed, about what he should do now, where he

should go. He wasn’t a person used to depending on others to make his way in life—his parents and
stepfather had drilled any tendency to that out of him—but right now, he felt lost, and more than a little
afraid.

When the man finished his meal, he used sand and ash to wash his dish and pan, just as Bern

would have done, before rinsing them. “What are you going to do?” Kelten asked as the man put the
dish and pan away in a sack.

Of course he received no answer. The man walked over to one of his horses and fiddled with his

pack. When he turned around, he had a small shovel in his hand. He held it up to show Kelten, nodding
over to where Bern and Merl lay.

“You think we should bury them? Here?”
But yes, it was the only thing that made sense. The corpses would begin to decompose quite

quickly and the smell would not only be disgusting, but also might attract predators. Bern and Merl
deserved better than to be torn apart by hungry animals.

Kelten found Bern’s shovel and joined the man at a pleasant grassy area under a tree. The man

looked at him as if to seek his approval. “Yes,” Kelten said, nodding at the same time, his throat thick
with sorrow. “This is a good place.” He nodded and poked the ground with the shovel to show his
approval.

The man had apparently dug graves before, because he did it with an efficiency that reminded

Kelten achingly of Bern, and made him feel like a clumsy oaf. Between the two of them, in less than an
hour they’d made a decent hollow. When they were done, the man looked at Kelten again, as if to
check he was ready for the next step. Kelten didn’t wait to be led. He went over to the edge of the camp
where Bern and Merl lay, and knelt at their side.

Last night he hadn’t been able to do what he should have, but now there was no excuse. He

uncovered their faces, biting his lip to restrain the inevitable sorrow at the sight. He’d seen the dead
many times before, but those corpses had not been those of dear friends. Bern’s face was slightly
twisted, as if he had died in pain. Merl just looked...empty. Not asleep, not at peace...just vacated. Her
spirit had gone. He folded his hands and bowed his head.

“Mother Sret, I beg you, gather your children to your bosom, forgive their sins, and console our

grief. Ask them to watch over us who loved them and miss them, and bless us all.”

His tears fell on Merl’s face. He couldn’t continue, though there were more prayers for the dead

that he should rightly say. Mother Sret knew his heart, and Merl and Bern were already safe in her
arms. He bent and pressed his lips gently against Merl’s forehead, then Bern’s. “Farewell, my friends.”

He turned and found the man standing behind him, his expression—what could be seen behind the

incredible beard—solemn. Even, Kelten fancied, a little sympathetic.

He covered Merl’s face again, then stood. “She’s in rigor. Please help me?” He bent to lift Merl by

the shoulders and the man took the hint, lifting her by the legs.

It wasn’t dignified but there was no helping it. They placed her body into the grave, Bern beside

her. “Goddess bless your souls,” Kelten murmured, then tossed in a shovel full of soil, knowing this
had to be done fast or he would never get through it. When he was done, he knelt by the grave for some

time, his thoughts miserable and lost. He only roused when he heard the dog bark. He found the man
over by his horses, clearly preparing to leave.

Kelten scrambled to his feet. “Wait. Please, wait.” The man paid him no attention until Kelten put

his hand on the reins of his mare. The man jerked them out of Kelten’s hands and moved back, forcing
the horse to follow him. He glared at Kelten, who held his hands up in apology. “Please. I need your
help.” The man continued to glare, putting his hand on his pommel, as if about to mount. Kelten
remembered his notebook, and scribbled, “Help me?”

The man looked around him, then back at Kelten as if to ask “How?”
Kelten was stumped. What did he want? Could the man get him to Gark? But what about Bern and

Merl’s possessions? And the dead criminals, what of them? He could only hold the notebook up again.
“Help me?”

The man frowned, then turned away. Kelten was about to protest when he realised the man was

headed for the tent. By the time he caught up to him, the man had already begun to take the tent down.
This, Kelten could do. It had become almost automatic, breaking camp. He didn’t have to think about
it. Didn’t want to think about it.

When the stranger took it upon himself to begin dividing up Merl and Bern’s possessions, Kelten

wanted to protest, but forbore. He’d asked for help, and the man was giving it. He might as well wait
and see what the plan was, for he had nothing he could offer in its place.

He only intervened when the man put his hands on Merl’s little box of treasures—mementoes of

her daughter’s wedding, the family jewellery she’d worn to it, and a small book of prayers her daughter
had made for her, painted and calligraphed with her own hands.

“No, this must go back to them.”
The man pushed the box at him with a “suit yourself” shrug. He went back to putting the items into

two piles, while Kelten gathered himself together. There were things that he should take charge of
personally—Bern’s cash, Merl’s box, their documents. The rest of it could be left in the hope that
someone would come across it and the graves, realise what had happened, and deliver everything to the
authorities. And if not, then Kelten doubted the goods would be a great loss. But the personal
things...those, he would deliver, along with his own report of how these good folk had died. Just when
and how he would do this, he had no idea, but it had to be done, just as he would have to present
himself to the constables and tell them what had happened.

When the man was done, his logic became clear to Kelten. He’d separated the camping gear, the

supplies, and what he’d guessed were Kelten’s things, from Bern and Merl’s clothes, the fish traps and
other, heavier items. He’d made only small errors in his surmises, only grunting when Kelten shifted
some of Bern’s shirts from one pile to another and retrieved his medical bag. He did, for some reason,
insist on retaining Bern’s heavy coat for Kelten. Kelten felt too unbalanced to argue about it.

Then he put the pile that Kelten would not need into the cart, covered it all with the oilcloth and

tied it down, before rolling the cart to rest over the fresh grave. The goods would be safe from the
casual foraging of animals, and nothing more could be done to preserve them from the ill intentioned.
The rest, he loaded onto the carthorse with the ease of obvious experience. He looked Kelten up and

down as if making his mind up about something, then untied two of the raiders’ horses from the
highline, slapped their rumps and sent them galloping off into the forest. He examined the three saddles
on the ground, chose what Kelten assumed was the best of them, and put it on the third horse, cinching
and adjusting it with care. He untied that animal and led it and the carthorse over to Kelten, placing the
reins of both horses into Kelten’s hand. He jerked his thumb towards his own pack beasts, then walked
off towards them.

Kelten had a choice then—follow, or do as he pleased. He could either attempt to complete the

journey he’d begun, or hope this silent man, whose name he did not know and intent he could not
divine, would lead him to safety. “What should I do, Mother?” he muttered.

The goddess gave no sign. The man had mounted. Kelten had to make up his mind. With a last,

regretful look at the cart and grave, and an apology for abandoning his friends and their kind help, he
mounted the gelding chosen for him, then set it off in the direction of the other horses and their master.

~~~~~~

Within a couple of hours it became clear to Kelten why the man—he’d decided to call him

Redbeard for now—wanted him to keep Bern’s coat. His path lay northwest, towards the intimidating
snow-capped Divon mountain range. Did the man live there? Or did he think he could find a place to
drop Kelten?

Kelten had no idea, and for now, almost no interest. His life had been torn asunder in a couple of

hours of viciousness. Wherever he went now, he would take the memories with him. The hospital post,
his career to be, seemed like distant dreams, of no importance. Perhaps his apathy would wear off. He
suspected that grief and shock distorted his reactions, but that very fact made it hard to care.

Redbeard glanced his way every so often without the least attempt at communication or

encouragement, though his dog occasionally trotted over to sniff at the heels of Kelten’s mount or those
of the placid cart horse. Somehow, Kelten had to find a way to talk to the dog’s owner, but the man
seemed uninterested in anything he had tried. If he could just learn his name.

They rode for several hours. When they stopped, it was just as it had been with Merl and Bern.

Redbeard set the fire, Kelten collected wood. They sat not quite side by side as the water for tea boiled
and the man ate food from his stores. He showed a little interest in the bag of apples Kelten produced,
so Kelten offered him one. They would, after all, not keep forever, the state of his stores a nagging
worry behind everything else he had to think about. The man hesitated, then rummaged around in his
satchel before producing a handful of nuts, offering them to Kelten in clear exchange.

Kelten pushed his hand away carefully. “It’s all right. You don’t have to give me anything.”
Redbeard frowned and thrust his hand out again, but when Kelten again refused, he put the nuts

away, ignoring the apple Kelten held out to him.

“Oh, moon curse,” Kelten muttered. He didn’t feel like eating nuts, that was all. No need for this

oaf to be offended.

They set off in less than an hour—long enough to piss, drink tea, and water the animals. Kelten

worried about the horses. He carried grain, and water wasn’t a problem here at least, but he had no idea
for how long he needed provisions. If Redbeard truly was heading into the mountains with winter

coming, Kelten’s clothes would barely be up to it. He had no idea at all how the horses would cope.
Maybe it had been completely foolish of him to follow after this voiceless stranger simply because
making a harder decision was beyond him just at that moment. The sensible thing would have been to
stay on the path Bern had been following, look for signs of other roads which were in use, and trust to
Bern’s rifle to protect himself.

But it hadn’t been enough to protect Bern and Merl. He would give it a week, he decided, and

make careful note of the path and terrain so if he had to retrace his steps, he could. If worse came to
worst, he would have to go all the way back to Tuwilo and ask for help from the authorities.

He should have made that decisions hours before, but his heart cringed at the idea of being alone in

this empty land for days, even weeks, constantly on guard, waiting for another attack. He already
missed Merl’s gentle companionship and Bern’s cheerful, intelligent conversation. He missed them so
much. His eyes filled again, thinking of them.

The man turned to look at him, as if he had somehow sensed Kelten’s plunging emotions. He made

a gesture with his hand which seemed vaguely interrogatory. Did it mean, “Are you all right?”

Kelten quickly dashed the tears from his eyes. “I’m fine,” he lied, smiling overbrightly. He waved

his hand to indicate they should get on. Redbeard nodded, and mounted up.

Kelten’s pocket watch informed that they made camp four hours after that brief stop, just as his

arse and legs had begun to complain about his longest ride on horseback since childhood. Redbeard’s
order of business was once again identical to Bern’s—latrine, water, fire, traps—so Kelten did as he’d
done all day, pretending that he was still with Bern and Merl, under their instructions. He realised that
he would need to set his own traps—and would need to learn how to. The tins of meat Merl had bought
would not last a week if he ate nothing else, though there was a good supply of jerky, and Kelten didn’t
believe it was healthy to eat meat every day. Not knowing how long he needed to keep supplies for, he
wanted to preserve them as long as possible. But Bern hadn’t thought to show him how to trap, and
there were no lakes here into which Kelten could cast a line, the only hunting skill in which he had
reasonable confidence.

He could look for berries, nuts and fungi though, as Merl had taught him. He fancied Redbeard

looked somewhat approving as he came back into camp, cloth sacks full of his finds. “Look,” Kelten
said, showing him the rich crimson durkleberries that he’d had to scramble under a rather prickly bush
to retrieve. “Want some?”

He held out a handful to the man, who immediately reached into his sack, and retrieved the same

nuts he’d offered at lunchtime. Kelten didn’t make the same mistake. “Oh, all right. Thank you.” He
accepted the nuts and made a polite bow. “I don’t mind sharing. You saved my life.”

The man showed no reaction to his words beyond a slight puzzlement. Kelten smiled and

wondered how he was ever going to talk to him.

Despite the lack of language, they muddled through the evening, each making their own supper,

but sharing tea and the fire, and later, the tent. The tent had been the excuse for the only genuine
‘dialogue’ that day. Redbeard had come to Kelten with Bern’s tent in his hands, and pointed carefully
to himself, then to Kelten, before holding up two fingers.

“Your tent is too small?” Kelten brought his hands together to indicate something reducing in size.

The man nodded, so Kelten made the gesture he’d seen earlier—“Are you all right?”—and then nodded
his head vigorously to indicate his agreement.

The man frowned, took Kelten’s hands, then guided them to make the gesture in a slightly

different manner. Then he made the original gesture and pointed at Kelten, who did the new one. “Are
you all right...yes, I’m all right. Is that it?” Just to check, he did the original. The man replied with the
new signs. Kelten grinned. “Communication.”

The man snorted, though it was doubtful he understood why Kelten was so happy. Then he went

off to set up Bern’s tent. That was the end of the lesson.

There weren’t many opportunities for teaching. Certainly, Kelten learned a few symbols for

individual things, like nuts, the dog, the tent, the fire and so on, but asking questions through his
notebook met with stony disdain. Without the ability to ask vital things like “Where are we going?” and
“How long will it take?” there was no way to progress. Why the man refused to help him, Kelten had
no idea. He didn’t think Redbeard was illiterate, because his reaction to Kelten’s notes was annoyance
rather than confusion, but he couldn’t be sure. Whatever the reason, that avenue of communication was
cut off. He could only try to learn as many gestures and symbols as he could, because the least he
wanted to achieve was to show goodwill to this man who was his only lifeline.

The other oddity about Redbeard was his extraordinary lack of generosity. He refused to share any

of his supplies or the prey from his traps unless Kelten had something to trade, and that trade had to be
carefully weighed up to be exactly equal in value. An apple was worth five nuts, ten berries worth the
same. He would put exactly one spoon of tea into the billycan—enough for one man’s drink, and no
more—and if Kelten wanted to share the brew, he had to put exactly one spoon in from his own
supplies. Redbeard would never offer him so much as the grease from his skillet, or the smallest cut
from a rabbit carcase. Though Kelten, for now, wasn’t starving, he felt the meanness was quite
unnecessary. It didn’t help that his fumbling attempts at trapping had so far come to naught, and
Redbeard refused to help him right his mistakes. He’d allow Kelten to watch him set the traps, but
when Kelten made his own, and each time found them empty in the morning, he would do nothing to
indicate what Kelten was doing wrong. It was quite maddening to know the other man had knowledge
that he simply would not share.

After a week passed, Kelten felt unable to make the decision to turn around and return to Tuwilo.

He still had no idea where he was going, or if Redbeard had the slightest interest in getting him to
Gark. But the idea of travelling on his own repulsed him, and he was no closer to being over the deaths
of his kindly friends. Travelling in this aimless fashion with a silent companion suited his wounded
heart in a way that solitary travel—or dealing with Bern and Merl’s bereaved children—could not do.
Gark would still need doctors in a month’s time. Or two months. However long it took for him to learn
how to talk with Redbeard.

Moon curse, what was he thinking? What was Redbeard to him, or he to Redbeard? Perhaps he

was truly addled, that he would contemplate delaying taking up an important post—something he had
studied for years to achieve—all to satisfy some strange curiosity about a deaf hunter who wouldn’t

even share his food.

He had to find out where they were, at least—where they were going. Without a map, he had only

the roughest idea of where they must be in relation to the major towns of this continent. So that
evening, as they waited for the billycan to boil, he decided to try to pry a little more information out of
his companion. He drew a rough outline of Inades on the ground, marked Tuwilo and Gark on it, and
the mountain range ahead of them, labelling them all as clearly he could in the dirt. Redbeard paid no
attention until Kelten waved his hand in front of his face. Redbeard angrily slapped the hand away,
leaned back and glared at Kelten. The dog growled, before letting out a warning bark.

Kelten held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, but I need you to look. Please.”
He poked the word “Tuwilo”, then drew what he thought had been the route Bern had taken

overland towards Neld. He had to guess where the journey had been so brutally interrupted, doing his
best to indicate that point, pointing to himself and to Redbeard, cocking his hand like a gun, and
jabbing the ground.

Redbeard watched in silence with no apparent interest. But he did at least watch.
Kelten drew a line with the stick off to the northwest, towards the mountains, then again pointed to

himself and the man. He made the “Is it all right?” gesture, the only way he had to ask if he had the
facts correct. The man shrugged. Kelten wanted to shake him. “Where are we going?” He looked
around and held his palms up as if confused. “Where?” He knew better than to ask the question in
writing, but gestures had their limit. He pointed at the mountains, looming so close now. “Where?”

Redbeard sighed and grabbed the stick out of Kelten’s hand. He drew a forceful line from where

Kelten’s finished, through the mountains, then to a point on the other side which seemed an impossible
distance to travel. It was, most importantly, nowhere near Gark.

“I need to be here.” Kelten jabbed the ground near ‘Gark’ with his finger. “Here. Not there.” He

shook his head vigorously as he pointed to the distant destination. “No.”

Redbeard shrugged and threw the stick onto the fire. Conversation over, such as it was.
So he had information but no control over his destiny. Not unless he walked out of camp and back

the way he’d come. But Redbeard definitely had a destination in mind, so perhaps Kelten would find
help of a more communicative kind there. There were cities to the west of the mountains. If he could
get to one he could either arrange transport to Gark from there, or apply for a position locally. Perhaps
Redbeard had been sent by Mother Sret as a sign that the post in Gark was not meant to be. The deaths
of Merl and Bern surely indicated that the enterprise was ill-omened. Persisting against two such
obvious warnings could invite even worse to happen.

Or this could all be superstitious nonsense and Mother Sret had no intention of deflecting him from

his course. The attackers had been the work of evil, not a loving goddess. No pious man took his cue
from the demon world.

“Why did I ever leave Bunes? My stepfather was right. I should have been a banker.”
Redbeard watched Kelten’s lips move, then looked down at the boiling tea, utterly uninterested in

his emotional crisis or his self-pity.

Kelten stalked off towards the latrine, frustrated and confused, wishing he had made a different

Chapter 4

Within two days of that frustrating conversation, the weather became much colder, the terrain

harder. Kelten’s whole attention was on staying warm and on his horse. He had little interest in his
surroundings until he grew used to the chill and the hard climbing through the tree line. But it soon
became clear Redbeard wasn’t just travelling through this landscape—it was a destination in itself, and
here, he had work to do. Instead of breaking camp and spending most of each day riding, the routine
changed, so they were only travelling on every second or third day. This ramped up Kelten’s
impatience almost to screaming point. But Redbeard was impervious to his annoyance and complaints,
so Kelten had to swallow them and let his companion do as he pleased.

Which was setting half a dozen traps and going off for hours with the dog, returning with the

corpses of fat, thickly furred vongars and hares which he carefully flayed, setting the meat to smoke
and putting the skins on frames around the camp. The snowbirds they caught were plucked, and their
feathers stuffed into sacks, all but the decorative tail feathers that were tied together in bunches. Kelten
grew heartily sick of the smell of dead animals and smoked meat, even though he grudgingly admired
the skill and speed with which Redbeard carried out his profession. The role of the second pack animal
soon became clear as the pile of furs grew and the sacks of dried meat increased. There had to be much
more there than Redbeard needed for his own use, so Kelten assumed he would have to make contact
with a trading post at some point. That would give Kelten a chance to make contact with the real world,
and escape this cold, smelly, death-laden one. The decision to throw his lot in with Redbeard now
seemed like the maddest, most ridiculous thing he could have ever done. He regretted it daily.

His grumpiness increased threefold when he sat down by the fire, shivering, and went to open one

of his last cans of beef. The only benefit of the prolonged camp stops had been that he’d had plenty of
time to forage for berries and nuts, following Redbeard’s example using tree needles for tea, and
tapping the sap for the sweetness. But even with this cautious eking out of his supply, he was down
now to a mere three tins. He didn’t know how he would manage once all they were gone. Redbeard still
refused to share any of his bounty, even though there was plenty of meat to spare. Kelten had caught
exactly one creature in his own traps, some kind of rat which had tasted foul and provided barely more
than two mouthfuls of meat for the effort. He didn’t attempt to save the skin. He couldn’t imagine
anyone wanting it. He certainly didn’t.

He reached into his jacket pocket for the can opener, but came up empty.
“Moons curse it!”
He searched through his other pockets, then the saddlebags. Nothing. He checked the ground

around the horses and the tent, but the can opener was nowhere to be found. He had a sudden memory
of it lying on a flat stone near the fire at their last camp, and he realised he must have left it behind.

“Damn it,” he spat, shaking his head in disgust. The motion attracted Redbeard’s attention. He

looked up with a raised eyebrow. Kelten held up the can and pantomimed opening it, then showed his

empty hands.

Redbeard nodded, reached into his own pocket and brought out his can opener, a twin for the one

Kelten had lost. Kelten grinned in relief, reaching for it, only to find it held away from him. Redbeard
smirked and put the thing back in his coat, leaning back and looking smug.

“Oh, in the name of the merciful goddess. I only want to borrow it, you mean creature.”
Redbeard continued to regard him calmly, the dog at his side watching with its ginger eyebrows

raised as if he couldn’t believe Kelten didn’t know the rules of engagement by now.

“You expect me to trade for this? To use your bloody can opener?”
He sighed in disgust, and cast his mind about as to what he could offer. Even if he could spare the

meat, Redbeard had a surplus. Perhaps some berries? But no, Redbeard spared the handful Kelten
offered only a single disdainful glance before turning back to his plate of pan-fried rabbit.

Kelten was stumped. He had no supplies that Redbeard didn’t also have, and his were vastly

inferior in variety and quality. He had no skills other than his medical training that Redbeard could use,
not that Redbeard had any idea he was travelling with a fully qualified physician.

He threw the can on the ground in raw frustration, then sat on the canvas he was using to keep his

arse dry. He wouldn’t starve. Not yet, anyway. But he was hungry, he could do with something hot,
and all he needed was a few seconds’ use of a perfectly ordinary tool.

He glared at Redbeard who had the nerve to chuckle and take the can opener out again, dangling it

on his lap. Daring Kelten to take it so he could beat him to a pulp, most likely. Kelten was familiar with
the game from the bullies at school. He’d only fallen for that trick once, which had been enough.

He ate the berries for want of anything better, and contemplated the prospect of surviving on such

meagre provisions for weeks, possibly. The canned meat wouldn’t make that much difference in the
long run, but the sheer meanness of Redbeard’s refusal galled him.

The man was still smirking, sprawled by the fire, well fed, completely at home in this chilly, harsh

land. Kelten was nothing more than a diversion. Something to toy with.

Kelten looked at where Redbeard had laid the can opener—right over his crotch—and with a gut

slide of mortification, realised that the game was actually a slightly different one from the “let’s fool
the quiet new boy into getting close enough to beat up.” No, this was the “suck me off and I’ll do you
that favour you want” version. A more sophisticated game from his teenage years, and a less brutal one,
but not one Kelten remembered with any fondness.

Redbeard watched him, his hand still over his crotch and the can opener. The question was, would

fellatio be an acceptable trade? It was, Kelten considered sourly, the only thing the man could not do
for himself, and had no access to here from any other source. So the chances were good that it would
work. And it wasn’t like Kelten was a stranger to the act.

He walked over and knelt down. Redbeard immediately put the can opener back in his jacket.

Kelten scowled. “Yes, I understand, you ungenerous bastard.” He put his hand on Redbeard’s fly
button. The man jumped. “What, do you charge for access for that now? Co-operate.”

He worked the fly open, burrowing through layers of underwear to find the man’s cock, while

Redbeard sat up and watched him with a strange expression. He wasn’t hard, and Kelten sighed as he

realised he had to do even more work. He stroked the thick, long cock. Of course he had a well-made
organ. The man was physically impressive in every way. Why should this be different?

Redbeard jumped again as Kelten put his lips on his cock, and made a strange sound, the first

Kelten had heard him utter other than grunts and chuckles. Kelten assumed it was some involuntary
expression of his obvious arousal. Redbeard was possibly unaware he’d even made it.

But he wasn’t here to analyse Redbeard’s capacity to vocalise. He was here to earn use of the

damn can opener. So he applied his mouth, and did his best. Or his worst, depending on how one
viewed it.

The man was clean, and didn’t taste offensive. His cock was a pleasing weight and shape, and

Kelten, who considered himself something of a connoisseur, grudgingly had to admit it was one of the
finer specimens he’d ever encountered. Given a free choice with someone he actually liked, he would
have enjoyed this immensely. Even doing this reluctantly, Kelten still took some small pride in
wringing the choked, incoherent cries and jerks of surprise from his tormentor. Got more than you
bargained for, eh?

When he was done, he wiped his mouth and sat back, wondering what reception his efforts would

receive and if he should prepare for a beating after all, since he didn’t know how this man’s mind
worked in the slightest. The reaction was...somewhat different from what he expected. The dog was
now sitting up and looking confused. He even whined a little as if worried by events. Redbeard’s
expression was close to shock, which Kelten couldn’t understand at all.

But it wasn’t his concern. He’d done what was expected of him. Now he wanted payment. He held

his hand out. “Give it to me.” He snapped his fingers a little to emphasise the point. He wasn’t going to
be toyed with any longer.

Slowly, almost dazedly, Redbeard extracted the can opener from his jacket pocket and handed it to

Kelten, who snatched it away before the man had a chance to change his mind. He stalked back to his
own place at the campfire and opened the tin, emptying it into the little saucepan he used for heating
such food. Then he returned the can opener to Redbeard with an elaborately sarcastic bow, turning his
back on him in disgust once the exchange was done.

Redbeard watched him with rather disturbingly close attention as he ate, no longer sprawling but

tucked in tight as if fearing an attack. Kelten ostentatiously ignored him, but inside, he felt a little spark
of superiority. He did have something Redbeard wanted. By the goddess, he would bet the man had
never had the like before, and never would again. Kelten would find another way to open the damn tins
or do without. Redbeard could go back to masturbating himself in the wilderness, which was all a thug
like him deserved.

That night Kelten did his best to keep himself separate from Redbeard’s body. Difficult in such a

confined space, when it was too cold not to share warmth and blankets even with someone he despised.
What a hateful, small-minded creature. He might have saved Kelten’s life, but he obviously had no
great moral sense or generosity of spirit. Kelten was better than him, and always would be. When he
had escaped from this nightmare, he would take great pleasure in never thinking about Redbeard and
his meanness ever again. Redbeard could wander this moon-forsaken land for the rest of his miserable

life for all Kelten cared. It was all he was fit for.

He completely ignored Redbeard for the next two days, though he doubted the man noticed or

cared. He could think of no way of opening the remaining cans which would not involve spoiling the
contents and making the exercise worthless. Reluctantly he decided that he would just have to learn
how to trap and like rat, if that was all he could catch. There was food and prey around. It shouldn’t be
beyond the wit of an educated man to learn the way of collecting it, if this thug could do so.

Higher they climbed. Snow fell, at first as a few fat flakes to torment him as he rode, then in great

flurries that blinded him and forced him to huddle deep in Bern’s borrowed coat, trusting to the horse
not to stumble, and often barely caring if it did. He had never been so cold in his life. The air was so
dry, he drank water all day and still thirsted. Relieving himself was an exercise in torture. Baring his
hands long enough to eat was nigh unbearable. He stuffed moss and dry grass into his boots and coat as
he saw Redbeard doing. It helped a bit, but he still found all thoroughly miserable. The pitiful diet to
which he was restricted, didn’t help. He would have to eventually open those two last cans of meat out
of pure necessity, though he delayed as long as he could. Giving Redbeard the satisfaction of
dominating him sexually was more painful than his empty gut—for now.

He dreamed of rabbit stew at night, and of Merl’s kind face. He woke with tears on his face, and

wished, at times, he’d died that night too. He despised himself for such thoughts, but he couldn’t rouse
himself from the depression cold and hunger had imposed on him. The howls and screams of predators
at night made this all so much more ghastly, and lonely.

Redbeard didn’t notice, or at least didn’t care. The dog enjoyed himself in the snow, returning to

camp each day with a red muzzle and wildly waving tail. The hunting was good, which only served to
increase Kelten’s sense of isolation. He was going to starve in the midst of goddess-given bounty
because his companion was a miserly bastard, and Kelten still couldn’t set a trap that worked.

But yet he tried. Each time Redbeard went off with the dog, Kelten snuck off to study the traps set

that morning, and did his best to replicate them down to the smallest detail. He doubted Redbeard
would care if he caught him copying him. Since Kelten often heard the two of them not that distant
from the camp, the squeals of their prey and the dog’s excited barking carrying perfectly well in the
freezing air, he expected to be discovered on a daily basis. But Redbeard paid him no attention, and
ignored the traps Kelten set. Perhaps he found them too pitiful for notice.

This morning, Redbeard and the dog hadn’t gone very far at all. They’d made camp near sparse

forest. Kelten guessed they were after vongars again, that being the principle prey of late. The long-
tailed mammals weren’t hard to spot. If Kelten had felt less hungry and miserable, he’d have enjoyed
watching them, for they had an amusingly playful manner. As it was, he stared at every sign of life with
dull avarice, envying the animals their thick coats and padding of insulating fat. Even the rats were
better adapted than he was to this freezing landscape.

The snow was thick on the ground here, except under the trees, but they hadn’t set up their tent

underneath one for reasons which became obvious very soon after they’d stopped and a huge load of
snow had fallen from a branch stirred by a sudden breeze. If it had landed on their tent in the night,
they’d have woken very cold and wet, at the least.

The dog let out an agonised scream. Kelten, shocked by the sound, paused in the process of trying

to lash two twigs together. Had something gone wrong? He listened hard. No barking, no yelling. The
forest was almost preternaturally still and quiet. But then...the dog, whimpering. Crying. Was he hurt,
or was it his master injured?

“Hello?” Kelten frowned at himself. What point was there in yelling for a deaf man?
He found Bern’s rifle and set off in the direction he’d last seen the man and dog. The animal had

fallen silent, so he couldn’t use that sound for direction. He didn’t dare risk going far for fear of
becoming lost. But he didn’t have to go far at all. He found the man kneeling next to his dog at the base
of some exposed boulders. He threw a twig to give the man some warning, and Redbeard turned.

Kelten was shocked at the tears coursing freely down his face. He came over and knelt by

Redbeard’s side. The cause of the dog’s quiet whimpering was clear—a hind leg was badly broken,
with bone exposed. “Oh no. I’m sorry.”

Kelten laid a hand in sympathy on the man’s shoulder. Lost in his obvious misery, Redbeard didn’t

react to the normally disliked touch. Instead, he reached out and stroked his animal’s head, petting it,
then drew out his pistol. His intention became clear. The logic was sound...except that there was
something Redbeard didn’t know, and had to know before he killed his beloved animal.

“No, wait!” Kelten put his hand out and pushed the gun away from the dog’s head.
Redbeard frowned angrily and pointed at the mess of the hind leg.
“Yes, I know, but I can—”
Kelten stopped in frustration at his forgetting yet again the man couldn’t hear, but then

remembered he had the notebook. He’d been drawing pictures of the traps in a vain attempt to learn the
trick of them. The man had rejected his attempts before, but this time, he had better listen.

“I can operate, amputate. I’m a doctor,” he wrote. “I can help him.” He didn’t have the tools or

experience to set such a bad fracture in a dog, but amputation wasn’t uncommon for pets in Bunes, and
the animals coped well on three legs. He was reasonably sure he had all he needed for such an
operation.

Redbeard’s eyes widened. Kelten poked the words he’d just written. “Can you bring him back to

camp?”

Redbeard nodded and wiped his eyes. “I’ll go ahead and prepare. Keep him as still as you can. It’ll

hurt, moving him. Can’t be helped.”

Redbeard nodded again, somewhat dazedly. Kelten took the pistol from Redbeard’s hand and put it

back in his holster. The animal didn’t need to be put down. Not yet. Hopefully never.

But there was preparation to be done. Instruments to sterilise, an operating field to establish, water

to boil for him to wash his hands in, and he had to find the hunting saw Redbeard used to butcher the
carcasses. He struggled to refresh his memories of a single summer vacation spent with a school friend,
the son of a veterinarian, and watching his friend’s father operate on dogs and farm beasts. He had also
dissected dogs in his first months at medical school. He had to hope that his brief experiences would be
enough to guide his hand on this live creature. The dog had helped save his life, and unlike his master,
had never been mean or unkind to him. Kelten owed him his very best attempt to help him.

He quickly built up the fire and put a pan of water on. Once the instruments and saw were boiling

up, he thought about anaesthetic. He considered ether, and discarded the notion. The risk of killing the
animal outright was too high. He had morphine. His friend’s father had used it on a bull he’d operated
on, and mentioned its use on other animals, though not dogs specifically. It wasn’t safe for cats, he
knew. He bit his lip as he considered the options. Morphine was a risk when he knew so little about its
effect on dogs, but he would not operate on this poor creature without pain relief—it would be kinder
to let Redbeard put a bullet in his brain than to torture it so. He could try a very small dose and see if it
was effective. The dog would die anyway if he did nothing, so it was worth a try.

Redbeard appeared ten minutes later, his dog carried carefully in his arms, his expression

wretched. The animal’s stoic silence in his suffering unnerved Kelten. Perhaps he realised his owner
couldn’t hear it so there was no point, but the pain had to be immense. The dog cried pitifully as
Redbeard laid it down on the bit of canvas that was all Kelten had as an operating table, then felt silent
again save for tiny, occasional whimpers. Redbeard stroked his pet’s head. Kelten did nothing to shoo
him away since sterility was impossible in these conditions. He could only do what he could, use the
antibiotic power, and hope the dog’s rude good health would be enough.

Redbeard started as Kelten readied the syringe, but didn’t attempt to hinder him as he injected the

dog. The animal stilled, then defecated, something Kelten hadn’t expected. Redbeard quickly cleaned
up the mess, and without being told to, washed his hands carefully with the soap Kelten had laid out.
Kelten smiled at him in approval. So the man had proper hygiene training—Kelten suspected he might,
from the clean way he kept himself. That would help.

The morphine dose he’d chosen seemed to be about right. The dog began to pant in its sleep, but

wasn’t fighting pain so far as Kelten could tell. He would need to work fast to complete the amputation
before the animal woke up, and to minimize blood loss. He wished he had a trained nurse to assist.
Though Redbeard was willing, no doubt, there was no way to tell him what was needed.

He only had his own razor to use to shave the area. His first attempt was a poor job of it, as he had

never shaved anything other than his own face before. He jumped as Redbeard’s hand gripped his
wrist. “Look here, I need to do—”

But Redbeard took the razor carefully from him and mimed shaving the dog’s skin. He lifted an

eyebrow in an obvious question.

“Yes, you can do it.” Kelten nodded, then used his finger to delineate the area he needed free of

hair. He sat back on his heels and watched. Redbeard tackled the task with much more skill and
confidence than Kelten could manage—but of course he knew all about scraping hides and such. He
made short work of the job, and soon the area was clean and clear. All Kelten had to do was wipe the
skin with iodine, then he could begin.

“Well done,” Kelten said, smiling to thank the man. Redbeard didn’t smile in response, his eyes

flicking back and forth between Kelten and the dog. “It’ll be fine, I promise.” The man stared, as if
trying to work out the meaning of his words. Kelten nodded, still smiling and trying to look much more
confident than he felt. It seemed to work. Redbeard’s lips twitched upwards, and the strain in his
expression lifted. But then he turned to look at his dog, and his face grew tense once more.

Kelten had no more assurance to offer, and it was time to start. He had never amputated the leg of

a living human being, though he’d assisted in such operations and practiced on a corpse. This was
much faster and easier, though still distressing for the dog’s owner to see. Kelten forced himself to
ignore Redbeard’s grim attention, conscious that the morphine’s hold on the dog’s pain might lessen at
any time. Fortunately he was able to clamp off the arteries quickly. The small saw proved as sharp as
any surgeon might have to hand, so the thighbone was bisected cleanly. The formation of the stump
from the muscle and skin went easier than he feared. The entire thing took less than thirty minutes. The
dog showed no sign of distress at all.

Once stitched, the question remained of how to bandage the creature. Kelten did his best but he

feared that when the dog woke, it would worry at the bandages and stitches. Time to think about that
later. He washed his hands, then wrote in his notebook, “He’ll be fine. He needs to lie somewhere
clean, dry and warm.”

Redbeard nodded, expression still worried but a little less miserable. While Kelten monitored the

dog’s breathing and somewhat worrying low temperature, the man quickly set up a dog bed out of
horse blankets and grass, arranging logs to form a three-sided shelter near the tent and fire. Kelten let
him take charge of settling his animal, while he cleaned up the operating area and carefully set all his
instruments and the syringe to boil.

He stood up, feeling somewhat lightheaded. He could do with tea and food. The dog would need

water too, and later, something light to eat. It would also need constant supervision, a task Kelten
would leave to Redbeard. Not only did he know the animal best, the dog was much less likely to snap
at and bite him in pain.

He put the billycan on to boil and started to build up the fire again. To his surprise, Redbeard came

to the fireplace and took over from him, indicating Kelten should sit. He obeyed, wondering if the good
deed he’d just done the man was worth a vongar leg or two. He was so hungry.

It was worth more than a vongar leg—it was worth an entire vongar. And honeycomb. And cups of

real tea made for him, and a general consideration that Kelten was shocked to receive. Cynically he
wondered how long it would last, but he would take what he could, while he could. A saved dog was a
valuable trade item, apparently.

But the man was genuinely grateful. The tears in his eyes as he looked at his sleeping dog would

melt a far stonier heart than Kelten’s. Even if Redbeard had been a brute to him, he was kind to
animals. Well, some animals. So he wasn’t entirely beyond redemption.

All that day, they kept watch over the dog, kept the fire high, drank tea, and ate. It was by far the

most pleasant time since the last day Bern and Merl had been alive. Kelten could almost forgive the
man for his previous rotten behaviour. Almost. The can opener incident still rankled.

But the man seemed to realise this. As night fell, and another dead vongar, quickly garnished with

aromatic herbs, was set to pan roast, Redbeard suddenly grabbed Kelten’s hand and stuffed something
into it. When Kelten realised it was the damned can opener, he stared in disbelief. “Are you giving this
to me?” He wrote it down and shoved the notebook at the man, determined to be clear.

The man nodded, curling Kelten’s fingers over the thing, to reinforce the message. “You sod,”

Kelten said without heat. It didn’t make a lot of difference now, but still, it was something. He doubted
he would be eating vongar meat in three days’ time.

The dog woke that evening, but covering up his body with a blanket and concealing the bandages

was all that was needed to deter him from interfering with them. Whether that would be the case in the
morning, and as the pain of the amputation lessened, Kelten didn’t know. The man let his dog lap water
from his hand and fed it a few tiny well-cooked scraps of meat, but no more, to Kelten’s approval. It
appeared he had cared for sick dogs before. Since the man understood about hygiene and had matters
under control, Kelten felt he could go to sleep with a clear conscience as well as a full belly.

He slept long and hard, and woke alone. He didn’t know if Redbeard had come back to the tent at

all, but when he crawled out into the frigid morning air, the man was sipping tea, sitting by his dog’s
bed. Kelten knelt down to check the animal. The dog was awake, but still sleepy. The colour of the
conjunctiva was good, and his nose was wet. Kelten couldn’t see any sign of distress. Redbeard didn’t
look worried, which was the best indicator that the dog was doing well.

Kelten decided he would change the bandages later. So far, so good. He made the “Is it all right?”

sign. Redbeard smiled tiredly, and nodded.

There was oatmeal in a can on the fire. When Kelten looked at it, Redbeard waved to indicate he

could have some. Remarkable. So Kelten took a portion, then sat with his back to the fire so he faced
man and dog. His notebook was in his pack. He couldn’t be bothered fetching it, so instead he took a
stick and wrote in the thin snow, “What is your name?”

Redbeard frowned, then made a brief series of signs. He pointed at the words on the ground, then

repeated the gestures. Confused, Kelten repeated the signing. As soon as he was done, Redbeard leaned
forward, took the stick from his hand, and wrote “Dharn.”

Kelten blinked. He made the signs again, and Redbeard—Dharn—tapped his name again, along

with a quick jerking movement of his hand and a tap to his face.

Damn it. All this time and the man had only wanted him to learn how to sign the question in his

own language? Dharn slowly made the signs he’d taught Kelten, watching him carefully to see if he
understood. Kelten nodded, then wrote “I am Kelten” on the ground. The man studied it, then slowly
gestured, using the face tapping and a longer series of finger gestures which Kelten guessed was him
spelling “Kelten” out. He confirmed this by pointing to each letter, while Dharn made the individual
sign. So this sign language had letters too, though they didn’t spell every word out.

He felt a bit of a fool. Dharn had never tried to talk to him through sign alone, but Kelten had

insisted on only using written Clarit. Which was, now he thought about it, as rude as it got. His father
would have been ashamed of him.

“Can you teach me your language?” he wrote, then tapped the words. “Show me how to ask this?”
Dharn did. Kelten fetched his notebook. He would need a bigger notebook, or a new one, as he had

very few pages left free. But the generic “Show me how” gesture was simple to remember and could be
used for all kinds of things.

Dharn answered some basic written questions about his dog’s condition, whether it had urinated,

slept well and so on. Kelten explained that the stitches would come out in a few days, but the dog

needed to rest for a little while. It also had to be stopped from worrying at his wound. Dharn read the
instructions intently, then made a gesture Kelten couldn’t work out. Dharn wrote the meaning carefully
in the snow. “Thank you.”

Kelten smiled. “It’s all right,” he gestured, and Dharn grinned back.
The poor dog would never know it, but its misfortune was a blessing in disguise. Actually learning

sign would take time and much repetition, but now Dharn had stopped treating Kelten like an enemy or
unwanted baggage, it was surprising how much conversation could be had with gesturing and
expressions. Over more tea, as Kelten ate his oatmeal, he learned a little more about Dharn’s pet. While
chasing a hare the dog had fallen awkwardly from the pile of boulders, shattering its leg. It was two
years old, and Dharn’s fourth dog. It didn’t have a name. Dharn just called it “Dog”, which made sense,
Kelten supposed, since Dharn would never call it by name anyway. The dog understood some signs—
more than Kelten—and obeyed a complicated and large array of hand signals. That was impressive
training.

Dharn hadn’t slept, Kelten discovered. He pointed at the log on which he sat, to himself, then to

the tent and to Dharn. “It’s all right,” he signed again.

Dharn hesitated, so Kelten repeated the gesture. Dharn nodded. “Thank you,” he signed.
The dog whined a little as Dharn went inside the tent, but made no attempt to follow him. “It’s all

right, Dog. I’ll watch over you.” Kelten swore the creature gave him a sceptical look at that. Like his
master, he could convey a good deal with a sarcastic lift of his eyebrows.

Kelten poured some warmed water into the pan Dharn had left by the dog’s bed, and offered it to

the animal. Dog ignored it. Belatedly Kelten remembered the creature would not take anything from his
hand because he’d been trained not to. Oh well, if he was thirsty enough, he might drink, or Kelten
could wake its master.

All was quiet in the forest. Still bitterly cold, but very still. Snow clouds were gathering, but so far

it was dry. Kelten, now used to the cold, and with hot tea in hand and a warm fire at his back, felt a
little of the peace he’d enjoyed on the road with Merl and Bern. But then guilt washed over him at
daring to be happy when they were dead, with their family most likely still unaware of that. In truth,
what had changed? He was still at the mercy of Dharn’s capriciousness, and who knew if tomorrow he
would decide the debt had been paid, and he could go back to being an arse?

Kelten could hardly expect Dog to sacrifice a limb every few days to keep Dharn’s temper sweet,

so he should exploit the goodwill while it lasted, and not be disappointed when it ended. He would, of
course, do what he could for Dog whatever his master did or said.

Dharn emerged two hours later, looking a good deal less weary, and after checking his dog, put on

a pan of water to boil with some of the herbs from his collection. When he added some dried meat to
the mix, Kelten offered some of the mushrooms and tubers he’d found the day before. The man
accepted them with a smile.

The stew needed to sit for a bit, and once it had boiled up and been put in the hay box, Dharn

stood. “I check traps.” He signed very slowly, making sure Kelten caught them all, and waited for him
to repeat them. Then he left. The trust shown was flattering, though Kelten wished he could count on it

continuing. He put his hand in his pocket and touched the can opener. No, he couldn’t count on it.

They stayed in camp for two more days, while Dog made a remarkable recovery. Within a day he

hopped out of the bed unassisted to relieve himself, gingerly making his way around the camp while
the humans watched, ready to restrain him if he decided to be adventurous. He didn’t, fortunately.
Kelten thought Dog would need to be muzzled, but it only took a firm command from Dharn the first
time he was spotted sniffing at his bandages for him to leave them alone. When Kelten finally took the
bandages off, Dharn put a herbal paste around the stitches. At Kelten’s curious look, Dharn offered
some of the paste on his fingers for Kelten to smell, encouraging him to taste a little. Kelten did so, and
spat it out immediately, before rinsing his mouth several times to rid himself of the disgusting stuff.
Even the smallest lick was quite vile, so would doubtless deter the dog from nipping at his injury.

That clever trick was proof enough that Dharn was well experienced in caring for injured animals.

Considering the importance of Dog to his hunting and life, this wasn’t surprising. By the third day, Dog
seemed fairly comfortable moving around, was eating well and relieving himself as expected. Dharn
petted him and cosseted him, and though Kelten didn’t like the man, he was glad he’d been able to save
the dog’s life for both their sakes.

When they finally broke camp, Dharn set his usual pace. Dog kept up reasonably well, and when

he couldn’t, Dharn lifted him into the saddle to ride there for a bit. The terrain was no easier, but Kelten
didn’t find it as hard going as before. Having an adequate diet certainly helped, he thought sourly.

Dharn had them travel for two days this time. Kelten thought they were now descending, though it

was difficult to tell with the mountains all around them and the path so up and down. How long would
they stay in these mountains? The packhorse could carry many more furs and sacks of dried meat. He’d
been on the trail with Dharn for near a month. Nearly two months had been passed since Kelten had
stepped off the boat. The only doctoring he’d done in that time was to lance one of Bern’s boils and
amputate Dog’s leg. Again he wondered what in the name of the goddess he was doing out here, but it
was too late to change his mind. He hoped Dharn had to sell his skins soon. Kelten had messages to
send and a life to take up again.

After they made their new camp, Dharn made preparations as usual, to go out and set his traps.

Kelten decided to try his luck, since the man was still treating him well. The goodwill hadn’t yet
expired. “I go, yes?” he signed.

Dharn frowned—not in irritation, more confusion—then nodded. Kelten scrambled to collect his

pitiful collection of traps, for all the good they would do him. He watched Dharn set one, then Kelten
put one of his own traps carefully into position. To his eye, there wasn’t the slightest difference in
construction or mechanism between his and Dharn’s, yet his were as useless as a bundle of twigs.
Dharn saw him looking disconsolately at the thing, and lifted an eyebrow. “Not work. Why?” Kelten
asked.

Dharn raised both eyebrows, this time in surprise. He bent and picked up Kelten’s trap, then

walked over four yards from where they were standing before setting it down again.

“Huh?” What possible difference could that tiny change make?
Dharn mimicked something walking in the air, using his fingers, then bent and did the same thing

on the ground, right into the trap. He pointed to small marks on the ground Kelten hadn’t noticed
before. Helpfully Dog came over to sniff at them, to give Kelten a further hint.

Tracks. Dharn laid his traps near tracks. Where the animals walked.
Kelten slapped his forehead. “Mother Sret, you created an idiot.”
Dharn tipped his head back and laughed in an odd, high tone. Annoyed though he was with

himself, Kelten had to grin at his mirth. It was a priceless piece of stupidity, and deserved a hearty
mocking.

Dharn slapped his shoulder. “It’s all right. You asked,” and then he made a sign Kelten didn’t

know. When Kelten signed “What?” Dharn bent and wrote “never”, then he signed “You asked never.”

You never asked, Kelten translated in his head, still unused to the syntax. He slapped his forehead

again. It was a wonder he could tie his shoelaces, he was such an oblivious fool at times.

So he did what he should have done from the start, and didn’t just watch, but observed. And he

asked. Dharn was perfectly happy to share information about everything he did and every decision he
made, but he wasn’t going to volunteer it, especially not to a rude creature who didn’t even bother to
find out how to talk to him. Even Dog had more sense than Kelten did.

Dharn hadn’t been trying to starve him at all, most likely. He was simply waiting for hunger to

inspire Kelten to do what he should have done from the start. He’d been training him, but unlike Dog,
Kelten was singularly slow at picking up signals. And he’d been so proud of his University scores. Not
much use out here.

The traps laid, they returned to camp, Dharn explaining they would stay three days this time.

Whether this was for Dog’s benefit, or because the nature of the prey had changed, Kelten didn’t know,
and didn’t much care one way or the other. Since it looked like he could reasonably expect the supply
of decent meat to continue, and the forests offered plentiful, if sporadic, supplies of other food items
like pine kernels and nuts, he decided that he should use up the last two cans of meat and spare his
horse the weight. If Dharn really was going somewhere to trade the skins, as he had to be, Kelten could
resupply then if he needed to. He hoped he wouldn’t.

He broke out a can and held it up. Dharn nodded, so Kelten tossed it over to him so Dharn could

add it to their stew. Kelten reached into his jacket pocket for the can opener, looked up so he could
throw it as well—only to find Dharn was already opening the can with another can opener.

“You bastard! You had two! Two all along!” Kelten threw a pebble at the man, hitting him in the

shoulder, then stomped over to stand in front of him. “You unspeakable wretch!”

Dharn stood up and made a sign Kelten didn’t know. “Don’t you wave your damn fingers at me,

you moon-forsaken piece of offal! You had two bloody can openers all the...this is mine!” He checked
the one he held and confirmed the minute notches which identified it as Bern’s. It wasn’t Dharn’s at all.
“You had mine all along. You...you....” He was so angry that he could have shot the man.

But Dharn wasn’t bothered in the least by his temper, grinning as if this was all hugely funny. He

bent and wrote something in the dirt. At first Kelten was too furious to care, but then he registered the
word. “‘Joke’? You made me fellate you for a joke?”

He didn’t trust himself not to punch the man, so he stormed off out of camp, past the horses on

their highline, and out to a ledge overlooking a valley, just losing the last of the sun behind the tall
peaks surrounding it. How typical of this entire moon-cursed adventure. He’d just started to feel a little
more comfortable with this journey, though he longed for it to end, and now....

He threw a stone down the incline, watching it pick up momentum and stir scree into life, before

its brief passage disappeared, leaving no trace. A metaphor for his existence?

A crunch on pebbles behind him made him jump, but of course it was only his idiot companion.

He glared at Dharn for daring to impose on his need for privacy. “Go away.” He made the sign for
“Go,” and flung his hand out towards the valley to indicate the rest of the message. He refused to look
at the man, denying him a chance to argue with him.

But Dharn wasn’t that easy to dissuade, taking Kelten by the shoulder and forcing him to turn.

“Leave me alone, you thug,” Kelten snapped. He signed “Go” again, wishing he knew more signs—
especially more insults—to give vent to his emotions.

“Sorry,” Dharn signed. “Joke.”
“Not funny.” Kelten didn’t know the sign, so he wrote it on the ground, underlining the “not” for

emphasis. “Not funny.”

A hand brushed his hair as he was still bent forward. He almost fell over in fright. When he

recovered and straightened up, he found Dharn looking at him with a queer expression. “Sorry,” Dharn
signed again, then stroked his hand gently down Kelten’s hair.

Kelten was shocked into stillness. “What?” he whispered.
Dharn leaned in, and finding no resistance, kissed Kelten’s forehead, then his lips. Despite himself,

Kelten licked them to taste the man. His long-neglected cock perked up a little. What in the name of the
goddess...?

Dharn stepped back, and signed “Sorry. Joke.”
Kelten blinked. “Hurt. Me. I hurt. Why?”
Dharn knelt down, dragging Kelten with him, and took the twig Kelten had used, smoothing out

Kelten’s scratchings with his free hand. “Was joke. Didn’t expect.” He made a crude but painfully clear
sexual gesture, his expression almost embarrassed. “Was surprised.”

“You hide,” Kelten signed, and imitated the can opener being operated.
“Found it,” Dharn wrote carefully. “Wanted to see.”
“What I would do?” Kelten took the twig and wrote the words.
Dharn nodded, and pointed at the “Surprised” again.
Kelten tossed the twig down. “Well, what did you expect me to do?” Dharn was confused, but

Kelten didn’t try to write it. “Bad joke,” he signed.

“Yes. Sorry. I hurt you never.”
Dharn touched his hair again, drawing his fingers down Kelten’s scruffily bearded cheek, his touch

amazingly delicate for such a big man. He dared lean in to kiss Kelten again. Kelten had no idea at all
why he didn’t just push the great oaf over the edge of the escarpment, except that Dharn’s lips felt so
very nice against his own mouth, tasted so very warm and welcome, and his arms around him were...

Kelten pushed him back and frowned. He shook his finger. “You bad. Hurt me.”

“Sorry. Can make better?”
Dharn folded his hands and hung his head a little, just as Kelten would have done, dragged up

before his stepfather for some imaginary crime or other. The contrast of pose and the man’s frankly
ridiculous size was so ludicrous, Kelten couldn’t not grin. Dharn, sensing a crack in Kelten’s
disapproval, slipped through it to plant another kiss on him and sweep him into a quite impertinent and
wonderful embrace.

Kelten punched his shoulder, though not as hard he could. “Bastard. Bad Dharn.”
“Sorry. Yes, bad. All right now?”
Kelten tsked and wagged his finger again. “Not yet. One hour.”
Dharn grinned. Keeping his arm firmly around Kelten’s shoulders, he dragged him back to the

camp, a warm fire and good, hot stew. Dog thumped his tail in clear approval. “Shut up,” Kelten said.
No one took him seriously.

Chapter 5

“Stop grinning,” Kelten ordered. “Stop.” He pointed to Dharn’s mouth.
“Sorry,” Dharn signed completely insincerely, before leaning in to kiss him. Kelten tried to stay

stern, but since Dharn’s idea of an apology—“making it better”—involved very pleasing acts of
fellatio, and lots of kissing and cuddling which, apart from everything else, made the tent much warmer
and sleeping arrangements more comfortable, it was hard to hold a grudge. Dharn explained that he
really hadn’t expected Kelten to offer that in return for a can opener, and had been about to take pity on
him when Kelten had made his move. He’d been too shocked to protest or push Kelten away. This
explanation had taken some time, a good deal of touching and stroking, and two orgasms. Kelten had
finally accepted the apology. He’d been too boneless and content not to.

The morning hadn’t brought the awkwardness or retreat into hostility he’d feared. Instead Dharn

had greeted him with a kiss and a hug, before bounding out of the tent in an obvious good mood. By
the time Kelten rose, not eager to enter the cold world outside the canvas, the fire was blazing, the
water for tea close to boiling, Dharn was smiling, and Dog barked in welcome. There were worse ways
to start the day.

Oatmeal again for breakfast, warm and warming, with honey. Dharn had had luck finding

beehives. Kelten would like to know the trick, as well as that of bringing the comb down. But his
ultimate goal was not to learn how to survive in a wilderness, but to pursue his medical career. Now
Dharn was being more cooperative, Kelten needed information.

Dharn finished his oatmeal, then sat back against a boulder, holding a mug of tea, looking pleased

with himself. “You come?” He gestured towards where the traps were set.

Kelten nodded. “Yes, if you like.” He picked up a twig and wrote “Gark” in the snowy dirt. “I go

now.” He pointed at the word on the ground. “Now.”

Dharn’s face lost its smile. He shook his head firmly. “I go? No.” I’m not going there.
“I how?”
Dharn held his hand out for the twig, then drew a map, one much more accurate than Kelten had

essayed weeks before. “I go here.” He marked a small cross at his destination. “Here, here.” He marked
two places on the route, then made a sign.

Based on the time it had taken them to travel this far, Dharn was still many weeks from the end of

his journey. Kelten didn’t want to spend so much more time trailing around after him. “City?” Kelten
wrote. Dharn made a shrinking gesture with his fingers. “Outposts? Small town?” Dharn pointed to the
first place marker and indicated “outpost’. The second was a town. “Train?” Dharn pointed to the place
closest to what he’d identified as his own final destination, which was still rather further than Kelten
wanted to travel. “City? Show me the sign, please?”

Dharn steepled his fingers and drew a circle, then made a mark some distance east from his end

point. “Krilo. Train,” he added helpfully.

“I go?” Kelten asked. “You take me?”
Another shake of the head, then Dharn stood abruptly and walked away, ostensibly to look at the

horses, though his expression told Kelten that his companion was distressed. The idea of going to the
city upset him in some way.

Kelten had no idea why, but that route to civilisation was clearly unavailable. So his next best plan

was to enquire at these other places. If the train did not go where he needed or there was another
problem with the line, he could try to obtain transport to the city from the town where Dharn was
headed. At the very least, he ought to be able to report to the constables what had happened with Merl
and Bern, and post the personal items he carried to their daughter.

He filled Dharn’s abandoned mug with tea and topped up his own, then wandered over to where

Dharn stood, staring at Kelten’s carthorse. He nudged him with the mug. Dharn jerked a little in
surprise, but accepted the tea with a nod and a forced smile.

“Is it all right?” The sign wasn’t quite right for the situation, but Kelten knew none better.
Dharn nodded again, but he didn’t look convincing.
Kelten sighed and sipped his tea. Dharn drank his, and they watched the horses together. Kelten

would have to send the price of the carthorse to Merl and Bern’s family, or sell the animal. The latter,
most likely. He didn’t think his remaining funds would cover the purchase of a fine beast like this one,
and in truth, once this peripatetic journey was over, he wouldn’t need a carthorse.

Once Dharn finished his tea, he put his arm around Kelten’s shoulders. His odd fit seemed to be

over. Kelten responded to the affection, but wished he knew enough sign to ask what was really wrong
with the man.

The day went more pleasantly than any before it on this strange journey. Kelten could only blame

himself for the previous miserable experience, because Dharn had only been waiting for him to show
some manners and less arrogance. Now Kelten had bothered to ask how to ask questions, Dharn spilled
over with enthusiasm to teach him sign, show him how to catch small mammals and birds worth the
effort, and where to find the food treasures hidden by creatures, which added variety as well as
balanced nutrition to their meals.

Kelten could hardly keep up with the flood of information. He ran completely out of paper long

before Dharn ran out of signs to teach him. But he much preferred things this way, since it made the
days go faster and more interestingly. The sex at night was also welcome and companionable, like it
had been with his University friends, and Lio and Pifan at school. He wondered how often Dharn had
encounters of this kind. He couldn’t imagine there would be many, but he knew nothing of Dharn’s life
beyond his hunting. He didn’t know if there was any time when Dharn wasn’t hunting, or if he had
someone waiting for him at his home. He didn’t even know how the man came to be in the right place
to save his life.

But it didn’t matter, ultimately. This interlude would end...some time...and while this period was

enjoyable in its way, he wasn’t moving forward. For Dharn, this was all he did, all he wanted. That
wasn’t true for Kelten. There was no way to explain this to Dharn, though he probably didn’t need to
be told. Not unless Dharn truly imagined a man marooned by the murder of his friends had nothing

better to do with his life than wander about this snowy land, killing things.

Kelten had been right in surmising they were descending, but it made little difference to the

temperature. Winter was deepening fast and hard. His horse struggled. He wondered if he would have
to abandon it, but Dharn, careful of all the animals as he always was, slowed his pace, and took the
reins of Kelten’s mount several times to guide it. He had a sure hand with all the horses, and they
trusted him, and even trusted Dog. All the horses of Kelten’s previous experience had been skittish
around dogs, so he didn’t know if it was Dog’s nature or Dharn’s which made the difference. Dharn’s
life may be a rather limited one, but he was superb at what he did. A man with his affliction would
have a rather impoverished existence in the city, but he had found a niche which suited him, so he was
more fortunate than his town-dwelling kin.

Between the sex, hunting, conversing and foraging, Dharn kept him busy for three weeks. Kelten

didn’t raise their destination in all that time, not wanting to upset his companion again. But as they left
the mountains behind, their path set firmly towards the lowlands, he risked the question over their
evening meal.

“When go?” he signed, then finger spelled “outpost” because he couldn’t remember the sign.
Dharn absently corrected him, then looked away, which was his way of disengaging, Kelten had

come to realise. If he didn’t make eye contact or see Kelten’s signing, he couldn’t “hear” the
conversation.

Kelten touched his knee. Dharn jumped a little, as he always did when Kelten touched him

unexpectedly—even despite their new intimacy—and glanced his way. “I hurt you never,” Kelten
signed. “I must go.”

Dharn shrugged. “Yes.”
“When go?”
“Arrive,” Dharn corrected, writing the word in the snow and making the sign.
Kelten repeated it, then asked, “When we arrive?”
Dharn drew an arc over his head, then held up one finger.
One day. So soon? But this wasn’t the place where Kelten could catch a train, so he would most

likely have to travel a little further. Still, it was civilisation, and would surely progress his journey.

“You sad? I must go. You know this.”
Dharn shrugged again and looked away. Dog, watching their interaction, whining a little. Even the

animal could tell his master was unhappy.

Kelten wrote in the snow. “You’re sad that I’m going?” He tugged lightly on Dharn’s coat to make

him look around, then pointed at the words.

“No,” Dharn signed curtly, then got up. Conversation over. But Kelten thought he’d divined the

source of Dharn’s unhappiness nonetheless.

A shame, but it was inevitable. Kelten would always be grateful to Dharn, not only for saving his

life. But he’d worked hard to become a doctor, sacrificed everything he owned to get to Inades. He
couldn’t spend his life dallying with a deaf hunter, however much he enjoyed that hunter’s company.

Though the dallying was very pleasant and would be missed. As bed companions went, Dharn was

both talented and considerate, a rare enough combination in Kelten’s experience. That night as they
slipped into sleep, he nuzzled against Dharn’s neck. “If there was a way to bring you into my world, I
would. But our worlds are separate. I’m sorry.”

Dharn stroked his hair. In the dark, even if he’d had any idea of what Kelten had said, there was no

way for him to sign an answer that Kelten could understand. Kelten didn’t need a response, or want an
argument. Dharn was a pragmatic man, someone who lived with harsh reality all the time. He didn’t
need it explained to him.

The first man-made structure other than a tent that Kelten had seen in weeks came into sight mid-

afternoon the next day. Dharn’s scowl, which had been fixed on his face since breakfast, deepened.
Kelten wished there was something he could say to lessen his unhappiness, but there wasn’t. So he
trailed after Dharn into the shabby wooden outpost which, along with two nondescript houses,
constituted the limits of human habitation in this area.

Inside the building it was warmer, but also indescribably crowded and far from clean. Goods of

many kinds—perishable and non-perishable—were crammed onto floor to ceiling shelves, blocking
what little feeble winter light came through the grimy windows. Two oil lamps hung low from the
bowed ceiling—rather dangerously so, Kelten thought—and threw a yellow glow over the dusty
treasures.

Behind the counter stood a man with a pronounced stoop and a wizened appearance, though he

was far from old. He grinned through broken teeth as Dharn and Kelten approached. “Oh, it’s you,” he
said. He didn’t sign, and Dharn didn’t use any of the gestures with which he would normally open a
conversation.

Dharn threw a pile of furs up onto the counter. The man undid the leather strap holding them and

thumbed through them, ignoring Dharn entirely. For his part, Dharn kept his expression empty—an
indication of intense unhappiness or disapproval, Kelten now knew. Dharn didn’t like this man. From
what Kelten had observed, there wasn’t much to like. Even if he didn’t know sign language, he could
have been more pleasant. He’d failed to acknowledge Kelten at all. How rude.

The man finished his leisurely assessment, and held up ten fingers, then six. “Ain’t worth more,”

he said.

Dharn stared impassively. The man seemed somewhat disappointed at the lack of reaction as he

handed over the cuin, glancing at Kelten for the first time. “Travelling with him, are you?”

“For the moment. Is there a constable or telegraph facility here, sir? I’m trying to get to Gark.”
“No constable. Closest one is at Horgilan, that way.” He jerked a thumb in the general direction in

which Dharn and Kelten had been travelling.

“How close?” Kelten asked.
The man smiled unpleasantly. “’Bout three hundred miles, friend. What do you want a constable

for?”

Kelten hesitated. The matter was ugly, and he didn’t want rumours to reach the police before he

had a chance to make his own statement. “I just thought they could help me. I’ve become lost from my
party. Is there a telegraph here?”

“Nope. Horgilan.”
“Ah. Then can I ask if you sell paper? Note paper?”
He did, fortunately. Two thick books of cheap paper cost three times what they would have done in

Bunes, but were worth every cu. Taking Dharn’s lead, he bought nothing else. The man took his money
without comment, but as Kelten followed Dharn towards the door, he called out, “What did you say
your name was, friend?”

“I didn’t. Good day.”
Kelten inhaled deeply as they left the store. That had been most unsettling. Dharn appeared to

agree with his assessment, mounting up quickly and leading them away from the outpost with almost
indecent haste. Kelten had no quarrel with that. It seemed their path lay in the direction of Horgilan,
where he could finally gain the assistance he needed.

Oddly, Dharn’s sour mood disappeared completely by the time they made camp. He confirmed

that they would pass through Horgilan, and only nodded when Kelten told him that he would probably
be able to make arrangements to get to Gark from there. “Then I’ll be leaving,” Kelten said, in case
Dharn had missed his point.

Dharn nodded, still perfectly cheerful.
Kelten scratched his head, confused. “You didn’t sell all furs,” he signed. “Why?”
Dharn grinned. He made the diminution sign, which could mean something getting small, or being

small—or too small. “He pays too little?” Kelten asked.

“Yes.” He pointed to the horses, then signed “light”.
“Ah. Sell furs, save weight. Small money good, lack of money bad.” Just to confirm, Kelten wrote,

“Better to have some money than none?”

“Yes.” Dharn patted Dog’s neck, looking pleased with himself. Kelten had no idea why. Was it

that the man, cheap though he was, had paid more than Dharn expected? Or was Dharn simply happy to
have shed heavy but lower quality furs? Whatever it was, Dharn wasn’t in a mind to tell him. His
improved temper was something to enjoy, at least.

The bad news was that Horgilan was another four weeks’ ride, allowing for Dharn’s hunting which

Kelten had no right to ask him to give up. Kelten had fervently hoped he would have been on his way
to a city long before then, but it wasn’t to be. Still, even with the deepening winter, the journey could
have been more stressful than it was. The going was now easier despite the snow, and the game still
abundant enough to keep Dharn and Dog—now fully healed and as agile and quick as he had ever been
on four legs—busy with their kills and fur preparation.

Kelten was also busy. He had been assigned to monitoring the traps and scraping the furs—a task

he detested, but a necessary one for all that. He also tended to the camp and some of the cooking. When
he had any free time, he made as many notes as he could about the language of signing. Dharn and he
might be shortly to part company, but Kelten was likely to encounter other deaf people and even treat
them. He considered learning this skill worth the relatively small effort, and it pleased Dharn
enormously that he made it, which was another incentive. There were still many gaps in Kelten’s
knowledge. Conversations were still slow and clumsy compared to speech, so he didn’t waste time

talking to Dharn about matters of no mutual interest, like their respective families. Kelten had no wish
to explain why he had thought it necessary to flee his parental home, and Dharn had shown no curiosity
on the subject. Nor had he been forthcoming about his own circumstances.

That was fine. Talking about hunting, the weather, the camp, plans for the coming days, Dog’s

health, the horses, and the complicated syntax and subtleties of the very language they were using,
were more than enough to occupy their evenings and free moments. When they weren’t having sex,
that was. Dharn’s enthusiasm for fellatio and mutual handling had, if anything, increased. Perhaps
Dharn was burying his sadness in Kelten’s imminent departure in lust, or perhaps he was setting up a
store of pleasant memories. Kelten didn’t mind being used in this manner. He hoped Dharn wasn’t
deluding himself that he could convince Kelten to change his mind through truly inspired sucking off,
but he wouldn’t dissuade him from trying. He wasn’t that selfless.

For the last three days, the signs of human habitation had become more frequent, and twice they

saw riders on the same road they followed, though at a distance. Here and there lines of fence posts
indicated the boundary of a property, but Kelten saw no buildings or domesticated animals that he
could identify as belonging to a farm. He wondered what the landscape would be like once the snow
melted, and was a little sorry that he wouldn’t see it.

Exactly four weeks after they’d departed the sorry little outpost, Dharn did what he hadn’t done

even once to that point, and crossed a fence line, albeit through a clearly marked gate.

Kelten didn’t like the idea of trespassing, and signed for him to stop. “Why?” he asked, pointing to

the gate posts.

“It’s all right,” Dharn replied, and then made a sign Kelten didn’t know. When Kelten signed his

lack of understanding, Dharn shrugged. “It’s all right,” he repeated, then gestured to Kelten to hurry up
and follow him.

Within an hour, the object of their efforts across the snowbound fields became clear, when a low,

white-burdened roof came into view. Dharn knew people here? Or was going to sell more furs? Kelten
had no idea.

A track, cleared a little of snow, led into a large walled enclosure, the cobbled courtyard of which

was well swept. Horse and human tracks showed this was no abandoned dwelling, and as they
dismounted, a short stout man in a great thick fur coat and equally dramatic fur hat, walked out to meet
them. Dog ran up, barking excitedly. The man bent to pat him, before looking up at the humans.

“You’re early,” he signed. Then he grinned as Dharn gripped him in a powerful hug, lifting him

clean off his feet. When Dharn set him down, he signed rapidly, smiling in obvious pleasure. The man
responded with similar ease and delight, before nodding at Kelten. Dharn explained in sign, then they
both turned to Kelten.

“Welcome, friend.” The man repeated the words in sign, and Kelten realised that Dharn had been

trying to tell him earlier that they were visiting his ‘friend’. “I’m Harnig.”

“Kelten. Rhede Kelten. Nice to meet you, sir.” He did his best to sign the greeting as well, though

it felt most odd to do it with a man who could hear as well as he could himself.

Harnig laughed. “I see Dharn’s been training you. Nice to see him with a friend. Well, lad, what

have you brought for me this time?” That was directed at Dharn, already unstrapping the largest bundle
of furs. Harnig whistled and two young men appeared from another building. “Take care of their
horses. Kelten, take what you need for now. You’ll stay here tonight.”

“Thank you, sir.”
“Manners. How unexpected.” Dharn smiled at the joke as Harnig signed it.
Kelten removed his pack and medical bag. Dharn took the time to unload all his furs, though these

were taken by one of the young men and spirited away into one of the many doors into this yard. Their
horses were led away to what Kelten assumed were stables. He wished his mounts a nice rubdown and
sweet hay, because they’d both worked hard to serve him. His own journey was nearly over, he hoped.

Harnig took them through a heavy wooden door into a lobby where they could leave their gear and

swap boots for soft wool slippers. Another thick door opened into a large, warm and welcoming sitting
room that held a roaring fire in a huge fireplace, a number of large sofas, and enough people to make
three good-sized families or one unfeasibly large clan. Two young women rose to greet them, while a
host of small children, restrained by young men that might be fathers or older brothers, yelled in
excitement. One youngster escaped and ran to Dharn, clutching his leg and staring up adoringly at the
bearded giant. Dharn swung him up and rubbed noses with him, which made the boy squeal with
delight. Dog hopped over to the fireplace, flopped down, and gave a powerful impression of an animal
that would not be moving for a very long time, unless forced to.

Harnig waved at one of the women. “Ella, is there tea and cake to be had for our guests? And food

for our canine friend?”

“Always, Father. Welcome, sir, Dharn.” She too signed as she spoke, and Dharn signed back,

grinning as he had since they’d entered this farm. These were clearly good friends, and well-loved. “Do
take a seat.”

The riot of children and adults shifted to make room as Kelten and Dharn sat on one of the

overstuffed sofas. Dharn’s young admirer immediately pounced and claimed Dharn’s lap. Dharn didn’t
even make a pretence of resisting. Kelten smiled to see the lad signing at his friend, Dharn responding.
How nice for Dharn not to have to endure Kelten’s stumbling signed conversation.

But as he watched them ‘talk’ he realised that, other than chuckles and chortles, the child was as

silent as Dharn. The boy had to be five or six, yet he didn’t speak. Kelten looked at Harnig in enquiry,
and he nodded. “Yes, Steiv’s deaf too. But we all sign, so he’s no worse off than the rest of them. So,
Kelten, what’s your story?”

“Sir, it’s not a tale suitable for the youngsters to hear.”
A chorus of protest sprang up, but Harnig quelled it with a stern look. “Then let’s leave it until

after supper. I’m sure you’ll want to eat and bathe and get used to civilisation again, by the looks of
your beard.”

Kelten touched his face and flushed. He must look quite frightful, though no more so than Dharn.

“I would like the chance to clean up, if that’s possible.”

“Of course, of course. Dharn knows where everything is, and I don’t suppose you and he mind

sharing a room, or a bed. We don’t have much spare space,” he said with a grin, looking at his brood.

Kelten flushed again and hoped the man didn’t mean anything else by the offer. He didn’t know what
these people’s attitudes might be towards inverts, nor if Dharn’s proclivities were public knowledge.
City folk in Bunes were relaxed enough on the subject, but out here? Who knew.

“Thank you. Goddess bless you for your kindness.”
Harnig responded politely with the moon sign, then caught Dharn’s eye, signing rapidly. In turn,

Dharn signed to his young friend, who pouted and sighed, but allowed himself to be dismounted and
sent to his family. One of the men claimed him—his father, Kelten thought, from the similarity of
noses.

“You should bathe now, gentlemen, and we’ll have tea when you come out. Unless you can’t

wait?”

The idea of a bath was too wonderful after too many weeks of cloths and cold water on the trail.

“Bath,” Kelten said firmly. “Please,” he added.

“And since I assume you’ll be staying a week or so, we can even wash your clothes...you are

staying a week or so?”

“I have to catch the train to Tuwilo as soon as possible, if there’s none direct to Gark. I’ve delayed

long enough, sir.”

Harnig frowned, then asked Dharn something in sign, none of which Kelten knew enough to

translate. “The trains to Tuwilo go at one, two and three moon, so the next one isn’t for six days. You
can stay that long?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, sir, thank you.”
“Call me Harnig, lad, and of course not. If we can cope with Dharn, then even a tame bear would

be easy by comparison.” Dharn laughed his strange, high laugh at this, and the children giggled, more
at him than at their grandfather’s words. “Then off you go. We’ll find some spare things for you to
change into.”

Dharn signalled to Dog to stay—a most unnecessary command, since Dog hadn’t even lifted an ear

since he’d lain down in his warm spot—and jerked his thumb, indicating Kelten should follow. First
they went to a storeroom with Harnig’s daughter, Ella, where she found them towels, and a change of
clothing for Dharn which she explained was a set he left here for this purpose. “Don’t suppose you’ll
mind spares that are a little patched, if they’re clean enough?” she asked Kelten.

“No, ma’am, not at all.”
She rummaged around and found a worn shirt and trousers. “Underthings?”
“If you have them. I’ve been on the trail a while.”
She gave him a pair of long johns and thick wool socks. “Bring your clothes back and we’ll

launder them tomorrow. Tis laundry day, which is lucky.”

“Sorry to put you to so much trouble.”
She smiled. “There are forty men and women living on this farm. Two more hardly make a dent.

Now, off you go. Enjoy it while you can.”

Kelten trailed after Dharn through the house and into a side building which turned out to be a

dedicated bathhouse, with a huge bathtub, a number of sinks and troughs, mirrors on the walls, and

doors to the side which might be where water closets or the like stood. Such a generously sized facility
made sense with the number of residents this farm supported, even with those Kelten had seen with his
own eyes, but he’d never seen such a thing before. Even his stepfather’s house, grand and over-ornate
though it was, didn’t have one, though his stepfather would almost certainly have declared a communal
bathroom vulgar and beneath his social standing, as so much was. Kelten would take an extra delight in
using it on that count alone.

The bathhouse was deliciously warm, and to Kelten’s surprise, offered hot water on tap. Did they

run a boiler day and night? Perhaps there was some central arrangement for the entire establishment.
He had no idea, and it irked him that he didn’t. He was an educated man. He surely should know how a
farm could provide such things.

Oblivious to his trivial intellectual maunderings, Dharn had set himself the task of running the

bath. Kelten tapped his arm and signed “Me?”

Dharn pointed to the bath and held up two fingers.
“Together? That’s disgusting.” Kelten made a face to convey what he thought of sharing dirty

water with someone else.

Dharn shrugged. As the water ran, he stripped off unselfconsciously, piling his clothes onto a stool.

Kelten held his breath. The weather and circumstances meant that neither of them had been completely
naked at any time since they’d met, though obviously there had been plenty of instances of partial
nudity. Hands had seen what Kelten’s eyes had not—until now. And Kelten’s eyes liked what he saw,
very much. Tall, he knew about, and strong, and he had discovered the scattering of chest hairs in his
night-time investigations of his companion’s body. But his fingers had not told him of the flat powerful
belly, the long, muscular legs, or even the rich auburn pubic thatch, brilliant against Dharn’s pale skin,
surrounding the thick, handsome cock that felt so good in Kelten’s mouth, or sliding against his own
together in Dharn’s big hand.

Dharn caught him looking, and arched an eyebrow. “I like,” Kelten signed, then flushed. What if

Dharn thought him inferior by comparison?

Dharn smiled, then mimed Kelten removing his own clothes. Moment of truth. Kelten swallowed,

and undid his jacket. His school years had inured him to shared bathing and stripping off, and the boys
he’d dallied with had been as relaxed as he was about it. But Dharn....

Dharn was the first full-grown man he’d ever slept with, older than Kelten by more than any of his

other bedmates had been. Surely Dharn had seen many men, even if they were rough fellows like
himself. Kelten didn’t know how he’d appear to Dharn’s eyes at all. He rarely suffered from insecurity
on this score, and he didn’t like the feeling at all. Scowling, he removed the rest of his clothes and
dumped them to the side. Then he stood, arms folded, waiting for Dharn to assess him.

Dharn cocked his head and held his chin, and looked for all the world like a man buying a horse.

Kelten shifted on his feet and glowered at the bastard. “Well, if I’m not fine enough for you, too bad.”

He hadn’t signed, but Dharn seemed to have understood, because he made a gesture that Kelten

knew very well. “Good dog? Good dog? You sod. Bad Dharn. Bad.” He signed furiously, embarrassed
and truly angry, wishing he hadn’t undressed so he could stomp out in high dudgeon. Doing so while

naked would only make the matter even more humiliating.

Dharn tipped his head back and laughed, holding his stomach, then pointed at Kelten’s face and

laughed some more.

“You...you unmentionable spawn of the filthiest demon in hell. Stop it. Stop.”
But Dharn wasn’t done laughing, and would probably have kept it up for hours if Kelten hadn’t

spotted the bath was close to full and made a dash to turn off the taps. He turned to face his tormentor,
using his sternest expression. “Stop now. You’re not funny. Not even a little bit.”

Still smirking, Dharn slung his arm around Kelten’s shoulders and hugged him tight, then bent in

and kissed him, effectively short-circuiting the self-important protest he felt he ought to make. While
Kelten recovered from the abrupt distraction, Dharn took a dipper hanging by the tub, scooped up some
of the bath water, then tipped it over himself—and Kelten, of course. Sputtering, he freed himself and
stood at a little distance so he could glare and sign his displeasure. “Do you mind?”

Dharn grinned and signed “No,” then continued to dowse himself before picking up a bar of soap

and lathering up his armpits and chest. Kelten finally understood. They would wash first, and once
relatively clean, could soak together in the hot bath. Which, even with such an irritating companion,
wasn’t such a dreadful prospect as it first seemed, and would save water. Yes, quite economical. He
approved of economy.

But even more, he approved of good hygiene. To be properly clean, to wash his hair and beard,

was luxury beyond price. To have Dharn soap him up, his big hands all over Kelten’s body as
negligently possessive as they might have been on Dog’s, his strong fingers digging into Kelten’s
scalp, face, back and buttocks while taut, overstressed muscles melted under his assured touch, was
either hell’s own temptation or Mother Sret’s most generous gift. Kelten couldn’t decide, and didn’t
care. He did his best to return the favour, but couldn’t match the sheer power behind Dharn’s touch, or
his reach.

Though there was one body part that benefited from a more delicate touch. Kelten had the

advantage, being shorter. He wrapped soapy fingers around Dharn’s heavy cock and stroked. Dharn
squirmed and jerked into Kelten’s grip, so Kelten did it again, cupping Dharn’s balls with his other
hand, stroking a finger behind them and exploring the tender flesh there. After all, they should be clean
everywhere if they were sharing bath water.

Dharn grinned down at him as if he’d read Kelten’s mind. Or maybe it was because after all this

time together, their minds tended to run along similar tracks, at least on this subject. “Bend over,” he
signed. “Lean on the bath.”

Kelten gave him one more stroke, then slithered up against him so he could kiss him. Dharn took

him by the shoulders and turned him around, forcing him to bend over and hold the edge of the bath for
support, then nudging his feet apart. Kelten’s gut tightened with anticipation. They hadn’t done this
before, but he loved it. He didn’t even mind much if they didn’t have something to ease the way. He’d
used spit before now, and he wanted Dharn so badly, he didn’t need more.

Warm water trickled down the cleft between his buttocks and over his balls. Dharn’s finger pushed

tentatively at his hole. “Please, yes,” Kelten said. He pushed back, hoping to give Dharn the message,

and received a kiss to his earlobe in response. Seemed like the message had been received.

But he felt Dharn moving away, and when he looked over his shoulder to find out why, he found

Dharn looking through a cabinet, examining jars of ointment. Seemed as if spit wasn’t good enough for
him, even if it was for Kelten. Kelten faced forward and hoped Dharn hurry up because he needed to
come.

He sighed as a thick, greasy finger breached him. Dharn’s other hand cupped his balls, thumbing

the base of his erection almost painfully. “Get on with it,” Kelten begged. The finger slid in further,
stretching him. When it withdrew, Kelten groaned, but almost immediately it came back, joined by
another, greasier than before.

Kelten looked over his shoulder and made the “Hurry up” sign. Dharn grinned, squeezed Kelten’s

cock, then something thicker and more insistent replaced his fingers.

He was big. Wonderfully big. Kelten inhaled and pushed back, hissing a little with the burn, but

loving the feeling of being filled and stretched and taken. He hadn’t been fucked in over a year, but of
everything men could do together, this was probably his favourite act.

Dharn pushed him down again, then thrust harder, one possessive hand on Kelten’s hip, the other

around his cock. Kelten spread his legs even more, pushing against the wonderful cock, trying to seat it
deeper. “Harder,” he signed over his shoulder. Dharn obliged, rocking Kelten up against the tub, and
making him grunt and hiss in pleasure and need.

Kelten spent his seed into Dharn’s hand. Dharn flicked it away towards the drain, but his insistent,

deep thrusting never faltered. Kelten’s hole stung and ached, but still he wanted more. He tried to force
a faster pace, but Dharn stilled him with the hand on his hip, commanding him to let him be in charge.
Kelten let his head fall forward, and gave himself up to his master.

Dharn came with a choked sound and an almost painful grip on Kelten’s arse and genitals, resting

against his shoulder, breathing harsh and loud in Kelten’s ear. Kelten groped around and patted Dharn
in wordless thanks. Dharn kissed his ear and gave it a gentle nibble. Kelten’s greedy cock twitched a
little with interest, but he told it to behave. There would be time for more later, he hoped.

Dharn eased out with the inevitable, minor sting. Kelten twisted in his embrace and cupped

Dharn’s head so he could kiss him deeply, showing his appreciation. Dharn stroked his hair back off
his face in a curiously tender manner, and smiled. “Is it all right?”

“It’s good. Very good. Good dog.”
Dharn grinned, his brown eyes crinkling with delight. His somewhat quirky sense of humour took

a little getting used to, but Kelten had almost learned the trick of it. And he loved to see Dharn’s big
grin. There was so much unforced joy in the man.

Dharn reached around for the dipper and quickly sluiced the two of them off. He pointed at the

bath, indicating Kelten should get in, which he did, easing into the wonderful hot water with a sigh.
Dharn did the same, his expression ecstatic. Even hardened hunters with arses as tough as leather liked
their comforts, Kelten noticed. Though he had the best of it, with Dharn’s broad chest making the
perfect pillow to lie against.

He stroked Dharn’s hairy leg, resting comfortably alongside his own, and tested the minor ache in

Chapter 6

Drinking tea, and eating delicious cake and thick slices of excellent bread slathered with rich, fresh

churned butter, Kelten wondered if he’d stepped accidentally into paradise. He was the warmest,
cleanest, most relaxed and best fed he’d been in a very long time, and if someone had come in and
ordered him to move, he felt he might just cry. Dharn was the centre of attention, with Steiv once again
firmly on his lap and making the most of his friend’s inclination to entertain. Harnig respected Kelten’s
warning about the origins of his journey, but there was still much to tell, especially about Dog’s injury
and how Kelten had saved his life. Dog lay by the fire, quite unmoved by all the concern directed his
way. None of the children attempted to play with him, which Kelten thought was odd, but Harnig
explained.

“He’s not a pet. Been raised to be polite in company, but he has but one master. Surely you

noticed.”

“Yes,” Kelten admitted ruefully, “I did notice. I suppose Dharn will replace him with another, now

he’s injured.”

The room fell silent, and the eye of every adult turned cold. “We don’t throw away creatures who

are damaged or different, Ru Rhede,” Ella said.

Kelten realised the egregiousness of his remark. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...I saved his life because

I didn’t want him put down. I only meant he could retire, be a house dog.”

Harnig signed his words to Dharn, who grunted and signed back. “Dog hunts. That’s what Dog

does. He’s doing fine. Don’t need another.”

Kelten turned to his friend. “I’m sorry. Bad Kelten. Bad words.” He used ‘sign’ for ‘words’, but he

hoped Dharn understood. “I like Dog. Never hurt him. Never.”

Dharn reached out and patted his knee, then signed rapidly to Harnig. “He says, you didn’t mean

any harm, and he’s not offended.”

“No, but I upset the lady.” He bowed his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Apology accepted, sir.” But Ella’s expression remained cool, and Kelten knew he had ground to

make up. His own fault entirely.

He let the conversation flow around him, fearing to put his foot in it again, but when one of the

men mentioned Dharn’s mother, he asked, “Where does his family live? I know nothing about his
background. I don’t know enough signs to ask.”

The man cocked an eyebrow and signed to Dharn, who shrugged. “Go ahead,” he signed.
“Father, would you like to explain?”
Harnig shifted to make himself more comfortable. “Dharn, like me, is from a settlement a hundred

miles from here, at Sed. His mother still lives there with his sister, though his brother has moved
away.”

“Ah. I’m sensing the fact that you all sign is connected with this?”

“Yes. The settlement was found by a family with deaf children over two hundred years ago, and

deaf families and children have found their way to it ever since. The sign language we use, was
developed in Sed.”

“‘Found their way’?” Kelten asked.
“In Krilo, the city closest to Sed, there is a charity which runs schools for children with

disadvantages, and foundling homes. Deaf children do particularly badly in the city. Though this
charity tries hard, there is often no place for a deaf child or adult in the hearing world.”

Dharn interrupted him, and Harnig paid close attention before explaining. “He points out that the

hearing world could accommodate them but the schools refuse to teach sign, and the universities offer
no translators or assistance.”

“I understand,” Kelten said. “So deaf foundlings....”
“Are brought to Sed, and raised there. Dharn’s sister is one such. Dharn was born deaf, and his

mother convinced her husband to move to Sed to give him a chance at a proper life. There have been
other families who’ve made this choice over the years.”

“So Sed is a mixture of families with deaf parents, incomers and foster children?”
“Yes. Everyone in Sed signs, whether they can hear or not. My mother was deaf, as was my dear

departed wife. So is my sister.”

“It must make life very comfortable for them. But you can’t expect the whole world to sign.”
“And why not?” Ella snapped. “You’ve learned even after little training. It’s not hard, and no more

to expect of people than that they accommodate the dialects in our regions. My son is deaf, not dim-
witted. He could make his way perfectly well in the city if people didn’t assume there was only one
way to communicate.”

Kelten bowed his head again. “A good point, ma’am. And no, it’s not particularly hard, though I’m

slow.”

“Dharn told me he appreciates your effort,” Harnig said, and Dharn nodded. “But you won’t keep

it up once you leave.”

“I’ve made notes,” Kelten said. “I’ll try to remember what I’ve learned.”
“Of course you will,” Harnig said politely, though the scepticism was clear. Kelten would have

been insulted, but he had an uneasy feeling Harnig was quite correct.

The family was so large—comprising, Kelten learned, Harnig’s two daughters, three sons, and

their spouses and children—that those who lived in the main house ate in shifts, the youngest children
first. This evening Harnig and his eldest daughter, who acted as the mistress of the household now her
mother had passed away, arranged things so the adults could eat with Dharn and Kelten, though Dharn
also had to dine with the children at young Steiv’s insistence. Dog had a bowl of mixed meat and
vegetables early in the evening, then sat gnawing a bone in the corner as the adults sat down to their
meal. No one appeared to mind him sharing space with them. His excellent behaviour validated that
trust.

Harnig only waited for people to serve themselves and to lead the meal prayer, before turning to

Dharn and Kelten. “Well, gentlemen, there are no children to be wary of now.”

Dharn let Kelten give his version of events, which raised gasps and winces aplenty from the men

and women alike. Harnig nodded grimly when he was done. “You were wise not to mention this
earlier. Such appalling savagery. Dharn?”

Harnig translated, and finally Kelten learned the secret of how Dharn had come to rescue him. “I

saw the tracks of three men who’d robbed my traps, so I was tracking them, though keeping my
distance. I believe they were escaped prisoners, or felons on the run—I’ve encountered the type before.
Their horses were likely stolen.”

“I’m riding a stolen horse?”
Harnig raised an eyebrow at Kelten. “Well, if you are, you weren't to know. Continue,” he signed

to Dharn.

“I realised late that day they were tracking someone, but not who. By the time I found their horses,

your friends were already dead, I think. I wasn’t fast enough. Sorry.”

Dharn patted his arm when he finished. Kelten looked down at his plate, tears pricking his eyes.

Yes, Dharn had been too late, but it wasn’t his fault. The criminals had been bent on mayhem, and
Dharn had at least put an end to their careers. “I must report all this to the constables before I leave,” he
said. “I have personal items belonging to the children. And there’s the horse. Horses,” he amended. “I
hope they don’t think I stole the second one.”

Harnig pursed his lips. “You’d be best off leaving things be, Kelten. The chief constable here is a

new man and not flexible, and you don’t want to bring the law down on Dharn or his settlement.”

Kelten frowned at Harnig. “But I have to—”
“Do you want Dharn in prison? A deaf man locked up for months, maybe years?”
“He didn’t do anything wrong. He saved my life!”
“Yes, but the law will want to prove that, and it moves slowly. Dharn will suffer if you lock him

up in a prison where no one signs or thinks he has a brain in his head. The other prisoners will abuse
him, and the prison officers won’t protect him. It’s happened before to our people, more times than I
care to remember. I told you. The city’s no place for a deaf man, and neither is their prison.”

“Then I’ll keep his name out of it. I’ll say I never learned the identity of my rescuer, and that he

abandoned me a week or so ago.”

“And they’ll believe you, I’m sure,” Harnig said with heavy sarcasm. Dharn signed at him at

length. “He says, this is why he was glad you didn’t tell that idiot at Lemt about all this. He doesn’t like
folk from Sed, and would be happy to throw trouble their way. So why are you going to do it now?”

“I’m not throwing trouble on anyone. But two people have been murdered and their families need

the truth.”

“Those people will be dead whatever you say, but the only difference will be that you’ll involve

yourself in a prolonged, pointless mess, and Dharn with it. You’ve never been in trouble with the law,
have you?” Kelten shook his head. “Then you don’t know how stupid these people can be when it
comes to complicated situations, and this is complicated as it gets.”

“I only need to explain it to them,” Kelten insisted. “But I promise I won’t bring Dharn into it at

all. No one’s seen us together except that man at the trading post. There’s no reason he would think to

report it, since I didn’t mention anything about my situation.”

“Young man, you’re ignoring my advice at your peril.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Harnig grunted, and Dharn gave Kelten a long, considered look, though he added nothing to

Harnig’s impassioned argument. Certainly he said nothing to contradict it. No one else at the table had
anything to offer on the subject, though their sidelong glances and quick frowns as they caught
Kelten’s eye made it plain they weren’t happy. Kelten wished they would understand, but he also
wished he could understand why they were so determined to thwart the natural legal process, especially
when the feelings of another family needed to be considered. Certainly it was an ugly story, but Kelten
was a respectable doctor with a spotless record, and the bodies of the villains were surely proof of their
involvement and of his version of events. He would go to town a little early to give the police a chance
to investigate his bona fides, but he had no doubt these would be quickly established. His main concern
was to safely return Merl and Bern’s property, and making sure their son and daughter learned the
truth. Then he could mourn his friends with a clean conscience and get on with his life.

The meal continued, and Kelten kept firmly to the background, letting the family and Dharn catch

up. Something Harnig has said bothered him though. Once Kelten and Dharn had retired to the small
attic room that was reserved for visitors and Dharn himself on his semi-annual visits, he took his friend
to task.

“You weren’t sad I was leaving. You were worried I would talk to the man in the trading post

about what happened.” He didn’t risk signing, but wrote it out in one of his new notebooks.

“Yes,” Dharn signed, obviously puzzled.
“You really won’t miss me?”
Dharn sighed and pulled Kelten in for a hug, kissing him slowly. Not that Kelten minded, but it

wasn’t an answer. He struggled free, and pointed to the words on the paper. “Well?”

“Yes. I am sad.” He made the sign and pointed to the word he meant. “But you must go.” He

shrugged exaggeratedly, then took Kelten’s pencil and wrote, “Enjoy now.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” It had, Kelten realised, been rather arrogant of him to assume that Dharn

would mope over the disappearance from his life of someone he barely knew, who could never share
his existence. He just would have liked Dharn to spend at least some of the emotion he would have
experienced on the death of Dog, on regretting Kelten’s departure.

He was being quite ridiculous of course. Allowing himself to care too much wasn’t healthy, given

the inevitability of their parting. But as he lay firmly wrapped in Dharn’s strong arms, his bristly beard
a strangely pleasant and now familiar sensation at the back of his neck, he wondered how he would feel
once he was on the train to Gark, or at least a proper city. His life had been turned upside down so
thoroughly, and Dharn was now such an enormous, important part of it, that it was a little hard to
remember that this had not always been so. “I shall miss you,” he whispered. “And I hope you miss me
a little more than you think you will. Not too much, but a bit.”

If Dharn had been awake, he’d have felt the vibrations of Kelten’s voice against his skin and body,

but he was sound asleep, untroubled by Kelten’s trivial emotional tempest. What would it be like to

Chapter 7

He stayed until the fifth day, and despite his fumbles on his arrival, was made entirely welcome.

He learned more about Dharn and this village of deaf people, and felt rather sorry he would likely
never see it for himself. Many locals had ties to Sed, as hearing residents and offspring moved away, or
deaf children and their families were taught to sign by those who’d been raised in the village, or by
those who had intermarried with residents. Unfortunately, the outpost owner in Lemt wasn’t unusual in
his hostility. The very success of Sed and the relative prosperity of its inhabitants caused much
resentment in some quarters, adding to the common suspicion of the different and afflicted. Dharn had
been tormented often enough in his encounters with hearing folk, though Kelten heard this not from
Dharn, but from Ella and her brothers. Their fierce protectiveness of his big friend was quite warming
to see, even if Dharn seemed the last person on the planet to need protecting.

Harnig twice cornered Kelten to urge him to give up his plan to report the attack to the constables,

and twice Kelten firmly but politely rejected the idea. He understood better why this family would be
suspicious of officialdom, but he didn’t have that history, or —he had to be blunt—their disadvantages.
Dharn didn’t mention it again, and they didn’t talk about the imminent parting. Instead Dharn took
pleasure during the day in showing Kelten around the farm buildings, teaching him sign and
encouraging him to talk to Steiv, and at night, giving Kelten more sex and affection. For that alone,
Kelten could wish two-moon was weeks, not days, away.

But at last, the day of departure arrived. Dharn was staying on for a few more days, so Kelten

would ride the short distance to the town on his own. Harnig, having abandoned hope of dissuading
him, had advised Kelten to seek a night’s accommodation with a friend who ran the local boarding
house, and Kelten gratefully accepted the advice. “I know you disagree with my decision,” he said.
“But I will never forget your kindness and the generosity of your family.”

“I hope you have no reason to regret your course, young Kelten. But it’s been a pleasure to have

you here. You’ll be welcome again.”

Kelten shook his hand, and that of Ella, who’d warmed somewhat towards him. He accepted a hug

from Steiv and several of the other children, shy waves from the rest of them.

Dharn stood by Kelten’s horses, his expression unreadable. Kelten approached, unsure how his

friend wanted to handle this. “I go now,” he signed.

“Yes, I know. Keep safe.”
“You too.”
Dharn nodded, and Kelten hesitated. What would be appropriate, given that the family all stood

watching?

Dharn decided for him, stepping forward and throwing his arms around Kelten in a crushing hug,

lifting him off the ground. Kelten grinned, knowing now this was Dharn’s most powerful gesture of
affection to his friends. Hidden from the others by Dharn’s head, he dropped a quick kiss on Dharn’s

cheek. “Goodbye and thank you,” he whispered against Dharn’s skin.

Dharn let him go, then moved back. “Goodbye,” he signed.
“Goodbye. Good dog.”
Dharn grinned at Kelten’s joke. “Goodbye to you too, Dog.” Kelten said, bending down to pat him.

Dog barked happily in reply.

He mounted up, waved to everyone, and set off resolutely. Dog’s barking followed him for a

while, then all was snowy silence.

The town was but an hour’s ride from the farm, and very different from the ramshackle trading

station at Lemt. Most of the buildings were made of wood, which wasn’t surprising, but looked solid
and well constructed. The train station, right in the centre of town, and the imposing structure a little
down the street from it whose polished brass sign proclaimed it to be the home of the local
constabulary, were both made of stone. They gave an impression of sturdy rectitude Kelten might have
found reassuring on another day. As it was, looking at the stationhouse sent a lurch of uncertainty
through him as he recalled Harnig’s vehement arguments against contact with the police.

The boarding house was across the street from the station. Perhaps he should book a room first?

But he needed to make sure the animals and other property were disposed of safely, so, with a lingering
look of regret at his would-be accommodation, he rode over to the police station, hitched the horses to
the post in front, and unloaded his packs.

He was in freshly laundered clothes, and had trimmed his beard down as short as he could. Still, as

he crossed the polished wooden floor to the counter, he couldn’t fail to notice that the clerk behind it
was clean-shaven, dressed in a neat suit, and looked at him with vague distaste over his pince-nez.
“Yes?”

“Rhede Kelten, sir. I’m a physician from Bunes. I’ve come to report a crime—a terrible crime.

Two murders, in fact.”

The clerk’s eyes grew wide. “Blessed Mother Sret.” He banged hard on the bell by his side.

Seconds later, a constable came out from a door behind the counter. “This man wants to report a
murder. Two murders.”

The young officer blinked, then collected himself. “Right. Well, you’d best come this way, sir.”
The constable took him to a small room, and while Kelten did his best to explain the horrible

details as simple and linearly as possible, the constable laboriously wrote everything down on a large
notepad. By the time Kelten finished relating how Merl had been violated and then gutted like an
animal, the young man’s face was whiter than the snow piled against the window ledge. He gulped.
“Excuse me, sir. I think I need Constable Eigan to help me.”

“Of course.”
The young constable was gone a long time. Kelten found the room rather claustrophobic after

months out in the wilderness, and wished this interview could have been conducted elsewhere. The
window was too high for him to easily see out of, so he had to content himself with the memory of the
snowy world beyond it. It would take him a little while to grow used to civilisation again, he suspected.

The constable returned with his superior, a thin, stern-faced man who reminded Kelten a little of

the temple priest who’d instructed his class in primary school. He motioned Kelten to sit again. “Ru
Rhede, I am Constable Eigan. Please tell me everything that’s happened since you arrived in Tuwilo.”

So once again Kelten began the sorry tale, but Eigan interrupted almost immediately. “You

decided to travel across country with two complete strangers?”

“Well, yes. I was short of funds, and they made a kind offer.”
“And you met these elderly people quite by chance.”
A prickle of unease crossed his chest. “Yes, sir.”
“How would you have managed if you had not met them?”
“I was prepared to take temporary employment in the city, or perhaps borrow funds. I hadn’t

explored all my options at that point.”

Eigan’s eyes narrowed, and Kelten sensed he had not been believed. Rather offended, he

continued. Eigan stopped him again. “This man who shot the alleged attackers—”

“There’s nothing alleged about it, sir. They killed my friends right before my eyes.”
“This man, Ru Rhede. Describe him.”
For the first time in his life, Kelten told a deliberate lie to a government official. “Er, well, he was

short, stout, and old. I mean, older than me...about my father’s age. Black hair and beard.”

“Name?”
“He never gave it. He was a rather silent chap.” There, no lie about that.
“And he killed these men, spared your life, and allowed you to follow him about the countryside

for nearly three months?”

“I had supplies, and I trapped. I watched him and learned how to catch prey and forage. But he

didn’t want to come anywhere near the city and after pointing the way here, departed. I haven’t seen
him since.”

“Describe him again, Ru Rhede. And how exactly he rescued you.”
Eigan made him go over the story three times, concentrating on Kelten’s fictionalised version of

Dharn and the rescue, clearly sceptical. For good reason, Kelten thought rather desperately, wishing
this could all be over. “Look, I just want to hand over Ru and Rusa Fet’s possessions so they go to their
daughter in Tuwilo or their son, and arrange for the disposal of the horses. I’ve done nothing wrong,
Constable. I am the victim of this crime, not a perpetrator.” He tried to look as upright and indignant as
his stepfather would in the same circumstances, though the idea of that worthy ever allowing himself to
be embroiled in something like this was rather hard to conceive.

“So you say, Ru Rhede. Tuvin, write up his statement and have him sign it.”
“And then may I leave? I wish to catch the train to Tuwilo tomorrow.”
“I can’t allow you to go anywhere until I’ve sent a telegram to Tuwilo Constabulary and asked

them what they know of this.”

“But—”
Eigan stood. “You can either remain voluntarily or I can place you under arrest, Ru Rhede.”
“Of course I’ll stay, but why would you arrest me?”
“You have the possessions of several murder victims and your explanation as to how you come to

have them is highly suspicious. Moreover, you are the last person, by your own account, to see those
murdered people before their deaths.”

“But the man who rescued me saw them too!”
“Then where is he? Produce him. I’d be glad to speak to him, Ru Rhede. Very glad.”
Kelten bit his lip. “I have no idea where he is.”
“Then you see my problem. Tuvin? Have someone take those horses to the stables, and make Ru

Rhede comfortable in one of the cells.”

“Cells?” Kelten’s voice squeaked with anxiety.
“We don’t have much other accommodation,” Tuvin explained diffidently. “You won’t be locked

in.”

Kelten didn’t care about that. The idea of being placed in a police cell like a common criminal was

the problem. But the sooner this nonsense was sorted out, the sooner he could depart with a clean
conscience. So he allowed Tuvin to lead him to a grim, barred cell where a metal cot and blankets
offered the only place to sit or rest. As promised, Tuvin didn’t lock the door, but the existence of the
lock—and knowing that he had committed a crime in lying in his statement—played on Kelten’s
already stretched nerves. How he wished now he’d listened to Harnig, even if this was all likely to be
over in a couple of hours, and by this evening, he would be safe in the boarding house, and close to the
end of his travels.

He was quite mistaken about how long it would take for the matter to be resolved. He’d refused the

offer of lunch since he was too anxious to consider food, but regretted it as time went on and there was
still no word from anyone. Noon was hours past before Eigan returned, his thin face even more sour
and displeased than before.

“Rhede Kelten, I’ve been informed that you are the primary suspect in the murders of Fet Bern and

Merl and three other male persons, and that you are to be placed under arrest and taken to Tuwilo for
questioning without delay. I hereby arrest you on the suspicion of murder and theft.”

“What? But I’m a victim, Constable!” Kelten rushed to the bars of the cell just as Eigan locked the

door with a decisive turn of a heavy key. “What did they say?”

“You are the last person seen with Ru and Rusa Fet, and indeed, there has been a manhunt

underway for you for over two months. Their son, who came searching after becoming anxious when
they didn’t arrive, found the grave and cart, and raised the alarm.”

“But there, it’s as I said, isn’t it? Merl and Bern were buried, and we left their killers where they

lay. Why would I bury anyone if I’d murdered them?

Eigan was unmoved. “The advanced state of decomposition of their bodies and those of the other

three men, make it impossible to verify your version of events. Therefore you are required to attend for
questioning while your story is investigated.”

Kelten gripped the bars and wished he be on the other side of them, to speak to Eigan man to man,

not prisoner to captor. “But I would go voluntarily. I’m going to Tuwilo anyway. You don’t have to
arrest me.”

“Procedure, Ru Rhede. And you’re a suspect in five murders. These aren’t small matters.”

“Can I see an advocate? Surely this can be sorted out.”
Eigan raised an eyebrow. “And why would an innocent man need an advocate? There’s none to be

had in town at the moment. I can have someone from the temple come, if you wish to unburden
yourself of anything.”

“I don’t wish—” Kelten stopped, realising he was perilously close to losing his composure. “I’m

innocent.”

“Then the facts, once established, will prove that. The train leaves at five tomorrow evening.

Constable Tuvin will take you under guard.”

“Like a common felon?” Goddess, he hated how much he sounded like his stepfather just then.
“As a man under arrest, Ru Rhede,” Eigan said with a total lack of sympathy for his outraged

sensibilities. “Now, do you want a priest?”

“No,” he said shortly, not trusting himself to say more. Eigan left him then, and Kelten returned to

the bunk, dispirited and worried. He’d felt sure that the way Merl and Bern’s bodies had been carefully
laid to rest, in contrast to those of the villains, would show which had been victims and which
attackers. It hadn’t occurred to him that the three murderers and rapists might appear to be victims too.
Surely the contents of their saddlebags and pockets must have held some evidence of their misdeeds?

There was nothing to show Kelten had killed anyone because he hadn’t, and that was his best hope

of getting out of this. The white lie he had told about Dharn hadn’t materially changed the true
narrative, and Dharn was innocent too. Kelten was now even more determined that Dharn should not be
drawn into this, because if Kelten’s words had so little effect on the machinery of justice, what use
would be those of a deaf man who did not speak?

He groaned and put his head in his hands. Harnig had been right, at least about this part. But the

constables in Tuwilo would be more worldly and in communication with Bunes. Failing all else, his
personal references and his stepfather’s position would surely count for something, even if his
stepfather would cut off his hand before helping Kelten—or before Kelten asked for it.

Perhaps he should have seen the priest. Mother Sret was the only one he could call on now.

Chapter 8

The constables were, in the end, not unkind, though Constable Eigan made it clear he thought

Kelten was hiding something. Since this was true, Kelten couldn’t hold that against the man. Eigan’s
small team of mostly young recruits treated Kelten politely and provided him with all the necessities of
life. It wasn’t their fault he got not a wink of sleep for fretting about what would happen in Tuwilo, and
if he could really be found guilty of a crime he not only hadn’t committed, but which had never
happened. Dharn hadn’t murdered those men—it had been a pure act of civilian justice. Not even to
save himself would Kelten bring him into this. It would be a ghastly way to repay Dharn for saving his
life and trying to save Merl and Bern, though he’d arrived too late through no fault of his own.

Kelten was very glad that he’d taken Harnig’s advice on one count and left his notes on the sign

language at the farm, to be forwarded later. Eigan had gone through Kelten’s pack and examined every
item minutely, questioned him about each in detail. Had he found those notes, Dharn’s existence would
have been too easily deduced. Now if only Kelten had been sensible enough to listen to the rest of
Harnig’s wise words...

Several hours after one of the officers brought him a lunch he couldn’t do more than pick at,

another constable told him to ready himself for departure. He was allowed to relieve himself, wash up
and to choose some personal items for the journey. The rest of his belongings, including his precious
medical bag, would travel with him under Constable Tuvin’s guard, but he wouldn’t have access to
them until he was handed over in Tuwilo.

Tuvin came to his cell not long after Kelten returned from the washroom. “We’re leaving now.”
“Of course,” Kelten said, wanting to be as polite and harmless seeming as possible. The calm he’d

determined to maintain was shaken when Tuvin, looking abashed, asked him to put his hands out so he
could cuff them. “I won’t try to escape, Constable.”

“I’m sorry, but I have my orders, Ru Rhede.”
Orders also required Kelten to be marched under the guard of Tuvin and two other officers along

the street to the station. The few curious citizens still out and about in the dusk stood and stared.
Kelten’s face burned with shame. I’m not a criminal, he wanted to shout. I’m not! But saying so
wouldn’t convince anyone and would probably have the opposite effect, so he kept silent and tried to
walk with his head high, like the completely innocent man that he was.

Tuvin’s companions waited with him for the train. The only point of amusement came when

Kelten asked Tuvin what was in the large wicker basket standing beside Kelten’s packs and one he
assumed belonged to the constable. The young man blushed. “It’s from my mother,” he mumbled.

One of his friends slapped his shoulder. “His ma owns the guesthouse. Best cook in Horgilan.”
Kelten looked at Tuvin and the basket, then understood. “She doesn’t think the train will offer

anything good enough for her son?”

Tuvin’s red cheeks grew even more brightly coloured as he nodded, looking at the ground.

“Enough for two. She said even if you were a killer, you needed to keep your strength up.”

Kelten didn’t know whether to be appalled or touched. “Er...very kind. Thank her for me.” Tuvin’s

companions grinned at that, but he had no idea why.

They were the only passengers waiting, Mother Sret’s mercy be thanked, and on the train, Tuvin

took him to a perfectly ordinary and unoccupied passenger compartment. “I have to keep you
handcuffed, the chief said,” he explained in apology as he attached one end of the cuffs to the arm of
Kelten’s chair. “Unless you need to relieve yourself.”

“I understand,” Kelten said stiffly, making himself smile. At least no one would be staring at him

here, though the indignity of it hurt much more than he would have imagined. He had no intention of
trying to escape. His word of honour had always been good enough before. Well, for all but his
stepfather, who had no honour and so didn’t believe in it in anyone else.

The train moved off. Tuvin stowed their packs up on the overhead racks, but set the wicker basket

down in front of him. “I thought we could take a bite to eat. Keil said you didn’t have much lunch.”

“I haven’t much of an appetite, not for prison food at least.”
“My mother’s kitchen provides the food there.”
“My apologies,” Kelten said, bowing his head. “I meant no insult.”
“None taken,” Tuvin said as he rummaged around in the basket. “If you’re innocent, then I don’t

blame you. If you’re guilty,” he looked up and stared at Kelten, “why would you come to us? I don’t
understand.”

“I’m not guilty.” Kelten willed his young companion to believe him. If he could at least convince

one person, maybe he had a chance. “It’s a horrible misunderstanding. Once we get to Tuwilo, it’ll be
sorted out.”

“I hope so. I told Ma that I couldn’t believe anyone could be so wicked.”
“I’m afraid they can be, but I’m not the one who was. It was as big a shock to me as it is to you.

I’ve never encountered such violence in my life.”

“Me either. Ma made some meat pies. Would you like one?”
Kelten smiled with difficulty. “I’d be honoured.”
The jolting train and being one-handed made eating awkward, but Tuvin’s mother—an excellent

cook, judging by the evidence of her hamper—had taken that into account, though whether by design
or accident, Kelten didn’t know. The little pies whetted his dulled appetite, and a bottle of fresh water
and slices of tart garna fruit were also welcome. Tuvin ate with a will, and if the presence of a possible
murderer had any effect on his stomach, Kelten couldn’t detect it.

Outside, the winter night fell, but the two full moons shed silver light all over the snowy landscape

moving slowly past their window. The train didn’t travel as fast as he would have expected, but he
didn’t know what terrain they travelled through, or what conditions prevailed on the tracks. They
would get to Tuwilo all too soon and there Kelten would learn his fate.

Their meal done, Tuvin put the basket away, then excused himself, shutting the compartment door

behind him, and promising not to be long. Kelten leaned back in his seat and tried to get comfortable.
Replete and worn out by his fretting, he didn’t have the energy to keep thinking about the city and what

might happen to him. Instead his thoughts drifted back to Dharn. He still had a long journey to make,
and more trapping to do, though he had done most of his hunting for this trip. On a night like this, on
the trail, Dharn would sit by the fire, in the moonlight, stroking Dog’s head and sipping tea. Kelten
would be leaning against him now if he was there. Feeling Dharn’s strength, his companionable bulk,
knowing that Dharn was master of this land and that while he was with him, Kelten was quite safe.

But he wasn’t with him now, and no one could protect him anymore. I wish I was with you, Kelten

thought, then looked down at his hand. He almost smiled when he realised he’d been making the signs
along with his thoughts.

The train jerked hard, and wheels screamed against brakes being applied. Kelten was thrown

forward, falling from the seat to his knees. He struggled back into the chair and peered out of the
window, wondering what was going on. Had they derailed? Up ahead there was a glow...a fire? Was
the engine on fire? He couldn’t really see from this angle.

He jumped back from the window as shots were fired. Distantly he heard passengers yelling in

surprise and worry, and closer to him, men shouting as they ran along the passageway beside the
compartment. He strained to see but the bright moonlight showed him nothing.

More gunshots. He heard Tuvin talking loudly to someone at the end of the carriage, giving orders

while sounding as frightened as any of the passengers. The train was under attack? Goddess, more
murderers and thieves? Kelten tugged uselessly at his restrained wrist, feeling trapped and helpless as
he had been the first time. Tuvin was an amiable fellow, but hardly someone Kelten would choose to
stand as his defender, let alone the defender of a hundred people on a train.

He started again as a massive explosion rocked the carriage. What was going on? “Mother Sret,

preserve us,” he muttered. All along the train he heard people shouting, some crying in distress, but no
one seemed to have more information than he did. Where were the train guards, and where was Tuvin?

The compartment door shot open, and Kelten cringed back in terror, his heart thumping hard—

until he realised he knew the curly-haired man standing there. “Pejil?” Harnig’s second oldest son.
“What are you do—”

Pejil put his finger to his lips and came over quickly, kneeling to unlock the handcuff on Kelten’s

wrist. How did he have a key?

“What’s going on?” Kelten whispered.
“No time to explain. Packs?”
“Up there, but Pejil—”
“Hurry, Kelten, we don’t have much time. Quick, put your coat on, and grab yours.”
Confused, Kelten obeyed, taking his medical bag in a tight grip, Pejil taking his other pack. “This

way,” Pejil murmured, leading the way.

The compartment was the last in the carriage before the guard’s accommodation, and that was

empty—the guards had to be attending to the mayhem outside. Pejil opened the door at the end of the
carriage and motioned Kelten into the frigid air outside. “Wait, Pejil, I can’t—”

“Kelten, you have to come or we’re all lost. Hurry!”
His sharp tone propelled Kelten’s legs before his brain had a chance to reframe his protest, and he

jumped down into the snow. “This way!” Pejil ran towards the trees. Kelten followed, not at all sure
this was the right course of action.

Just beyond the edge of the forest, Pejil stopped and whistled. Almost immediately two men on

horseback emerged from the shadows, leading two other mounts. “Dharn? Harnig? What’s going on?”

“We’re saving your arse, Kelten. Up you get.”
Dharn waved in greeting. Kelten waved back distractedly but he wasn’t pleased with Harnig’s

announcement at all. “No. No, I can’t. You don’t understand. I can’t become a fugitive. If I go to
Tuwilo—”

Harnig cut him off with a slicing motion of his hand. “You’ll be hanged for five murders. The city

constabulary are desperate to pin this crime on someone and you’re their only suspect. They won’t be
trying to clear your name, and no one will help you. I’ve seen it before. You’re walking into a trap.
Now get on the horse.”

Kelten pulled away from under the encouraging hand Pejil had on his shoulder. “No. I’m going

back to the train. With any luck, no one will know I’ve gone.”

“And if they do? You’ll set up a manhunt, and guess who’ll be caught first.” Harnig, who hadn’t

signed this last part, jerked his head at Dharn.

“Then run. Save yourselves.”
But then the shouting changed, and Kelten heard his own name being called. “Too late,” Harnig

snapped. “Mount up, or we’re all doomed.”

“Hurry, Kelten,” Pejil said, running to one of the horses. “We have to leave, now!”
Kelten felt he had no choice, so he did as Pejil did and pulled himself up into the saddle of the

other horse. As soon as he mounted, Harnig slapped the rump of his horse and set it running, and the
four of them galloped off into the moonlit forest.

They rode hard for some twenty minutes before Harnig called a halt. “This is where we part

company, lads. Kelten, you and Dharn can ride to Sed and lay low for a bit. The rest of us will head
back to the farm.”

“Wait...how did you even know I was under arrest? And when did you plan this?”
Harnig grinned. “Tuvin tells his mother everything. And his mother is a good friend of mine. I sent

Pejil into town yesterday and the gossip was everywhere. That’s when Dharn and I decided we had to
set you free.”

“And now you’ve turned me into a wanted man when I was completely innocent before! You’ve

ruined my life, all of you, and ruined that poor young constable’s career to boot, I have no doubt.”

Harnig translated for Dharn who stared at Kelten, then signed back to Harnig. “He says the

constables are no friends to him or his kind, and he’s known innocent men jailed for things they didn’t
do. So have I, Kelten, and I judged the risk too great that you would sacrifice Dharn to save yourself.”

“I would never do that. This is all because you didn’t trust me.”
“We were trying to help.”
“You didn’t,” Kelten said coldly.
Harnig’s expression likewise grew cold. “Well it’s too late for tears now, boy. Go back now and

you’ll be charged with escape unless you throw us to the wolves, and you’ll end up in prison whatever
you say. You’d best make what you can of it.”

“A life on the run. Thanks so much.”
“You’re welcome. Son, let’s go.” Harnig leaned over and briefly clasped Dharn’s arm, then flicked

his reins and set his horse running again. They were soon lost among the trees.

Dharn nudged his horse with his heels and moved off. Kelten had no choice but to follow, unless

he wanted to do as Harnig had suggested so sneeringly and put himself into prison. He didn’t know
who he was angrier with right now—Harnig, for putting all of them in danger, Dharn for agreeing to
the mad plan, or himself for allowing them to manipulate him through his loyalty to Dharn.

A few minutes later they came to where Dharn had his packhorses staked. Dog was waiting for

them. Dharn dismounted long enough to untie his animals and lift Dog into the saddle, but didn’t look
at Kelten or offer him any rest or comfort. That was fine. Kelten didn’t want to talk to him either. How
could someone trying to help him make such an appalling mess of his life? What would become of his
career now?

What would become of him?

Chapter 9

They rode for another hour before Dharn called a halt. Kelten at first couldn’t understand why he’d

chosen this place. It looked exactly the same as the rest of the forest, and no different from what lay
before them. But as they began to put up the tent—no need to communicate over such a task when they
had worked in harmony for weeks—the moonlight faded. Kelten looked up. Clouds were sweeping fast
across the night sky and across Nodos, the larger moon. Dharn must have known they would lose the
light, and indeed, they had barely finished setting up before the first fat flakes of snow fell. With no
fire, it was horribly cold inside the tent even with Dog huddling with them for warmth. Angry as he
was, Kelten had no choice but to cling to Dharn’s bulk to preserve body heat, and since he had slept
little the night before from worry, his anger could not keep him awake tonight.

They woke to a world of white, and Dharn had to dig them out. Still no time for a fire, apparently.

After offering Kelten water from a flask inside his coat and some jerky, Dharn mounted up. They
didn’t stop again for some hours, and only because the horses needed grain and melted snow, which
meant a fire.

The snow continued on and off, and made the journey miserable. Harnig had given Dharn a coat to

replace the one Kelten had surrendered as belonging to Bern, but it wasn’t quite as warm, nor was the
borrowed scarf a substitute for the snug woollen cap Kelten had left behind in the train compartment.
Ice clung to Kelten’s face without the protection of his beard, and the scarf exposed his neck to the
sting and wet of snowflakes if he forgot to stay huddled inside his coat and collar.

Dharn, as always, seemed quite unperturbed by the cold. He set them a punishing pace, travelling

as long as there was light of any kind to ride by, setting a fire only long enough to melt snow to drink
and cook griddle cakes for supper. The rest of the time they moved silently, leaving little trace of their
passing on the winter landscape, and only exchanging grunts and hand signals when absolutely
necessary. Kelten wanted nothing more. Dharn seemed to, though. On the second night, as they
hunched by the fire, Dharn had raised his hand to stroke Kelten’s face. Kelten glared at him, made a
chopping gesture, and Dharn desisted immediately. He hadn’t attempted to touch him again, and the
nights held no affection from him either. Kelten regretted that, but he could not forgive what Dharn and
Harnig had done. What could not be undone.

At noon on the sixth day, they passed by a farm. Not long after, Kelten saw two small cottages set

close by each other in the snow. And then another, then three more. Not long after that, a whole group
of cottages and barns appeared, dark shapes in the white. Dharn turned left, and his destination became
clear—another cottage standing on its own, some distance from the cluster of scattered dwellings, with
a fence line indicating it was part of a small farm.

Dog, once set down, was beside himself with excitement and scampered about like a puppy,

barking his head off. Dharn ignored his antics and led his horses into stalls inside a barn to the rear of
the house. Kelten followed, wondering where they were and who this was they were visiting now.

After his last experience and how it had ended, he couldn’t raise any joy at the prospect, whatever it
was.

Dharn entered through the back of the cottage, stomping off snow and hanging his coat on a peg.

He pointed at an empty space for Kelten’s own coat, then tossed him a pair of house slippers. Their
packs, he took and set on a shelf.

“Where are we?” Kelten signed, annoyed at the way Dharn was ordering him about, albeit with

gestures rather than signs.

“Home,” Dharn signed, opening an inner door. Dog rushed through, clearly knowing what was

inside.

The warmth and scent of cooking made Kelten’s knees weak, and he almost moaned in hunger.

But Dharn had no interest in his reaction because a tall, elderly woman rising from her chair in the little
kitchen had claimed him. She hugged him and kissed his cheek, then bent to pat Dog and exclaim over
his missing leg.

Dharn’s mother, Kelten guessed. Neither mother nor son paid him any heed as they rapidly signed

to each other, so he cleared his throat. The woman turned and smiled, signing in welcome.

“Actually, I’m not deaf,” Kelten said.
She signed again, then said, “No, but my son is. I can’t sign and speak at the same time. I’m Sirel.”
“Rhede Kelten, ma’am.”
She frowned at him, then signed at Dharn. Kelten deliberately didn’t watch their conversation. He

felt rather resentful that he’d been forced to come to this place and yet his main way of communicating
was being dismissed simply because of Dharn. Let Dharn accommodate him for a change, he thought.
He didn’t even want to be here.

“Come and sit down,” Sirel signed to him. Kelten thought about ignoring her, but obeyed out of

ingrained habit. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” he said. She didn’t react, so he signed it.
She nodded, then went to the sink to fetch a teapot which she filled from the stove tank. Dharn

poured some water from a jug on the side counter into a deep bowl and set it down for Dog, who
noisily lapped it up. Then Dharn sat down opposite Kelten, not looking at him. Wonderful. This is
going to be such a pleasure.

“Actually, could I possibly wash up before we eat?” Kelten asked Sirel, still busy with the tea.

“Please don’t ask me to sign all that—I’m hungry and tired and your son isn’t in favour with me.”

She turned and tsked. “Then you’re not in favour with me, Ru Rhede. Through that door. Take

your time. I have a feeling the less I see you, the less likely it is I’ll throw something at you.”

Kelten scooted. He hadn’t expected such a sharp response, and regretted eliciting it. But he was

glad to get away from both of them for now.

The door led to a little washroom, obviously sharing the kitchen stove’s warmth through a

communal wall as had been the case at Harnig’s farmhouse, though on a much bigger scale. Another
door led him to a laundry and pumproom, then along a little covered passageway to the soil closet,
which he used to his great relief. He took his time washing his hands and face and straightening his

clothes, before returning to the kitchen.

The tea was on the table and so was some cake and buttered bread. Dharn had already served

himself. “Please sit, Kelten,” Sirel said, sounding friendlier.

Kelten did so. “May I?” he signed, gesturing at the food.
“Of course.” She poured him a big mug of tea without asking. He took a long, welcome swig,

letting the heat warm his frozen chest, and the liquid soothe his ever-dry throat. She topped up the mug,
and he managed a signed “Thank you”. Whatever their quarrel, he ought to show some manners.

Dharn still didn’t look at him as Kelten served himself, but instead talked to his mother in sign.

After Kelten had drunk a full mug of tea and eaten a slice of cake, Sirel tapped the table in front of him,
a habit he knew from Harnig’s house to draw a deaf person’s attention. “My son tells me that you have
some cause to be angry at him.”

“I do, but I have no excuse for rudeness. I’m sorry,” he said and signed. “I really don’t know

enough sign to converse at length though.”

“We’ll manage.” She repeated everything in sign for Dharn, but not simultaneously as Harnig had

done. Kelten would never be able to do that either. The syntaxes of the two languages were quite
different and, except for short phrases, he became quite muddled when he tried. “I haven’t seen Dharn
for six months. Would you mind if he and I catch up? You’ll be staying here of course, until you have
somewhere to go. Unless that’s unwelcome to you.”

“If you’ll have me, I’d like to stay a while. I have no other place to be,” he added bitterly. She

translated all that for Dharn who pulled a face and climbed to his feet. He went out to the washroom,
the door closing behind him with unnecessary firmness. “This could be awkward,” Kelten said, staring
after him.

“So I gather.”
“This is Sed?”
“Yes. I’m the village weaver, and we raise goats and a few sheep too. My daughter takes charge of

them for me.”

“Daughter?”
“Maome. She’s off visiting her young man though,” she added with a wistful smile. “In the winter,

the flock is kept inside, so she stays with him and tends to them in his family’s barn. I’m quite alone
until she and Dharn return. I wasn’t expecting him so soon, so your misfortune is a small blessing for
me.”

“Forgive me, but that doesn’t really help.”
“No. Eat up, Kelten. There’s naught to be done for you just now, but I can at least feed and water

you. Tomorrow you’ll have to meet our headwoman, Megwen, but you can rest today.”

At her urging, he stuffed himself with cake and bread, and a little goat cheese, sharp and delicious.

Sirel put down bread and cheese for Dog who ate then lay down at her feet, looking up adoringly from
time to time. Dharn returned and fell to with a will, though he scowled at Kelten from time to time.
What a cheek, Kelten thought. It wasn’t he who had virtually kidnapped someone and ruined their life.

After their lunch, Sirel invited Kelten to rest in her sitting room. A large sofa and two armchairs

took up most of the space. The rest of the room was filled baskets of wool and a huge loom. Dog of
course went straight to the fireplace and lay down before it. “This is where you work?” Kelten asked,
taking a seat on an armchair when she motioned him over to it.

“In the winter, yes. I have a proper workroom but it’s much too cold to use in the snow season.

Make yourself comfortable by the fire. Dharn has things to attend to, and I have one or two things to
do.”

They wanted privacy to talk, no doubt, most likely about him. Kelten didn’t mind a bit. He’d like

to be able to move past his resentment soon, because it made him tired and he missed the ease of his
friendship with Dharn, but it would take more than five days to wear his anger out, and a future that
offered more than a nomad’s existence, dependent on charity. Right now, nothing else was likely.

One of the sitting room’s walls held a well-stocked bookcase. Kelten chose a volume on goat

diseases, more out of the need to have a book in his hand than out of any deep fascination with animal
husbandry. But the peace and warmth of the room, the comfortable stuffed armchair in which he sat,
and his bone-deep weariness after days of hard, unpleasant travel in lousy weather, all conspired to
send him nodding. When he woke with a jerk, the book had been taken from his hand and set on the
side table, and a candle lamp was burning. Sirel sat knitting quietly on the sofa, and smiled when she
saw he was awake. “You had a good rest, I hope.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep here.”
He struggled to stand, but she waved him down. “No, lad, take your ease. You’ve had a time and a

half, Dharn tells me. You’re safe now, and there’s no need to do anything.”

“Where is he?”
“Outside with Dog, tending to the horses.”
“All this time?”
“There’s a lot to do at the end of one of his trips, and I always have chores. Wood to chop, if

nothing else. He’s very sorry, you know. That you’re upset.”

“I wish he was sorry he’d taken such a highhanded action. I didn’t need that kind of ‘help’.”
She pursed her lips, though her hands and the needle never faltered. The lamp sent a warm glow

over her red hair, mixed with white, and over the lichen green of the wool she was working with. “I
understand your anger, Kelten, but Harnig and Dharn have good reason to be afraid of the law. The
history of our people and the constables has not been a happy one.”

“But I’m not your people and I had no intention of bringing any of you into it.” He ran his hands

through his hair, thinking distractedly that it was now far too long for polite company, then sighed. “It’s
too late now. My life is quite ruined. I have no idea what I’ll do now.”

“For now, live here. You’re a doctor. We could use those skills. Sed has a long tradition of taking

in those unwanted by the rest of the world.”

“Unfortunately, I’m very much ‘wanted’, thanks to your son.”
“He didn’t mean that to happen, lad.”
Kelten frowned impatiently. “Yes, I know all that, but I didn’t study medicine and travel half way

across the globe to become a village healer.”

“Fate doesn’t always go in the direction we plan. Will things improve for your gnawing at them?”
“No. But I wish people would stop telling me I shouldn’t be angry.”
She bowed her head. “You have a right to your feelings. I love my son but he’ll have to deal with

the consequences of his actions, even if it’s the anger of a friend he’s most fond of. I hope you won’t be
angry with me by extension.”

“No, I won’t. Give me...two days. In two days, I won’t be angry, I promise. Or at least, I’ll hide it.”
She smiled. “Then two days it is. Now, why did you come to Inades? Don’t you miss your

family?”

Her smile dimmed as he told her the sorry story, his tone made bitter by remembering telling the

same tale to Merl, and her fate. Dharn slipped in not long after he began, so Sirel set down her knitting
so she could translate Kelten’s words for her son. Dharn listened without reacting at all, save to click
his fingers at Dog who came and lay at his feet.

When Kelten finished, he found his eyes were wet. “Excuse me,” he said, wiping at them quickly

with his handkerchief.

“You poor boy,” Sirel murmured. “Maybe the goddess did mean you to come here. Many of our

folk were cast out by their own.”

“Harnig explained. Your daughter too, I understand.”
“Yes. You should have seen Maome when she first turned up. She was so scared, and cried

constantly for her real mother.”

“I don’t understand how a parent could just leave her child for others to raise. Even my stepfather

waited until I was of age before casting me adrift, and the goddess knows he had no love for me from
the start.”

Sirel nodded. “I don’t understand it often myself, to be truthful, though in Maome’s case, her

mother left her at the charity’s doorstep, saying she had four other children to care for and her husband
had died in the same outbreak of fever which left my daughter deaf. She couldn’t cope. I can’t blame
her for that. But others abandon their children out of simple ignorance, because they think the child has
been cursed, or they’ll bring misfortune upon the rest of the family, or will be impossible to care for.
People are so frightened by the idea of a deaf child, yet they’re not a burden at all. They bring as much
joy as any other.”

She translated for Dharn who gave the first smile since he’d come into the room. He turned to

Kelten. “I’m sorry,” he signed, then added some more signs Kelten didn’t follow.

Sirel translated. “He was doing what he thought best. You seemed in need of help, like when he

met you, and he thinks it’s his fault you were arrested.”

“It wasn’t,” Kelten signed to Dharn. “Neither of us should have been in trouble with the law

because neither of us committed any crime. Can you please tell him...oh, I don’t know what to say to
him. I’m too tired to be furious, but I’m too tired to be generous either.”

She signed to her son, and he answered. “He understands, and so do I. Let’s not talk of it any

longer. Since I wasn’t expecting anyone, there’s only soup and bread for supper, but there’ll be mutton
roast tomorrow, and syrup pancakes for breakfast. You both need fattening up.”

Kelten grinned. “We do at that.” Dharn smiled at his expression, and Kelten couldn’t find it in his

heart to scowl back. He hated being at odds with his friend.

“And then you can sleep in a proper bed. You can take Maome’s, though...” She coughed

delicately. “Dharn’s bed is big enough for two, if you’re feeling less ill-intentioned towards him.”

He flushed. “What did he tell you?”
“Only that you and he have been having sex,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Where you sleep

is up to you.”

Kelten tried and failed to imagine casually announcing to his parents, or his stepfather, that he and

a guest were sleeping together. “You don’t mind?”

“Should I? Forgive me—have I crossed some Bunesee moral code? I meant no offence.” Dharn

gave Kelten the most peculiar look as she finished signing her translation.

“No, no. Um, we’re not as forthright, perhaps. Not that there’s anything wrong in that,” he added

hastily. “Where does he want me to sleep?”

She smiled and rose from her chair. “Ah, now, I refuse to arrange my son’s affairs to that extent.

You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

Chapter 10

Kelten’s courage failed him, so he never did ask. Besides, he felt that he shouldn’t appear too

eager to forgive Dharn. After all, the sin was grievous, and he wanted to be sure Dharn never did
anything that stupid again. Lying in the bed belonging to Dharn’s sister, shivering in the cold even
though Sirel had kindly provided a heated brick, thinking how much more pleasant it would be to lie
wrapped in Dharn’s arms against his furnace-like heat, Kelten didn’t find his ‘lesson’ quite as sensible
and righteous as he thought it would be. Dharn had been acting from pure motives, after all, though
Kelten had some doubts about Harnig’s reasons, and a simple hunter couldn’t be expected to know how
devastating it was for a professional person to give up their hopes of a career. Dharn probably changed
his plans and routes all the time, as he had done to ‘rescue’ Kelten. He would have no idea exactly what
he’d done.

In truth, Kelten’s anger was spent, leaving him only with a dull desperation that Dharn’s presence

would have masked, if not eased. He was punishing himself as much as Dharn. More, most likely.
Dharn probably didn’t care whether Kelten was there or not. It was that more than anything else that
stopped Kelten swallowing his damn pride and just going to Dharn’s room and climbing in with him.
He didn’t like to look like a needy fool, and he did, for once, have the moral high ground here.

Pity it was so cold up there on the high ground.
Sirel greeted him warmly when he stumbled out into her lovely cosy kitchen. “Good morning,” she

signed. “Ah...sorry,” she said aloud. “Habit.”

“No, please do as you always do. I was out of sorts yesterday. I should learn more sign.”
“If you’re serious, then you should avoid speech as much as possible. But we can begin that later.

Breakfast?”

“Please. Where’s Dharn?”
“Out with Dog. He’ll be back for tea before long. Sleep well? Bed warm enough?”
Kelten flushed, her innocent question striking hard on his guilt. When he didn’t answer, she turned

around from her cooking pancakes. “Still angry with him?”

“No. Confused, and rather...depressed.”
“Ah. You could go back to Bunes, perhaps. There’s no reason the constables would pursue you

that far.”

That hadn’t even occurred to him, but he shook his head. “My funds are far too low. I spent nearly

all I had getting to Inades—the fare is one and a half thousand cuin, and I have but a hundred left. If I
could somehow obtain work away from Tuwilo and save my salary, in a few years I could perhaps
manage it. But if I was discovered... Forgive me, but I find it hard to think of it just now. I don’t want
to go home. There is nothing there for me.”

“Then we’ll have to find something here for you, won’t we?” She set a plate of hot pancakes

down. “There, get that inside you. Butter in the cruet, syrup in the jug, and tea’s on its way. Once

Dharn comes back, we need to see Megwen.”

Kelten’s manners warred with his hunger, and he had to struggle not to wolf the delicious food

down. The pancakes disappeared so fast, he was embarrassed at himself, but Sirel only smiled and
made a second batch without asking. “I’m sorry to be eating your stores without warning,” he said, the
next plateful going down a little more slowly, giving him time to talk.

“Compared to Dharn, you don’t eat much. Don’t worry, I’ll be taking the price out in labour. No

freeloaders here. We can’t afford them. But a labourer needs a good start to the day, so eat up.”

Dharn came back in just as Kelten was refusing—with regret—a third plate of food. He glanced at

Kelten rather warily. “Are you all right?” he signed.

“I’m fine. The food’s wonderful. There’s tea.” Sirel nodded in approval at him signing all this.

“Please sit. I’m not angry.”

Dharn smiled a little, doing as Kelten bade. “Where’s Dog?” Kelten asked.
“Hunting.” A bigger smile. “Looking for rats.”
“No rats here,” Sirel signed. “But the mice have been a pain in the arse.”
Kelten blinked at the enthusiastic way she made the unmistakeable gesture. He’d never heard—or

seen—a woman say anything so vulgar before.

“Something wrong?” she asked him.
“No, no. Here, Dharn, have some tea. I’ve had two cups already.”
Dharn smirked as if he’d read Kelten’s mind, or maybe Kelten’s blush amused him.
While Sirel attended to something elsewhere in the house, they cleaned up, bumping hips

companionably at the sink and as they passed each other in the kitchen. Dharn apparently took Kelten’s
earlier “I’m fine” to mean all was well between them too. Full of pancakes and sweet syrup and good
tea, Kelten was in too good heart to disillusion him. The house was too small for them to avoid each
other or argue without upsetting Sirel. There was no point. What was done, was done.

Sirel returned and smiled a little to see them working together. She signed, “We need to go.”
“Walk or ride?” Kelten asked.
“Walk,” she signed back. “The snow’s not that deep, is it?”
Kelten supposed not, and it was a nuisance to have to saddle three horses for a walk of less than

half a mile. He grinned at that thought. Once the idea of a walk through deep snow of that distance
would have seemed arduous.

Dog bounded along ahead of them, utterly unconcerned by the snow or his missing leg. Sirel and

Dharn signed to each other while Kelten walked a little behind them, taking in the scenery he’d been
too cranky and cold to pay much attention to the previous day. He supposed he would now have plenty
of time to study the village and its residents, unless he found a way to escape the wrath of the law and
return to his chosen path. It was a pleasant prison, but still a prison. If he could offer his skills, that
would make a difference.

A row of houses formed a little main street. Despite the cold, there were people about, hurrying

from house to house, or driving carts of produce. As the three of them passed by, the villagers waved
cheerfully to Sirel and Dharn. Most signed their welcome with broad smiles, but one or two looked

their way with decidedly restrained reactions, their welcome gestures aborted quickly as if the impulse
had been strangled. As if they weren’t entirely happy that Dharn was back. Odd, Kelten thought,
though he kept his opinion and reactions to himself, being a stranger here and unfamiliar with the
politics of a village of the deaf.

Their destination was a large, long house at the centre of the row of buildings, the numerous

footprints in the flattened snow outside testament to the number of visitors. Sirel entered without
knocking, Dharn and Kelten behind her.

Inside it was warm and crowded, lit by candle lamps and pale sunlight through high windows.

Little knots of people sitting on sofas or chairs arranged in a circle, talked to each other in sign, with
the centre of attention and the room three women sitting at a table, holding court. The lack of vocal
speech made it all curiously quiet for the number of people present.

Sirel gestured in a curious manner, holding her hand over her head and clenching her fist several

times, until one of the women noticed and beckoned her over. “Greetings,” the woman signed. She was
perhaps a little younger than Sirel, handsome in a narrow-faced way, her black hair flowing around her
shoulders, and her bearing proud as a queen. “Dharn, welcome back.” She looked at Kelten, then to
Sirel for explanation.

Sirel spent some time talking to her in sign, Dharn chipping in occasionally, his expression stern.

Kelten could follow only the occasional snippet, but the scornful looks the woman cast his way were
clear enough without translation.

The signing became faster and more furious, with the women to each side of the headwoman

joining in. Kelten became aware that many people in the room were now watching the conversation. He
felt uneasily like a side of beef in a butcher’s emporium.

Dharn suddenly turned around and walked out, jerking his head at Kelten to tell him to follow.

Sirel lingered, but as Dharn and Kelten emerged into the cold, she was only seconds behind them. She
and Dharn signed at each other, and their expressions gave Kelten little comfort. “What happened?” he
asked.

Sirel grimaced. “Let’s walk on. I want to see Maome. She’s at the house with the big barn over

there.”

“Yes. And?”
“Megwen won’t have you. You’re not deaf, not a relative, and she has no use for you.”
“But I’m a doctor!”
“We have a healer—her sister, in fact. Hirta. And Megwen’s wife, Kara, also has knowledge. We

don’t need another, she says, and Hirta and Kara agree.”

“Those were the other women? Can I not talk to them directly?”
“No, she won’t have it. You don’t belong here and she wants you gone. If I keep you, it’s at my

own expense. She won’t let me draw any extra supplies from the communal stores for you. No
freeloaders.”

“Goddess, I’m sorry. I don’t want anyone to starve on my account.”
She gave a little laugh, though there was little amusement in her expression. “Oh, we won’t. It

might be a little tight but we’re close to self-sufficient, and I barter the knitted goods I make. If you’re
prepared to work, then we’ll be fine.”

“To what end? Am I to be a farm labourer the rest of my life?”
Dharn tapped his shoulder and signed, “You can hunt with me, if you want.”
Kelten shook his head. “No, thank you. I am a doctor, not a hunter.”
“I know,” Dharn said, frowning. “But it’s work that we need.”
“But it’s not the work I’m trained for. Sirel, please? I don’t know the signs.”
She translated. Dharn shook his head, clearly annoyed. Kelten didn’t know what else to say. The

facts were as they were.

“I understand your point, Kelten,” Sirel said. “Let’s talk to my daughter, and about this at home.

Megwen is a hopeless case but she doesn’t rule my house.”

“But you have plenty of people in this village who can hear, though. Like you.” As if to prove his

point, two girls ran down the road towards them, signing and chattering at speed.

“Yes, but... Leave it for now, dear. Dharn, you too,” she signed, for her son was glaring back at the

clan head’s house with fury in his dark eyes.

Kelten pursed his lips in anger, but kept his counsel as they walked towards the house at the end of

the road. He might not be a highly experienced physician, but his grades had been excellent, and he
was sharp and fast, or so his professors had said. Village healers did a remarkable job, but herbs only
went so far. To not even be able to give away his services stung his professional self-respect. The idea
of being dependent on an elderly woman’s charity hit his masculine pride too.

Again they passed several people, though no more children—they would probably be at their

lessons, he realised, and wondered why the two youngsters had been at liberty. Again the reactions
were mixed. He would have been curious about that if he weren’t so humiliated and offended. He
found it hard to give much of a damn about these people when they were so unwelcoming to a stranger
in need. He wasn’t a scrounger and never intended to be.

They came to the house, and again Sirel didn’t knock. She opened the door, looked in, then walked

into the house. Kelten mentally slapped his forehead as he remembered why knocking would be
pointless. Instead she motioned for them to wait and went in search, returning shortly afterwards with a
young woman from the back of the house. The girl grinned and ran straight to Dharn, who swept her up
into his arms.

“Maome?” Kelten asked Sirel behind his friend’s back.
“Yes. We missed him. We always do.” She waved her hand to get her children’s attention, then

signed that they should all sit. “This is Dharn’s friend, Kelten.”

They took a seat on the sofas, Dharn with his sister, Kelten next to Sirel. This was a much bigger

and somewhat scruffier room than Sirel’s charming little sitting room. Maome, a short, plump young
woman with long light brown hair in braids, was little like her brother or mother in appearance, but of
course she wouldn’t be. For the first time, she looked at Kelten properly. “‘Friend’?”

“Yes, just a friend. Hello,” Kelten signed.
“Deaf?”

“No. Your mother can explain.” Which Sirel did. Maome glanced briefly at Kelten as her mother

told her about him, but her expression wasn’t unfriendly.

When Sirel finished, Maome bit her lip. “If Dharn wants you here,” she signed, “you’re welcome

to me.”

“Thank you,” he answered with relief.
A young man came into the room and signed in greeting. Maome stood and carried out a quick

conversation with the man, who kissed her cheek. “I have work to do,” he signed to them all. “Are you
staying for lunch?”

“Not today,” Sirel answered. “Tomorrow?”
“I’ll tell Mother.” He squeezed Maome’s arm and left them to it.
“Her young man,” Sirel signed, then she spoke. “Jasil. Their family are the cattle herd owners in

the village. They provide all of the milk and cheese eaten here, other than that I make from my herd.
It’s a good match for my girl.”

“And it protects her, doesn’t it?”
Sirel bowed her head briefly. “That too. But let’s not talk about it here.” Dharn and Maome were

looking at them curiously, and she signed...but Kelten wasn’t at all sure she’d translated everything.

They stayed a few minutes longer but Maome had work to do, she said, and so did Sirel. Kelten

just wanted to get away from the village and the sense of being utterly superfluous. He would be just as
superfluous at Sirel’s house but she hid it better.

Walking back to the house, Dharn slung his arm around Kelten’s shoulders and gave him a warm

squeeze, then left his arm there as they walked together. The gesture was kind, welcome after the
hostility of the morning, but it didn’t help his situation. He said as much quite bluntly once they were
settled in the kitchen drinking tea and eating slices of heavy cake—food he felt he rightly should not
eat.

“My only hope is to throw myself on the mercy of the court,” Kelten said, allowing Sirel time to

translate. “It’s by no means certain I would be convicted of murder, though I’m certain to be convicted
of escaping from custody. With luck, I could serve a short sentence and be deported back to Bunes. My
stepfather would receive the bill,” he added with a sour twist to his mouth.

“And if you weren’t lucky, you’ll be hanged,” Sirel said after rapidly signing to Dharn. “You can’t

risk it, dear.”

“Being stuck here, useless and dependent, is no life for me, and unfair on you who would have to

sustain me.”

“Then go hunting with Dharn as he suggested.”
“I’m more hindrance than help and he knows it.” Dharn glared at him for that. “I don’t like hunting

anyway. I’d rather dig holes.”

Dharn rolled his eyes, and signed impatiently. “Those aren’t the only choices,” Sirel translated.
“I don’t care. I’m a doctor. I’ve worked long and hard to be a doctor. I’m good at it, and the only

reason I can’t do it is because of three criminals and your highhanded intervention.”

Dharn grunted. “Yes. Are you going to whine forever?” he signed.

“No. I’m going to surrender to the law. Where’s the nearest town?”
Dharn sighed in aggravation while Sirel laid her hand on Kelten’s arm. “Wait, dear. Wait at least

until spring. Give us time to find an alternative. Waiting won’t make it worse.”

“You don’t know that.”
“No, but I think I’m right. Please, Kelten. Don’t throw your life away in a temper.”
“I’m not.... Damn it. What’s wrong with these people? I didn’t ask to be here.”
Sirel poured him some more tea while Dharn answered. “She’s right. We don’t need any more

hearing people. But she can’t tell me who I can and cannot bring to the village. I’m entitled to have a
lover same as she is—as she does. The fact you’re not deaf shouldn’t matter.”

“I’m not your lover,” Kelten muttered. Dharn rolled his eyes. “Is it principle or politics?”
Dharn sighed as his mother translated, then signed, “Both. Megwen is a bitch.” Kelten blinked as

Sirel calmly repeated this.

“He’s right,” she added. “But she has a reason. Her family go back a long way with this settlement,

and her right to be here doesn’t just rest on history. Her family have inherited deafness. Sed exists very
much for her. We who can hear have the rest of the world to go to. Here, Dharn and Megwen and
Maome are safe and at no disadvantage. But Dharn and Maome have hearing relatives, as does every
deaf person here. Even she does—her own son can hear. Not that she’s happy about that.”

“Wait—she wishes he was deaf?”
Sirel translated and Dharn shrugged. “Every parent wants their child to be like them, and being

deaf isn’t a problem here. Hearing children leave. The deaf ones stay, mostly, unless they marry out
like Harnig’s wife did.”

Sirel added, “This tension between the two parts of the community has existed as long as I’ve lived

here. Tirk, my younger son, left because of it.”

“You have two sons?”
“Yes. He works as a teacher in Krilo with the Charitable Order of Jiden-omi. That’s the Order who

helped found this village, and who sends us the children to foster. Megwen doesn’t like them because
she thinks they look down on deaf people, but we need the Order to survive, and so do the children
abandoned by their parents. There are still deaf children in Krilo we can’t help because we never see
them in Sed.”

Dharn signed, “Megwen believes we should take every deaf child, but moving to a little place like

this, to work on a farm or as a labourer, isn’t for everyone.” He stared pointedly at Kelten. “It’s better
than being unwanted, though.”

“What have you brought me into?” Kelten signed at him.
“Safety, I thought,” Dharn signed, scowling. He stood, but his mother tugged at his arm. He looked

down and she signed at him. He signed back, then gently loosened her grip. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Kelten and Sirel waited in silence as the outer door opened and closed and Dog barked.
“None of this is my choosing. Why do I feel that he blames me?”
“He doesn’t, dear. He blames himself and Megwen. I don’t blame her that much. Your situation is

as least as much because she hates me and Tirk as anything you did or didn’t do.”

“Staying makes it worse for you.”
“No. She can’t hurt me. She and I have been at odds for years, even before Tirk left. My husband

told her what he thought of her once and she never forgave him or me, or Tirk for being his son. Dharn
she tolerates because he’s deaf, but there’s no love there. We could wait until she decides to step down
from the headship if her adopted sister wasn’t cut from the same cloth. It doesn’t have to be this way,”
she murmured half to herself.

“Why do you stay?”
She looked around her, and smiled. “This is my home. My husband and I built this house, my sons

were born here, and my daughter grew to love and trust here. Where would I go, Kelten?”

“But if the headwoman is—”
“She is as she is, and personality aside, she’s a good manager of our resources. I just wish so many

of my friends didn’t feel they had to leave because they’re not wanted. It gets very lonely when
Dharn’s away and Maome’s dealing with the herd’s winter provisioning.” But then she shook her head
with a smile. “Oh, listen to me. You have your own problems.” She gently stroked his hair, the
motherly intimacy disarming him. “Stay until spring? Please? Don’t do anything rash while there’s
time to consider.”

“Very well. As you say, it will likely make little difference.”
“You never know. Why don’t you go find him, make your peace? He’s taken this hard.”
“Not as hard as I have.” She winced. He regretted the jab at a kind person trying to do her best in a

difficult situation. Perhaps he needed to limit the hurt his situation had caused. “But as you wish.”

“Thank you, dear.” She bent and kissed his head. “You have a home here as long as you want it. I

swear it on my husband’s spirit.”

Kelten couldn’t speak for the emotions her plain declaration had raised in him. Why were so many

strangers prepared to offer him the kindness his own family could not stir themselves to give? “I’ll,
uh...” He pushed his chair back, and nodded towards the back door.

“Off you go. Don’t be too long. I promised you a good lunch and we shall have it, Megwen’s

decree or not.”

If she was trying to make him relaxed about the situation, that reminder he was essentially a drain

on her resources didn’t help. He did at least appreciate the spirit behind the words.

He stood on the back porch, staring at the landscape, registering, as had become habit, what the

weather was likely to bring even though he no longer had to worry about being cold and damp and
miserable. The sky had clouded up and the wind had risen. There would be snow soon. He was tired of
this long winter, and felt a little homesick for the milder clime of Bunes. He missed little else about his
home—except perhaps not being a fugitive. He would never survive as a hunter. He didn’t have the
mental toughness. No shame in that. It took all kinds.

Dharn was tough and brave and strong, never hesitating to do what he thought was needed even if

he was misguided. Those qualities had saved Kelten’s life, yet ruined it too. He sighed as he stared
across at the barn where he suspected Dharn was hiding. Since the big problem had no solution, the
only thing left was to smooth over the smaller difficulties, and encourage harmony in his adopted

home.

Dog hopped out to greet him as he approached the barn. Dharn came to the door, leaning on the

post with his arms folded. “I don’t want to argue,” Kelten signed. “I’m tired.”

“Me too. Not angry at you.” He jabbed towards Kelten with the sign denoting emphasis of

emotion.

“Her?” Kelten pointed towards the village.
“Her. Many of them. I’m sorry. I want to help.”
“I know. I can’t hunt. Can’t shoot straight.”
“I can teach you. We have time.”
“Or trap or use the bow.”
“I can teach you.”
“All right. And I’ll teach you to be a doctor.”
Dharn frowned. “I wasn’t joking.”
“Sorry. I’ll stay until spring. Then I’ll go to the city.”
“Bad idea.”
Kelten shrugged. “Give me a better one.”
Dharn walked towards him, expression stern. Kelten held his breath, not sure what his big friend

intended to do, then exhaled in relief as Dharn enveloped him in a hug. He let himself fall into Dharn’s
strength. The physical comfort was no answer, but it felt nice. Sex was no solution to life’s problems—
he’d learned that years ago. But there was nothing better on offer, so why not enjoy it before he had to
face up to the inevitable?

“Come inside,” Dharn signed, leaning back but keeping one arm around him. “Good food.”
“Good people,” Kelten signed back. Dharn smiled. That too was something to ease the pain.

Smiles had been in short supply for so long in Kelten’s life, so why turn down Dharn’s while he had
them?

Chapter 11

For two months Kelten lived on the farm and kept his head down, never venturing into the village

proper, and, as much as possible, avoiding the rare visitors to Sirel’s home other than Maome and her
lover. Or fiancé, as Jasil became a month after Kelten arrived. The engagement had come as no surprise
to anyone, but was a source of joy nonetheless, at least for Maome’s family. The wedding was to be
held in the autumn, but would only be the formal celebration of a relationship that was now firmly
established in the eyes of the villagers. For Kelten, the announcement increased his anxiety about the
burden he placed on the little household. It might have been logical for Maome and Jasil to live at the
farm, except that Kelten’s presence made that difficult. No one said a word to him about it, or did the
smallest thing to make him feel unwelcome, but he had eyes and a brain. Maome’s presence and that of
her husband-to-be, were surely more important than that of a fugitive foreigner.

Still, he did his best to pull his weight. There was much to do, even now at the quietest time of the

farming year. No room for freeloaders, indeed. Dharn treated Kelten as his apprentice, setting him to
work on repairing harnesses and tools, teaching him the secrets of bow making and fletching, making
sure he knew not just the rudiments of archery, but that he also became quite proficient. The pistol and
rifle, too, became familiar friends, though the ammunition was expensive and not to be squandered.
Kelten spent many hours collecting spent shells and shot for recasting, helping melt lead for bullets in
the little work shed next to the stables. In the evenings, he carded wool and learned to spin. Sirel taught
him how to knit, a skill she swore everyone should have. He told her needlepoint was more appropriate
for a doctor—she promised he could start that once he completed a wearable sweater. He hadn’t yet
quite managed that. And if all these tasks failed to occupy him, there were maturing goat cheeses to
turn in the dairy, horses to be fed, watered, exercised and curried, stables to sweep out, roofs and
windows to repair from time to time, and rats and mice to trap before they ate everyone out of house
and home. From sunrise to sunset, Kelten didn’t have a single idle moment, and he liked it that way.

And all the while, Dharn taught him sign. Kelten rapidly improved to the point where Sirel only

occasionally had to translate for him, and so working with Dharn over his chores gave Kelten the
chance to get to know the man better. To his chagrin he discovered Dharn capable of much more subtle
thinking than he’d given him credit for, with a keen sense of the politics of his little community, though
coupled with a distaste for the way those politics affected the relationships in the village. He said that
he’d have liked to have studied a year or two at the university with his brother Tirk, to learn more about
farming theory, animal husbandry and breeding, to help Sirel and Maome increase the herd and
strengthen it.

“But there are no deaf professors, and no one signs,” he told Kelten as they mended some leather

storage bags one morning with the pale winter sun streaming through the workroom’s window, adding
a little warmth to that thrown out by the small wood stove in the corner. “We have a few teachers who
can, but no one at the university. There’s a gap between our people and the city, and only those who

hear can cross it.” He looked glumly down at the satchel he’d been working on, then picked it up again.

“No deaf people go to the city?”
Dharn shook his head. “Unless your family looks after you, you’re not welcome. People don’t like

us talking in sign. We frighten them, so the constables harass us to hide or leave.”

“It’s not like that in Bunes.”
Dharn raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
Kelten flushed. “No. That’s awful.”
Dharn grunted. “Yes. It’s why we have Sed.”
“But Sed limits people too.”
“Only if we let it. Hurry up with that, I want you to do some more bow practice before we eat

lunch.”

“Yes, master,” Kelten said, bowing deeply, looking up in time to see Dharn make a crude gesture

which wasn’t part of sign language, but was yet perfectly comprehensible.

The winter dragged on. At times, Kelten wondered if he’d ever see green grass again. But enduring

a hard ride over unfamiliar ground with inadequate clothing was nothing compared to living in a cosy
farmhouse with generous meals, wearing woollen clothes of Sirel’s making which kept him toasty
warm, and spending the nights tucked up with Dharn and making love in his comfortable bed. He
longed for spring but he had to admit winter, at least here, had its charms.

Dharn wasn’t usually here for this season, he’d said, but one of his regular occupations when home

was fishing in the river about a half a mile from the farm. In the spring and summer, he would cast nets,
or use poles, the fish being smoked in the farm’s little smokehouse. In this season, he had experimented
with pot traps, though not with any great success, to his frustration. He didn’t like to fail at anything,
though he admitted this was a technique new to him. He was teaching himself, so it wasn’t surprising it
would take a little refining. Every couple of days or so he and Kelten went to the river to check his
catch. They sometimes rode, but usually they walked, for no better reason than they both enjoyed
walking, as did Dog. These peaceful excursions crossing the snow-covered fields, talking to Dharn
about what they saw on the path, about his life, about the farm, were some of Kelten’s favourite times.

This morning had dawned bright and still. Kelten itched to get outside into the sun, which could be

surprisingly warm now when there was no breeze. Dharn too, was eager to get out of the house. They
quickly swept out the horses’ stalls and fed them, then Dharn signalled that they would be heading to
the river. Kelten pulled on his felt cap and woollen scarf, and off they set.

The snow crunched under his feet, so the frost had been hard, but the sun felt warm and sweet on

his face. Dog bounced along through the snow, sniffing here and there, running back every so often to
Dharn and Kelten, then heading off. He loved his spot by the fireplace, but he also had endless energy
to wear out. The walks were as much to give him exercise as anything else.

Dharn had set his pots on ropes tied to the small jetty on the river. He had a sack ready to put any

fish he’d caught into, but as he hauled each pot in, his rueful expression told the story. Nothing.

“Maybe you need different bait?”
Dharn shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe I need to build a weir after all. Can’t do that in the winter.”

Kelten understood why—the water was cold enough that a man standing in it for any time at all risked
hypothermia. Working for the length of time it would take to build a weir, was close to suicide. The
fish weren’t essential, Dharn had explained. It just irked him not to be able to catch prey so close to the
farm.

He rebaited the pots and threw them back into the fast-flowing stream. He wiped his hands on his

trousers and Kelten helped him put his gloves back onto cold, damp fingers, earning himself a grateful
kiss.

“Come on,” Dharn signed. “Target practice, then lunch.”
They walked across the fields towards the coppice, where Dharn had set up a variety of targets,

and where they had spent a good deal of time shooting gun and bows, as well as Kelten learning
trapping techniques. They had gone out for two overnight hunts, ranging ten or so miles away from the
farm, but Dharn didn’t like to leave Sirel too long. Since Kelten had no intention of becoming a
professional trapper, he didn’t encourage the longer stays. But the little wood was a pretty place, and
with spring less than a month away, beginning to fill up with birds and small animals untroubled by
Dharn’s attentions. He only ever sought large prey, preferably fur-bearing. Closer to home, in the
warmer weather, his contribution to the household’s economy, apart from fishing, lay in gathering of
wild produce such as honey and fungi. None of that was to be had now, of course. They had cut wood
several times for the house, and the stores were healthy. The trees didn’t need to fear the axe today.

Dharn had chosen the crossbow for Kelten to practice with this morning. It was a weapon of his

own making, like the long bow and the wooden stock of his rifle. He didn’t have facilities to work iron,
else he’d have made all the metal gun parts himself. There was nothing Kelten had yet discovered that
Dharn couldn’t do with his hands, and while Kelten wasn’t lacking in dexterity himself, Dharn’s
abilities left him rather jealous. It was like wood and leather spoke to him through his finger tips. He
could find flaws with them that Kelten couldn’t see with his eyes a mere inch away.

The crossbow was a beautiful piece of machinery, but it wasn’t the wood in his hand Kelten

admired as Dharn stretched himself up behind him, pressing hard. “Distracting,” Kelten signed.

Dharn’s hand appeared in front of his face. “Yes. Concentrate.”
Kelten nudged him backwards as he took aim, then fired at the small circle, no bigger than his

hand, painted on a stump fifty yards distant. He grinned in satisfaction to see his bolt appear perfectly
centred on the circle. “Good shot,” Dharn signed.

“Yes, it was.”
Dharn kissed the back of his neck. “Again.”
Kelten shot five more bolts at five more stumps, and Dharn signed “Good shot,” five more times.

If he wasn’t careful, Kelten might need to see a priest about being cleansed from the sin of pride, but
Dharn’s praise felt as good as his kisses.

“Get the bolts. We have time to go around again.”
Arrows and bolts had to be retrieved without fail and without delay. They were too valuable to

leave behind. Kelten trudged across the snow to the first target and tugged the bolt free, putting his boot
up on the stump to put some force behind it. He jumped as a pair of hands wrapped around his wrist,

helping him with the final yank. He waved the bolt in Dharn’s face. “I can do it.”

Dharn kissed him, tongue diving deep as Dharn’s hands cupped Kelten’s arse, half lifting him.

Kelten smiled under the kiss. Dharn had been unusually lusty the last few days. Spring fever, he said.
Maybe he was trying to persuade Kelten to stay. Maybe it really was the turn of the season. Kelten
didn’t know and didn’t want to ruin his enjoyment by thinking about it. He found not thinking about his
future worked surprisingly well to preserve his peace of mind.

Dog, who’d been snuffling around the undergrowth, suddenly growled. Kelten broke away from

Dharn’s embrace and turned. Dog had his nose pointed towards the farmhouse. Dharn frowned and
took the bolt and bow from Kelten. “Let’s go. Quietly. Stay behind.”

Kelten nodded and dropped back a couple of paces. Dharn signalled Dog to his side and told him

to be quiet. Dog obeyed, his ears flat, his lips pulled back in a silent snarl. Kelten’s gut tightened, his
mouth dry. There was an eerie familiarity about this that he didn’t like at all.

Dharn kept to the cover of the trees, and made Kelten bend low as they moved across the open

fields towards the barn. Despite Dharn’s command, Dog’s agitation was so great he let out a couple of
quiet growls, quickly bitten off. What could he hear? Kelten could see nothing to justify his reaction,
but long months had taught him to trust the animal’s senses and his instincts—as Dharn did.

They slipped into the barn and there was the first sign of what had upset Dog—a strange horse,

tied to a post. That in itself wasn’t unusual. At least twice since Kelten’s arrival a visitor had come to
the farm on horseback and had taken their animal to the barn without waiting for an invitation, none
being needed in the harsh winter weather when a horse needed shelter. But Dharn and Dog’s reactions
made it clear this horse belonged to no one they knew. Dharn looked into the saddlebags, ran his
fingers over the empty rifle holster. “Someone’s in the house.”

“Not a friend.”
Dharn shook his head, and pointed at Dog. Dog knew something was wrong.
Dharn only had his hunting knife and the crossbow. Kelten had no weapons at all. The barn held

axes and pitchforks and the like, but nothing Kelten would want to wield in a close fight, even if he had
the first idea how to do so competently. “What will we do?”

Dharn crouched and quickly drew a representation of the house in plan view in the dirt. “You go to

the front, distract them. I’ll go in the back way.” His finger traced the two routes.

“Distract?”
Dharn looked at him, eyes narrowed in worry. “I can give you the bow.”
“If they see me with it, they’ll know I know, and maybe shoot me. I can pretend to be stupid,

helpless. The city boy,” he wrote in the dirt, not knowing the sign for the expression.

“It’s dangerous.”
“I don’t want another person to die. It might be a false alarm.”
Dharn looked at the words in the dirt, then back at him, before shaking his head and pointing at

Dog again. “He doesn’t make mistakes like that.”

Kelten swallowed. “All right.”
Dharn stood and dusted off his hands. He loaded the crossbow and cocked it, then put his hand out

to Kelten. Momentarily confused, Kelten wondered what he wanted, before realising Dharn wanted to
shake his hand and wish him luck. “Good hunting,” Kelten signed.

“Be noisy,” Dharn signed with a slightly worried smile. “Go. Act normal.”
With his legs shaking and his heart racing, that was easier said than done. But Kelten did his best

to walk casually from the barn around the front of the farmhouse. The windows had their curtains
drawn—that in itself was suspicious, since daylight was precious and Sirel needed it for her work. Her
weaving room was empty. She was in the house, if she was anywhere.

He gathered up his trembling courage, and opened the front door. No one came into the lobby, so

he opened the door to the living room. “I’m back, Sirel! Hope you’ve got my lunch. I’m starv—”

He stopped and raised his hands. A dirty, bearded man stood in the sitting room, a rifle in his hand.

“No lunch for you today. Move inside.”

“Goddess, where did you spring from? Please, sir, don’t point that at me, I’m terribly frightened of

guns. Sirel! Why has he tied you up? What in the name of the goddess is going on?” He kept up the
indignant stream of words, though the sight of Sirel, bound, gagged and bruised, on the sofa, shook him
badly.

“Shut up,” the stranger snarled. “Where’s the other one?”
“What other one? Who are you, and will you please stop pointing that revolting object at me?

What is the world coming to—”

He glimpsed Dharn through the kitchen doorway and though he was careful not to twitch or give

the slightest indication of what he’d seen, the man sensed Dharn somehow and whirled, firing. His shot
went wide, but so did Dharn’s bolt, though narrowly. Dog growled and leapt for the man’s arm, forcing
him to drop his rifle. The man managed to shake him off and landed a kick at Dog’s head. The animal
dropped with an agonised whimper.

Dharn charged, knocking the man to the ground but failing to stun him as he must have hoped. The

two of them went at it hand to hand right there, knocking the loom against the wall, crashing into
furniture, sending ornaments and books and baskets of wool flying. Kelten kept himself between the
struggling bodies and Sirel, hoping to protect her, waiting for the smallest opening to jump into the
fray.

The stranger was taller and stronger than Dharn, though Dharn was making a decent account for

himself. Dharn had drawn his knife but that weapon had been knocked from his hand to the far side of
the room and beyond Kelten’s reach. Kelten’s only hope was to reach it or another of the fallen
weapons, but the men kept rolling back and forth in front of the rifle and knife, making a grab
impossible.

Then the man threw a punch at Dharn’s jaw, dazing him, and while he had the advantage, he

smashed Dharn’s skull into the hard wooden corner of the sofa. Dharn went limp, and the man, seeing
his chance, went for Dharn’s fallen hunting knife.

But Kelten also saw his chance, diving for the rifle, and before the man could raise the knife to

stab either of them, Kelten cocked the weapon, aimed and fired, right at his heart, exactly as if it had
one of Dharn’s little circles painted over it.

The man collapsed to his knees, then sideways, eyes open in shock. Kelten blinked, the smoking

gun still in his hands, until an anguished whimper from Sirel brought him back to himself. He crawled
over to the man, wondering if he would have to finish him off, but he was quite dead.

Not so Dharn, who was already rousing. “He’s dead,” Kelten said, momentarily forgetting Dharn’s

deafness.

Dharn gestured weakly to ask Kelten to repeat it in sign, but then saw the body for himself. He

hauled himself unsteadily to his knees and pointed at Sirel. Kelten got up and went to the sofa. Dharn
found the knife and cut her bonds while Kelten removed the gag. “Are you all right?” Kelten asked,
gently touching her jaw where an ugly bruise bloomed.

She worked her mouth and winced, then nodded carefully. “Yes, I think so. Dog?”
Dharn made to go to his animal, but Kelten dragged him back to the sofa, pointing at his head.

“You need to sit. You were knocked out.” Dharn stared up at him uncomprehendingly. “I need to
examine him,” Kelten told Sirel. “Make him sit still.”

“Yes, but please check Dog.” Sirel put her hands in Dharn’s lap and leaned on him. He put his arm

around her, and kissed her temple. “Please, Kelten.”

Dog was awake and panting. Kelten’s quick, careful examination revealed nothing but bruising on

the jaw, though the dog was somewhat dazed. “Nothing broken, and no internal injuries that I can see.
We’ll need to keep an eye on him though.”

“Yes. Can we get that...that thing out of my house?” Sirel struggled to her feet, Dharn with her.

They both looked wobbly and sick.

“All right, but only outside. We can get someone from the village to help dispose of him properly.

Dharn’s had a blow to the head. He shouldn’t exert himself.”

But Dharn had already grabbed the dead man’s shoulders and indicated that Kelten should take his

feet. They dragged the corpse out through the kitchen and laid it beside the back wall. When Dharn
straightened, he staggered and put his hand on the wall to support himself. Kelten caught his arm.
“Inside. You need to sit down.”

Dharn stared blearily at him. Kelten repeated his signing. Dharn grunted and pulled out of Kelten’s

grip, but did at least lurch towards the back door. Kelten followed, keenly aware that he was, for the
moment, the only uninjured person within hailing distance. And he’d just killed a man. He’d have to
find time to give a damn about that later, when his friends were safe.

In the sitting room, Sirel was on her knees, mopping up the blood. “Leave that to me,” Kelten said.

“Please, keep Dharn still? I’m worried. Worried about both of you.”

She gave him a long, weary look before nodding. She stood and stopped Dharn from trying to pull

the loom straight. “Sit,” she signed, and repeated it until he obeyed. As soon as he did, Kelten
examined his pupils. Equal and reactive, which was a good sign, but Dharn’s confusion was not, and
nor was the bruise right over his pterion, easily visible once Kelten parted the thick auburn curls.

“Watch him and keep him still,” he told her.
“What are you afraid of?”
“Everything.” She couldn’t raise a smile at his joke, which perhaps wasn’t surprising. “Please, let

me clean up while you two rest. Dog, come here.”

Sirel called him too and he came creeping over, very sorry for himself. He lay at her feet, and

Dharn petted him. Already Dharn looked a little better, but as Kelten finished cleaning up the blood on
the floor, he kept an eye on the man. Dharn seemed more worried about Sirel and his dog than anything
else, but that had been a nasty blow. Kelten had been caught out by a head injury before, and wouldn’t
allow it to happen again.

By the time he returned from the kitchen after washing his hands, Sirel and Dharn were signing to

each other. “I’ll make some tea,” Kelten said. Tea was normal and restoring. They all needed that. Sirel
nodded but kept talking to Dharn. Kelten went away to tend to things.

Making the tea happened without him thinking about the task or what had gone before it. It was

only when he set the mugs down on the tray that he realised his hands were shaking. He clenched them
into fists. No. He wouldn’t succumb to nerves or moral squeamishness. That man deserved to die,
whether by a noose or at Kelten’s hands, and he wouldn’t let it haunt him. The only thing left to
determine was who the man was and why he had attacked them, but Kelten thought he might have an
idea about that.

He brought the tea tray into the living room and set it down, then casually righted the loom and the

armchair. “Tea? I thought you might like some cake, Sirel.”

He fussed about, serving her. Dharn kept his hand on her shoulder. She looked a little less fragile,

but it had been a terrifying experience for her. She’d taken quite a beating for a woman of her age. “Do
you feel like telling me what happened?”

She sipped her tea, and sighed. “Ah, thank you, dear. Yes, though there’s not much to it. He came

to the door, asked if Dharn lived here. As soon as I said yes, he drew his gun, and forced me back into
the house. He tied me up, knocked me around to find out where the two of you were, and when I
wouldn't tell him, he gagged me. He knew you were here, Kelten.”

“A bounty hunter?” Kelten asked, signing too.
Dharn shook his head. “No, friend of the men I killed, I think. Another criminal.”
“So he tracked us?”
“Looks like, or he came across our trail by chance. A crime like that, people would hear about it,

especially with the train escape. He might have heard your name at Horgilan, and if he spoke to the
fool at Lemt, he’d have mine. He could have worked out the truth of the story. Maybe he heard about
you by chance and backtracked.”

Sirel put her hand on her breast in shock. “Why track you all this way? For revenge?”
Her son shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe he thought we had something of theirs.”
“Will there be more of them coming after him?” Kelten asked. “Dharn, we need to contact the

constables. This has gone far enough.”

Dharn clenched his fist on his thigh, then signed angrily, “No. No constables. Bury him, keep it

quiet. We don’t want more trouble.”

“But he’s dead.”
“Good riddance.”

“Sirel—”
“I have to agree, Kelten. But it’s not for us to decide. Megwen will have to be told. The village

will deal with it. I should go to let them know.”

Kelten touched her knee. “Later, unless you have a way of telling them from here.”
She frowned. “No, but—”
“He won’t get any more dead. After lunch. Now, are you sure you’re not injured anywhere else?”
“No, I’m fine. Sore and shaken, but not hurt. I was so sure he would kill you both.”
Dharn hugged her. Kelten took her hand. “Dog alerted us.”
“There won’t be any more,” Dharn said. “He came alone.”
“I hope you’re right,” she signed. “Kelten, have some tea.”
Kelten poured a cup but didn’t drink it, for he was more concerned about his two patients. Three, if

he counted Dog, which he did. While Sirel and Dharn sat quietly at his insistence, he set things to right
in the room, put the dead man’s weapons in a drawer out of sight, and swept up broken ornaments and
picked up the spilled books. It was good to have something to occupy him. Stopping to think about the
corpse outside, and what that might mean for the safety of his friends, made him go all cold inside.
Would he never be free of this nightmare?

There was one way, probably the only way. But he wouldn’t mention it now, not with Sirel still

shaking from the attack, and Dharn needing to stay calm and still. There was time for that after
Megwen and the village dealt with the body.

While his two injured friends nursed their wounds and cups of tea, he gave Dog a more leisurely

examination, confirming what he’d thought before. The animal had taken a blow to the head and was
doubtless concussed, but there was no greater injury. Kelten was grateful for that because Dharn and
his family didn’t need the worry of Dog being badly hurt, or the grief of him being dead. He prescribed
a few days’ rest for Dog, and longer for his master, hoping Dharn would have enough sense to comply.

The teapot was soon empty. Sirel looked about to get up and start bustling around, which he did

not want, not yet anyway.

“Shall I bring in a tray of bread and butter?” he suggested.
“In here? I can make lunch,” she said.
“Yes, I know, but....” His eyes flickered at Dharn petting Dog.
“Oh. Yes, then, bread would be nice. A little cheese too.”
“As you wish.” Dharn looked up at him, his eyes not as sharp as Kelten would like to see. He most

likely was in considerable pain. “Sit, look after Sirel and Dog,” Kelten ordered. Dharn gave him an
ironic salute, and went back to stroking Dog’s neck.

Kelten had been in the kitchen only long enough to rinse their cups and put plates on the tray when

Sirel shouted. “Kelten. Kelten!”

He raced into the living room and found Sirel trying to support Dharn who had suddenly slumped

sideways, unconscious. “Sit him back. No, don’t lay him down. Like that. Dog, sit. Dog!”

Dog ignored him, trying to jump up on his master and see what was wrong. “Sirel, take him

outside and tie him up, but come back quickly. There’s no time to waste.”

She nodded, white-faced, then grabbed Dog’s collar and made him follow her outside, though he

whimpered and struggled all the way.

Kelten noted Dharn’s slow pulse, slow breathing and unequal pupils, and was now sure what he

was dealing with. Even with half expecting it, it was still a shock. The question now was—could he
treat it?

“What’s wrong with him?”
Sirel came over to the sofa, but Kelten stopped her from touching Dharn’s face. “We don’t have

much time, and I need you to be brave. There’ll be blood, and he might not live. He’s bleeding into his
brain. I have to release that or he’ll be dead within the hour.”

She inhaled. “What do you need?”
“The small hand drill from the workshop, a pile of your most freshly laundered towels and hand

cloths, and my medical bag. Wash your hands before you touch the cloths. Everything needs to be as
clean as we can make it. Hurry. I’ll watch him, then you’ll have to do that while I prepare.”

Her eyes were huge and terrified in her white face. “I can’t lose him, Kelten.”
“Nor can I.”
He had a few things he could do while he waited for her to fetch things. He built a wall of cushions

against Dharn’s left side so he could rest unsupported, his head tilted against the sofa’s back. Then he
took a pair of Sirel’s scissors from her workbag and clipped the mass of curly red hair away from the
site of the blow. The bruise on the skin was testament to the force of the stranger’s strike—the man had
known exactly what he was doing, Kelten had no doubt.

By the time Kelten had finished exposing the area, Sirel was back, and had even thought to bring

two clean sheets with her. Kelten instructed her to cover one of the tables with it and to lay the clean
cloths there. “Do you think you could shave his skin while I wash my hands and sterilise the
instruments?”

“Yes. Let me fetch the razor and soap.” Her voice was steady, but the fear in her eyes was stark as

she looked at her son slumped against the cushions, his beautiful head of hair quite mutilated by
Kelten’s efforts.

Kelten waited until she swapped places with him, told her what he needed, then left her to it,

thanking the goddess for providing him with such a sensible nurse in this crisis. But they weren’t done
yet.

He had only half a bottle of alcohol left, so he had to use it wisely. The drill and bit went into a

bowl of boiling water, as did the retractors, scalpel and other instruments, while he took off his jacket
and put on a clean apron from the pantry—not as good as a surgical gown but they had nothing else he
could use. Then he scrubbed his hands and arms as thoroughly as possible, attending to his regrettably
grimy nails and thinking that if he’d known he’d be undertaking surgery, he’d have kept them in better
shape.

He dropped the drill bit, retractors and scalpel into a dish of alcohol, and all the cleaned

instruments went onto a tray covered by a clean cloth. Would it be enough? It was hardly perfectly
sterile, but if they didn’t release the blood pooling inside Dharn’s skull, he was a dead man. Dharn was

strong and in perfect health. An infection might kill him too, but there was no doubt at all about the
haematoma.

Sirel was done with the shaving, and now Dharn’s scalp was bare and clean. Kelten used the other

clean sheet to drape Dharn’s shoulder and chest. “Now wash your hands again, and put on a clean
apron or shirt. Quickly.”

While she did that, Kelten washed Dharn’s skin with alcohol, then made an incision in the scalp,

holding it open with a pair of retractors. Sirel returned and gasped at the blood trickling down her son’s
face and neck that Kelten was carefully mopping up. “There’ll be worse,” he warned. “If I don’t release
the blood building up inside there, he’ll die, so I have to drill a hole in his skull. Bring more cloths, and
be ready to steady his head. If you feel you’re going to vomit, move right away, or leave the room.
Once I start, I can’t stop.”

“I won’t vomit, and I won’t leave. But...can we pray first?”
“Of course. Quickly, dear.” He bowed his head.
“Mother Sret, guide the hand of my dear friend Kelten, and spare the life of my beloved child.

This, we ask you.”

“This, we pray,” he joined.
“Now do your best, Kelten.”
He had done this operation three times before, albeit under much more favourable conditions. Two

patients had survived outright, with a third surviving only to succumb to infection. But he was haunted
by the memory of a patient who’d fallen off a ladder and died, after being told to rest when Kelten had
diagnosed a simple concussion. Kelten had been but a month past graduation and had not realised the
danger, and his superiors had been too busy that day to catch his mistake. The patient had gone home,
taken to his bed, and never woken up. He probably wouldn’t have survived anyway, but he might have,
had Kelten realised and done this same procedure. Had he caught Dharn’s injury in time to spare him a
similar fate? He had to pray that he had, and that his skills were up to the task. Dharn was much more
than simply his patient, and his loss...well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

The operation was incredibly simple in theory, but tricky in practice. The important thing was

drilling deep enough to expose the clot without compromising the leptomeninges. “There could be a lot
of blood, quite fast. I just need you to keep it clear so I can see. Understand?”

“Yes.”
“Hold his head still, please.”
He took a couple of deep, calming breaths, praying silently that his hands would be steady. The bit

wasn’t as sharp as he would have liked, so it took longer than he wanted. The noise of the metal
grinding into the skull was quite awful even to him. He spared a couple of glances Sirel’s way but she
was resolute, though pale. “Good woman,” he murmured as he breached the dura, and blood began to
flow. Sirel sponged it away, biting her lip at the sight of it, but not saying anything, which was a mercy.

He drilled a second hole a little distance from the first, then a third, and used a syringe to suck out

the clot as best he could. Without a proper rongeur or other equipment, such a mesh-like approach was
all he could contemplate. Fortunately there seemed to be no arterial bleeding, and he brought the

venous bleeding under control without too much difficulty. After flushing the area with a little cooled
boiled water, he felt he could risk closing the wound.

“The holes just stay there?”
He looked up. Sirel had gone quite white again. “Sit before you faint,” he ordered. “On the floor if

you have to.”

She obeyed, slumping to the ground. He finished his sutures, wiped his hands, then pushed her

shoulder to make her bend her head onto her knees. “Just stay quiet for a few moments until you get
your breath back,” he said. “You did very well.”

“The holes?” she asked faintly.
“Will heal. But I may have to reopen things if the bleeding recommences. We’ll have to watch

him.”

When he judged she wouldn’t faint on him, he helped her to the armchair. It felt like hours, but it

had only been about twenty minutes from Dharn’s collapse, little over an hour since the attacker had
been defeated. The clot hadn’t been too enormous, though he couldn’t tell if there was another, or if the
bleeding was fully controlled. If he was lucky, and the goddess merciful, Dharn would live. If not...then
he would not. Kelten refused to think about that. His big friend’s breathing was deep and even, his
pulse steady and strong, his colour already better. He was a fighter. They couldn’t lose him.

He dumped his used surgical instruments into a pan of boiling water on the stove, then collected all

the bloody cloths and took them to the laundry to soak in a bucket. He washed his hands in the
bathroom, looked at his face in the mirror and told himself Dharn would not die.

He made himself smile as he walked back in. “So, what a day, eh?” Sirel turned a grim face up at

him. He knelt by her chair and took her hand. “Let me get him settled and then we can have some more
tea.”

She gripped his fingers. “Dog? Could Dog be bleeding too?”
“I’ll check him, but he can’t come in here just yet. Infection is the next big concern.”
He put a dressing over the sutures, and from Sirel’s medical store, took a bandage to wrap around

Dharn’s head. As he and Sirel laid him on the sofa, keeping his head and shoulders raised, Dharn’s
brown eyes flickered open. “Hey,” Kelten said, touching his face. “Sirel, could you translate? I need to
observe him.”

She did, but Dharn was too drowsy to respond and fell asleep again before Kelten could really ask

him much. None of his reactions worried Kelten unduly. His recovering consciousness even briefly was
reassuring.

But Sirel kept staring at her son with fear in her eyes. Kelten took her by the shoulders and made

her sit in the armchair again. “He’ll be fine.”

“But what if he starts to bleed again, or gets an infection?”
“Then we’ll deal with it. You watch him, I’ll make lunch.”
He covered Dharn with two of Sirel’s soft hand-knitted blankets, then did as he’d promised and

checked on Dog, whose main complaints were being kept away from his master, and being on a leash.
Kelten gave him some water and some of the dried fruit the animal adored as an apology for the

restraint, and told him Dharn would be fine. Dog didn’t seem that reassured, but then he didn’t trust
anyone apart from Dharn and Sirel. It didn’t mean Dharn wouldn't be fine.

Kelten’s thoughts were only partly on the mechanics of cutting bread as he set to in the kitchen.

Mostly he was trying to work out how one of them could send word to Megwen while not leaving the
other vulnerable with an unconscious patient. Dharn was probably right to say the man had been alone
and there were no more of his kind to come, but what if he wasn’t?

Dog barked suddenly, the back door opened, and Kelten’s heart leapt into his throat. He scrabbled

for the carving knife from the block, and whirled to face the intruder...who turned out to be Maome,
shocked at the sight of him. They stood frozen, staring at each other.

“Why is there a dead man at the back of the house?” she signed, then frowned in confusion as

Kelten collapsed against the sink, laughing hysterically in relief.

Chapter 12

Maome’s arrival solved the problem of how to notify the villagers without abandoning Dharn.

After she consoled her mother and reassured herself that her brother was not about to die, she mounted
up on the dead man’s undoubtedly stolen horse, and rode back to the village. Half an hour later, a horde
descended on the farm house, or so it seemed—men to take the corpse away and search for lurking
villains, Megwen and her wife to question Sirel minutely, and Megwen’s sister Hirta to examine Dharn
and quiz Kelten over his care.

The crowd of people pushing through the kitchen and into the sitting room was quite ridiculous.

Sirel was too distraught to put her foot down, so Kelten ended up standing in front of Dharn’s sofa,
arms outstretched, while Maome pleaded with everyone to move back out of the room. Megwen took
charge then, signing furiously. The men, at least, left instantly.

But there were still too many people in the room for Kelten’s satisfaction. “Please, everyone.

Dharn needs to rest in peace and quiet.”

Sirel translated, though Kelten had signed perfectly well. Hirta signed back far too rapidly for

Kelten to catch it all, but he got the gist. She would not leave until she examined Dharn herself. “Then,
Megwen, please, could you and Sirel go outside to talk?”

That earned him a poisonous look from the headwoman, but she jerked her head to indicate she

and the other women were to leave. That left Kelten with Hirta and a still unconscious Dharn. Hirta
ignored him and went to Dharn’s side. She peered at him, feeling his pulse. Kelten didn’t interfere until
she put her hand on the bandage. “No. Leave it. He’s had surgery.”

“I am the healer. I must examine him.”
“I am his doctor, and I said no. The risk of infection is too great. You haven’t even washed your

hands.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“You won’t touch him with dirty hands, or touch the wound at all.” He signed carefully and

slowly, and he knew she understood, but still he had to grab her wrist when she tried again. “No.”

She jerked her hand free and moved away. “He needs to be at my house, under my care. You are

not wanted here.”

“You don’t even know what happened to him, or what my treatment was. He’s had bleeding in the

brain.” He drew a complete blank on how to sign ‘subdural haematoma’. “I had to make a hole in his
skull to release the pressure. Release the blood clot.” He made a knot with his finger and thumb to
indicate the size he was talking about.

Her eyes widened in what seemed genuine horror. “No! You’ve killed him.”
“He would have died without it. But we have to prevent infection.”
She stomped out, doubtless to get Megwen’s support for her wrongheaded stubbornness. He

respected the work village healers did—folk remedies were regularly investigated at the University in

Jerlde and many were already in use in the hospitals—but surgery was something most of them
avoided, for good reason. He’d presumed though, that Hirta would know he had training, that he
wouldn’t just bore a hole into the skull of a man he cared for without good reason or some thought.
Clearly she did think he would.

He sighed and knelt at Dharn’s side. He checked his pulse and colour, noted his breathing. All still

looked good. Indeed, Dharn seemed close to regaining consciousness again. Should Kelten wake him?
But then Dharn would be harried and pushed to move to the village, or forced into arguing with
Megwen. No, let him rest. Kelten would do the arguing for him. He bent and kissed Dharn’s cool
cheek. This is my fight.

He straightened up just in time to see Megwen march in, flanked by her wife, Kara, and Hirta.

“Move aside,” Megwen signed, eyes flashing with anger.

“No. You won’t touch him. None of you will.”
“I’ll force you to move, and I’ll force you to leave.”
“No.” He stood squarely in front of the sofa. “He can’t be moved. You’ll kill him.”
A horribly familiar click made him turn sharply. In the doorway stood Sirel, Maome and Jasil.

Sirel had a pistol pointed towards the three women. Jasil carried a rifle in his arms. Kelten froze, quite
aghast at this sudden display of force from his mild-mannered friends.

But mild was not the word for Sirel just then. “Get away from my son,” she signed. “Leave my

house.”

“He needs my help,” Hirta signed, sneering at Kelten as her hands moved angrily. “This man has

killed him.”

“This man has saved his life.” Sirel switched to voice. “Kelten, come and take the gun. I want you

to shoot anyone who comes near Dharn. Will you do that?”

“Yes.” And he meant it, though he was quietly horrified at his readiness to do so. He took the

pistol from Sirel’s hands but didn’t aim it. He felt the threat was there without the need to be
aggressive.

“Leave my house, Megwen. You’re a danger to my son. You all are. Get out.”
“Then you’ll no longer be part of the clan.”
“So be it.”
To Kelten’s surprise, it was Jasil who stepped forward. “No. This is stupid,” he signed with

vigorous, chopping motions. “You’re the ones in the wrong. You should leave the clan if you don’t like
it.”

All the women blinked in unison, and Kelten’s mouth opened in shock. Jasil was a very even-

tempered young man, and an obedient one. He was the last person Kelten would have picked to defy
the headwoman. Judging by her shocked expression, Maome felt the same.

This was perfectly ridiculous. Kelten carefully engaged the safety catch on the pistol and handed it

to Maome. “Everyone, please calm down,” he signed, then said. “Megwen. Dharn is safe here. I really
am a doctor.”

“You’re not our doctor.”

“No, but—”
Sirel’s gasp made him jerk around in fright, but there was no attacker, just Dharn struggling to sit

up. “No, sit down, you fool.” Kelten tried to gently press him back but Dharn would have none of it,
pushing him away with an irritable growl. “Sirel, please, tell him to lie down?”

She came and knelt by the sofa and spoke to Dharn. He signed back in a slow, rather careless

fashion. He doubtless had a ferocious headache on top of everything else. Kelten was quite prepared to
tie him up if he tried to exert himself.

Sirel turned to Megwen. “You saw. He wants to stay here. Kelten is looking after him.”
“He’s not—”
Dharn weakly thumped the sofa’s arm and glared up at Megwen. “No,” he signed. “I’m staying.

Go away. All of you.”

“You heard the patient,” Kelten said. “Sirel?”
She obligingly translated, then added some remarks of her own. Megwen signed back, perhaps less

angrily, though she continued to shoot glares at Kelten. Finally she nodded, and the three women
turned and walked out. The back door closed less than gently.

“Oh goddess,” Sirel said, clutching her throat. “Dharn, lie down. Kelten, make him.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’ll work,” he muttered, which made her smile.
But Dharn had shown more sense than the rest of them by lying back as soon as Megwen had left.

“How do you feel? Sirel, please?” He needed his hands to check pulse and pupils while she spoke for
him.

“Head hurts. What happened?”
“I had to operate. Hirta thinks I’ve killed you, but I haven’t, if you’ll be sensible and lie still for a

while, and take it easy for a couple of weeks, maybe even a month. You have a hole in your head,”
Kelten said, touching the bandage. “Keep your hands off it.”

Dharn’s eyes were cloudy with concussion and pain, but after a few moments he nodded. “Tired.”
“Then rest. Jasil, we don’t need the guns.”
“My brothers and I will keep watch this night, and tomorrow too. Maome will stay here.”
“As you wish. Whatever Sirel agrees.” Kelten tucked the blankets back up under Dharn’s chin.

“Sleep. We’ll keep guard.”

Dharn gripped Kelten’s fingers, and Kelten bent in to kiss him again. “Don’t you even think about

dying,” he whispered against Dharn’s lips. By the time he sat up, Dharn was asleep again.

“Tea,” Sirel said. “And apple brandy. My hands are shaking.”
Kelten motioned Maome over. “Why don’t you take her out to the kitchen and look after her?

Jasil? I need to watch Dharn.”

“I’ll look after things. You keep him safe.”
Everyone went off to deal with their respective tasks. Kelten sat on the floor beside Dharn, holding

one of his big hands tight in his own. What a day. What an appalling day, and who knew what damage
had been done to this family’s standing in the village, their precious security? Jasil’s parents wouldn't
be happy with him, Kelten suspected, though he didn’t know if they were particularly close to

Megwen. Not the best start for a young couple making their own place in the clan.

Still, only the unrighteous had died, for a change. If the goddess granted it, Dharn would return to

health soon enough. Kelten hadn’t been able to save Bern and Merl, but he might have just saved
Dharn, so his damn degree was worth something, at least. Even if he ended up at the end of a noose for
murders he hadn’t committed, his conscience was clear. He’d rather not end up hanged, or in prison,
though.

A cry from the kitchen had him scrambling to his feet, but when he rushed into the room, he found

Maome and Sirel in each other’s arms, laughing, not weeping. Or rather weeping with happiness.
“She’s pregnant. At least, she’s missed two cycles, and has all the signs,” Sirel said, wiping her eyes.

“Oh that’s wonderful.” He took Maome’s hand and bowed over it with the most formality he could

muster, before brushing it with his lips. “Congratulations,” he signed when he stood. She grinned back
at him, and now he’d been alerted to the fact, yes, her face did have that very slight roundness of the
first trimester.

“That’s why she came out here, to tell me. She wanted me to know first. And now Dharn’s asleep

so he missed out.” Sirel made a face.

“Never mind. Er, the brandy might not be a good idea,” he signed, and Maome’s grin grew.
“She knows. That’s why she told me.” Sirel dabbed at her eyes again. “I might die of shock if this

keeps up.”

“Perhaps you should take it easy for today and tomorrow, and let your daughter and the rest of us

help you. Dharn will need to be watched all night, so we need to take shifts.”

“Not you, dear. If you have to operate, we need you to be alert.”
He acknowledged the truth of this. “I’ll watch him the rest of the day then. Uh, before the row

started, what did Megwen say about...him?”

The two women grimaced. “Get rid of the body, erase all signs of his existence. As I expected. We

don’t want the constables here, and we don’t want his friends finding out through the fuss of a trial. I
know it’s not your way, dear, but it’s ours.”

“Will she make you leave? Make Maome and Jasil leave?”
Maome’s expression darkened. “She’ll have a fight if she tries it.”
Sirel nodded at her daughter. “Yes, she could make me leave, but not Dharn. No deaf person can

be removed for any reason, and to remove a blood relative or adoptive parent would take the entire
village agreeing to it, which they won’t. Jasil was right. Megwen’s more at risk of being deposed than I
am of being evicted. But it’s going to make things awkward for a while.” She shrugged. “Still, Megwen
already hates me, so that’s no change. So long as Dharn recovers, Hirta will look like a damn fool.”

“He won’t recover if she can’t keep her unwashed hands off him.”
“No. Stupid woman. She knows better, we all do. She was being ridiculous because she didn’t

want to lose face. Tea,” she said firmly. “With brandy for you and me, but not for you,” she signed,
patting her daughter’s stomach and raising a huge smile. “Go back inside, dear, and watch my boy. I’ll
bring your lunch, and fetch and carry for you until I drop if it keeps him alive.”

“No need for that, but thank you. Thank you both.” He kissed Sirel’s cheek and, after hesitating

Chapter 13

It was a long day, and a long night afterwards anxiously wondering what was happening

downstairs while Kelten tried and failed to sleep much. But Dharn was alive in the morning, and able to
take tea and bread, though only a little of each because he felt sick every time he moved. An inevitable
effect of the brain injury, Kelten explained. Dharn accepted that and the advice to stay still, though he
insisted on Dog being allowed to come in and lie on the ground by the sofa. Kelten had no heart to
refuse since Dog had been so distressed at all the anger and comings and goings, when he knew his
master needed protection and he couldn’t give it. He had undoubtedly saved all their lives with his
warning. Kelten would be forever grateful to the clever creature for it.

But other than that, Dharn was a model patient. Kelten thought that was possibly due to the

enormity of realising the holes in his skull made him very vulnerable indeed to infection and further
injuries. Or perhaps it was to spare Sirel further worry. Whatever the reason, Kelten was grateful not to
have to fight to keep the man still, and not sorry to have a reason to sit close by him for a couple of
days, watching him breathe strong and evenly, seeing his eyes gradually lose some of the confusion. It
would take weeks for him to recover fully, but every sign of improvement was a relief. Dharn’s wits
were so intrinsic to him that it was rather frightening to see him without them.

Jasil’s father, Petbe, came to call in the afternoon of the next day, to offer support to Sirel, and

bearing a leather bag of powdered fungi mixed with other herbs. He found Kelten outside by the barn
while he was taking a break and stretching his legs. “From Hirta,” Petbe said, handing it to Kelten. Like
Sirel, he could hear, though his wife was deaf.

“Poison for me?” Kelten joked, though he half meant it.
“No, medicine for Dharn. To stop infection. We use it on the animals, on people too. Stir it into tea

or juice. Honey will mask the taste. A heaped teken spoonful, three times a day.”

“Ah. Please thank her then.”
Petbe grunted. “No need. I had to screw it out of her, after I told her off for what she did. What

they all did. Sirel and Kurna were our first friends here, and their children are as precious to me as my
own. Megwen had no business threatening them. If Hirta can’t accept she’s not the only healer in the
land, then too bad.”

“Professional doctors can be just as jealous,” Kelten felt moved to point out.
“Yes but they don’t try and kill people to make a point. I better find my boys and Sirel. If you need

anything for him, Kelten, you let us know.”

“Thank you. I’m worried about how this will affect Maome and Jasil, though. This kind of fighting

can’t be good for your village.”

“Seen worse. Don’t worry about it. You see to Dharn, we’ll see to the rest of it. It’s not your

affair.”

Kelten nodded and smiled, but inside, his heart sank. It was true. He was still an outsider, one

who’d brought a deal of trouble to this sanctuary. No matter what Petbe said, or Dharn, or even Sirel,
he would never be accepted by most of the villagers. He had no right to be here. He had no purpose in
being here.

He sniffed at the bag of powder. Without Petbe’s assurance, he’d have thrown it away, not trusting

Hirta not to try to make Dharn ill to prove a point. But even with that assurance, he wondered if he
dared risk it. He could try one dose and see how Dharn reacted. If it was truly effective, then good, but
he didn’t want to inflict a foul-tasting medicine on a sick man to no purpose.

He found a cold pot of tea sitting on the kitchen table, so he poured some into a mug, added a

generous dollop of honey, and measured out exactly one spoonful of the powder. He tasted it, winced,
and added more honey. At least the honey was beneficial since Dharn had taken so little food today.

He found his patient sitting up, petting Dog’s head, and looking at nothing in particular. “Bored?”

Kelten signed.

“Yes. Sore. What’s that?”
“A gift from Hirta. Hope it doesn’t kill you. Medicine,” he clarified as Dharn’s eyebrows rose.
Dharn sniffed the liquid, then nodded. “I know this. It’s good. Works well.”
“I was worried.” Again the eyebrows rose. “She was angry.”
“She wouldn’t risk it. She’s not that stupid.”
“I hope not.”
Dharn drank the medicine without complaint, but rubbed his forehead under the bandage when he

was done.

“Headache?”
“Yes.”
Kelten stroked his face. Dharn rubbed against his fingers like a cat. “It’ll take time, sorry. I don’t

have anything safe for you to take.”

“Doesn’t matter. You help. Being here.”
Dharn stared into Kelten’s eyes. Behind the pain haziness, there was something longing and

needy...something Kelten didn’t want to think about. Or talk about, either, because he could guess the
reaction when he told Dharn his intentions. “I’ll change your dressing,” he signed. Dharn tugged him
down for a kiss. Kelten couldn’t help but enjoy it, to want more of it. But kisses, even a lover, weren’t
enough to mend what was broken in his life.

~~~~~~

Maome stayed for two more days, then returned back to Petbe’s house, though the number of

people who took upon themselves to pass by or drop in ‘unexpectedly’ increased significantly. Despite
the visitors and the obvious goodwill and protection of the community, Sirel continued to jump at
shadows for a week or more. So did Kelten. Dog’s presence and his sharp ears were much appreciated.

Dharn rose from the sofa the day Maome left, but obeyed his mother and Kelten’s strict commands

not to exert himself beyond climbing the stairs to his own bed in the evening. Hirta’s powder did no
harm, and since his wound appeared to be healing cleanly, it was even possible it did some good. He
limited himself to small tasks that he could manage in the house where it was warmer—and, Kelten

thought, where he could be with Sirel. He and Kelten both stuck close by her, and Maome’s suggestion
that Sirel obtain a puppy to become a pet and guard dog had been accepted as quite sensible. Sirel was
only waiting for Dharn to be fit so he could inspect the various litters on offer and make a selection.

Dharn’s recovery remained uneventful, though the symptoms of headaches, fatigue and dizziness

continued to plague him. He’d never suffered such a serious injury before, nor been unwell for so long,
he’d told Kelten, and though Dharn suffered from low moods from time to time, Kelten could only
commend the man for enduring with so even a temper. At least the approaching spring put Dharn and
his family in good heart. Kelten, not wanting to ruin that or to upset sick and distressed friends, did his
best to hide the fact he had decided that the turn of the season was his deadline for departure.

The others never mentioned it—hoping, he suspected, that he had given up on the idea. But he

hadn’t, and the events of the winter had only convinced him that leaving was the right thing to do. As
the fruit trees near the coppice put out their first cheerful blossoms, Sirel gave him the opportunity to
mention it. In two weeks, her other son, Tirk, was coming to the village for his annual visit, she said.
Despite Megwen’s hostility, the government insisted that all village education was overseen by an
accredited teacher, so once a year Tirk—his uncommon skills in sign language making him almost
uniquely qualified for the task—came to inspect the children at their lessons, talk to the teachers, and
find out what resources they needed. Sirel and her family, and many others, eagerly anticipated his
visit, as did Kelten for a different reason.

Maome had moved back to Sirel’s house two days earlier, bringing the herd of goats and sheep

with her. Jasil was likely to follow soon after, making the little farmhouse more crowded than cosy.
Looking at her and the slight swell of her belly, knowing what it meant, made the discussion even more
urgent.

So Kelten waited until after everyone was placid and full of good food after the rest day lunch,

then he plastered a smile on his face. “I’m going to ask Tirk if I might travel with him back to Krilo,”
he signed.

Dharn sat up straight and frowned at him, while Maome put her hand on Sirel’s arm. “Why?” Sirel

asked. “Have we not made you welcome? Have you not become part of our family, Kelten?”

He waited until she finished signing the translation. “Yes you have, abundantly. But no, I’m not

family. Not clan, not deaf, and with no claim or rights at all. Sirel, I brought that man to your door.
Who knows who will come in his place?”

“No one will come,” Dharn signed. “Don’t be stupid. Stay. We want you.”
“I know. But...” He’d given this a lot of thought, and the answer was the same each time he

examined it. “I’m a doctor. Looking after Dharn reminded me how much I want to heal, to treat people.
I can’t do that here. I can’t do it in any city without clearing my name. I have to try. I can’t live as a
fugitive.”

“You’re a good worker here,” Dharn said. “We can do with the extra help.”
“You don’t need me. Sirel will have Jasil here soon, and his family to help you, and you need the

room. You don’t need an extra mouth. I’m not a pet. Dog hunts, and I treat sick people. Please. Please
don’t fight me.”

Sirel’s eyes filled up and Kelten felt lower than a rat turd for giving her so much pain. “I’m sorry,”

he murmured.

“But we care for you. He cares for you.”
But Dharn signed, “No,” sharply, and Kelten was surprised at how much it hurt to see it. “No. He

goes or stays. Don’t bring me into it.” He climbed to his feet, clicked his fingers at Dog, then stomped
out.

Maome looked at her mother, then at Kelten. “Don’t leave because of me.”
“I’m not. I’m leaving because of me. Excuse me.”
He ran outside and found Dharn staring moodily over the rail of the empty goat pen. Kelten

touched his shoulder. Dharn shrugged it off irritably, but turned to face him.

“You don’t want me to stay, do you?”
“Your choice.” Dharn’s brown eyes bored into Kelten’s but gave nothing of his feelings away.

Nothing except annoyance, that was.

“You don’t care?”
Dharn’s jaw worked. “You’re being stupid.”
Kelten stepped back, angered by the insult. “Why? Because I want to be a doctor?”
“Because you won’t listen. You didn’t listen to Harnig, and you were arrested. You won’t listen to

me or Ma, and you’ll probably hang.” He emphasised this point with a far too accurate miming of the
rope’s action, his head cocked sickeningly to the side. “You’re the one who’s deaf. You never listen,
then you get into trouble and upset everyone.”

“I am listening, but I just don’t agree with you. I thought you cared what happened to me.”
Dharn flicked his hand dismissively. “If you won’t listen, you can do what you like. You don’t

care about us or you wouldn’t hurt my mother.”

“I’m not trying to hurt her.”
“So what? She’s still hurt. Go away. You make me angry.”
Kelten pursed his lips and walked away. Damn man, always so sure he knew best, but refusing to

talk rationally about what should be done.

Back in the kitchen he found Sirel weeping quietly on her daughter’s shoulder. He sat and reached

for her hand. “Sirel, please...don’t cry.”

Sirel lifted her head and looked tearily at him. “But they’ll hang you!”
This family had an unhappy obsession with the idea. He wished they wouldn’t keep saying this.

“They probably won’t, you know. There’s no evidence at all that I killed anyone. Yes, I escaped from
custody but I can claim that as panic. I can be very convincing as a stupid young city innocent.” He
smiled at her but her lips only trembled as she stared at him. “I would do anything to spare you pain,
my dear, but I can’t stay. You said to give it until spring and I have.”

“If we could find the money to send you back to Bunes, would you go?”
“I can’t take money of that kind from you. Goddess, Sirel, that’s more than a year’s income for this

farm. No, I forbid it.” He had a sudden inspiration that might comfort her, and give them all some
peace. “Look, I could send a telegram to my stepfather, perhaps. He would probably send the money, if

it meant me avoiding the scandal of prison. But I have to be in a city to do that.” Not that he had the
slightest intention of abasing himself in such a manner, because his stepfather would certainly prefer
his unwanted stepson rotted in jail than spend a single cu on him, but if he could convince Sirel....

She seized on the deceitful hope at once. “You think he’d agree?”
“Yes, I think so,” he lied. “Do you think Tirk would help me arrange it?”
“Of course!” She managed a smile. “I know it would hurt your pride but it’s better than prison,

yes?”

“Yes, it is. He’ll never let me forget it though, and I would rather do almost anything else, but yes,

I can ask him.”

“And of course he’ll help you. Why would he not? No parent is that callous.”
She didn’t know his stepfather, he thought, but smiled as if he agreed. “So, no more tears, and no

more sadness. It’s still a month away. I won’t be leaving until Dharn is completely well, and I know
you have your guard dog.”

“As you wish. But if you change your mind, Kelten....” She took his hand. “I don’t care what

Dharn says, or you. You’re in my family and in my heart now. You saved my life and that of my boy.
That’s a greater bond than blood.”

“I’m proud you feel that way. Proud and honoured.”
He hated to lie to her about his real intentions regarding his stepfather, but he couldn't bear to see

her tears. He’d have to convince Tirk too, if he wanted to maintain the deception, but once Kelten was
in the city, he could slip away and Tirk might never need to learn the truth. His hasty lie would need
refinement.

Dharn ignored him the rest of the day. Kelten, stung by his rejection, felt unmoved to seek him out.

Instead he walked out with Maome to check the goats, which were still being fed hay as they were
acclimatised to the outdoor conditions. In a day or two they would be released to forage on the new
spring growth of grass and other plant life. It was rather a shame, Kelten thought, that he hadn’t
decided to go into animal medicine instead of human. Then he really would have a justification for
staying.

Maome didn’t refer directly to his decision, though what little conversation he had with her was

about Bunes, and what it was like compared to Inades. He could guess her dilemma. She liked him well
enough, was grateful for the care he’d given Dharn, but his presence was an irritant to the clan, a drain
on her family’s scanty resources, and as a hearing person, he wasn’t capable of seeing the world the
way she did. He was Other, and an unrelated Other. She wouldn’t want him gone, but she wouldn’t
unduly mourn if he left. Which was a perfectly reasonable position.

Dharn though....
But Dharn had made it clear from the start that he refused to be responsible for anyone else’s

decision—especially when he disagreed with it. In fact, when he’d gone against his own principles, it
had proved disastrous. It was thus no surprise he didn’t want any part of this. Kelten wished he’d been
a little more...gentle...but that wasn’t Dharn’s way either. And perhaps he was already easing Kelten
from his thoughts to protect himself. It made a harsh kind of sense.

Maome’s oldest brother was in the barn when she and Kelten returned from the fields. She looked

at the two men, then signed, “I need to talk to Ma,” before rushing out. Kelten didn’t blame her for not
wanting to see an argument.

Dharn was tidying away his leatherworking tools. Kelten wondered if he should leave him to get

on with it, but he had a question he needed to ask. When Dharn turned around, Kelten signed, “Should
I sleep downstairs tonight?”

Dharn’s lips tightened. “Do what you like. Why didn’t you think of your stepfather before?”
“I did,” Kelten lied. “I just didn’t want to. I was hoping to avoid asking him because I hate him.”
“You’d rather go to prison.”
Kelten shrugged. “Yes. But the chances of that are small. They’ll probably deport me. I might have

to serve some small amount of time. But to make Sirel happy, I’ll swallow my pride.”

“Good for you.” Kelten was yet too inexperienced to discern subtleties of sign tones, but the curl

on Dharn’s upper lip showed his contempt perfectly well. “Sleep where you like, do what you like. I
make no claim.”

“I never asked you to.”
“You never did.” Dharn shoved the leather scraps he was fiddling with into a storage bin and

walked out.

Kelten sat on the abandoned stool and put his head in his hands. He’d been resigned to upsetting

Dharn somewhat, but he never expected this level of anger—or scorn. Could Dharn seriously have
deluded himself into believing Kelten would stay just to avoid upsetting Sirel? Stay as a dependent
with no defined role or purpose, when Dharn himself despised freeloaders and idlers?

He wasn’t being even slightly fair. That unfairness on top of knowing that all too soon, Kelten

would have to cast his fate to the mercy of the law and the goddess, with little expectation of much
being shown, made him want to weep out of frustration. He did let a few angry tears flow, before
wiping them away and telling himself to behave like an adult.

Through the open barn doors, two moons hung low in the dusk. Two-moon was considered by

some to be a time of flux, of uncertainty. Not a time to make important decisions. Kelten didn’t
subscribe to such blasphemous superstition, but he now wondered if the best thing would have been to
wait until Tirk arrived. The added pressure on the household would make his reasoning even more
compelling. Too late to regret it, though. The best he could do was tend to Dharn’s health, help Sirel
with the chores, and depart with as little fuss as possible.

And he would sleep on the sofa until he left, because the idea of sharing a bed with someone who

despised him was much more than his courage could bear.

Chapter 14

Abruptly Kelten had to find occupation for himself, since Dharn forced a complete breach between

them from that moment. Sirel pursed her lips when she found Kelten on the sofa the next morning, but
said nothing. What could she say? Dharn managed his own business, and Kelten was no longer part of
it.

Fortunately Maome needed as much assistance as Kelten was willing to give with the goat herd.

He happily took on the duties of watching the flock while she and Jasil attended to other matters. Day
after day he sat and watched, or walked with the goats in the chill spring sunshine, thinking about his
future, and what, if he survived at all, he would do with his life. If, by some grace of the goddess, he
was only deported, he would still have to find work in Bunes, and the pickings were few for an
inexperienced doctor. If he didn’t trade on his stepfather’s reputation, he would have to start at the very
bottom of the ladder. But if he could find work, and if he could save enough, he could return to Inades
and....

Do what? After complaining he didn’t want to be stuck in this village, his thoughts kept returning

here. He’d been happy, at least for a little while. Returning to this land would only remind him of pain.
He’d be better striking out in another direction, such as Dordon, though he didn’t speak Dordee, and
knew nothing of the country. Better that than to be stuck in Bunes where his stepfather’s position
would always keep the man in the public eye and thus before Kelten’s unwilling notice.

Listen to me. Fretting he might have to see his stepfather’s name in the newssheets when the most

likely outcome of this situation would be Kelten serving a long prison sentence and returned to Bunes a
convicted murderer. Maybe he should do what Sirel wanted and stay here, live out his days on this
farm, and count himself lucky to have the chance. It wasn’t a bad life, just not a terribly interesting one.

Each day he half convinced himself that staying was the best idea, but each evening as he came

into the kitchen to sit down for supper, and found Dharn avoiding him, he realised it was a childish
dream. He didn’t belong here, and Dharn didn’t want him, though quite why his former friend had built
up such a powerful antipathy, Kelten wasn’t sure. Offended because Kelten had declined his bed? He
didn’t know and refused to ask, but he missed the easy companionship and affection. He felt colder
these days than he had in the deep winter for the lack of it. And he missed Dharn, his friend. He could
contemplate prison with something approaching equanimity, but he hadn’t realised his decision would
cut him off from Dharn. He still felt it was the right thing for everyone, but the price of being right was
a high one.

Tirk arrived one bright morning, riding up to the farmhouse on a roan gelding, his red hair and

eyes so like his brother’s that Kelten barely had time for anxiety about a stranger approaching before
realising who this had to be. Maome spotted him moments after Kelten did, clapping her hands with
glee, before running up to catch at Tirk’s bridle and pull him down from the saddle into a hug. Kelten
kept back. Family business. They needed their time together.

Two hours later he came into the house for lunch, since Maome hadn’t come out to bring him

some food as she usually did. He found the four of them in the sitting room. “Oh, Kelten, you should
have come in sooner,” Sirel said. “This is Tirk, as you probably know.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said as Tirk stood, holding his hand out. He had a big smile like Dharn did

when he chose to use it, but other than their colouring, the two men were little alike. Tall, certainly, but
Tirk was clean-shaven and a tad soft-featured, and didn’t cut such an imposing figure as his brother
did. He looked what he was—a mild-mannered teacher. To Tirk’s eyes, did Kelten look like a doctor or
a farmhand? Kelten couldn’t judge.

“And you. I’ve heard many good things about the doctor from Bunes.” Like Harnig, Tirk could

sign simultaneously. As he finished speaking, Kelten glanced at Dharn. He gave nothing away in his
expression. Kelten wondered who, exactly, had been saying all the “good things”.

“I thought Dharn could explain the situation to Tirk later,” Sirel said. “But have some tea, dear. I’ll

just put lunch together.”

“No, let me. I’ll wash my hands. You stay and talk. I know where everything is.”
“Kelten—”
He held up his hand. “No, please. You see little enough of each other.”
By this simple tactic, he managed to avoid any close contact with any of the family the rest of that

day. Since their attention was naturally on Tirk, no one protested. Tirk slept in Dharn’s room and bed—
really it was their bed as they had shared it since childhood—and Kelten stayed downstairs. He slipped
out of the house before Tirk was up and about, and the man had matters to attend to in the village, so
was gone all day.

But Kelten couldn’t avoid him forever, nor did he want to particularly—he just didn’t want to talk

about his situation in front of the entire family, in case they caught him out in his lie. Tirk rode up on
his gelding while Kelten was herding the goats towards the stream. “You must find it strange to be
doing this, with your education,” Tirk said, leaning on his pommel and examining the procession of
beasts.

“I won’t be doing it much longer, as you know.”
“Ah yes. Dharn’s none too happy with you. He thinks you’re throwing your life away.”
“Yes, he’s made that very plain. But I’m going to borrow money—”
Tirk held up a hand. “Please. Dharn pretends to believe that for Ma’s sake, but don’t take him for a

fool. What if I can offer you an alternative? An honourable lawful one?”

Kelten boggled. “Then I’d seize it with both hands. I don’t want to go to prison.”
“Thought not. So here’s my idea. Allow me to talk to my employers, the charitable order. They

retain a firm of advocates, good ones. If I talk to them, explain why it’s important that Dharn’s name
needs to be suppressed, and how you came to be here, I think it’s entirely likely they can make sure you
escape a murder charge. By presenting you in the most favourable light, you might even escape all
charges, or at least, receive a suspended term. If you turn up, desperate and unrepresented, you won’t
be in the best position to represent your innocence. But as you are innocent, and a decent, respectable
person, this gives you an advantage others might not have. Goddess, I’ve seen clearly guilty men of

your background and with the right advocate, walk away with a slap on the wrist. It would be child’s
play to spare you prison time.”

“You mean this? This isn’t just some fantasy?”
“Not some fantasy. But you can’t go immediately. I need time to talk to my employers, set it all

up. So I need your agreement to remain here until the summer, when I’ll send word one way or the
other.”

Kelten stared up at the man who had delivered this entirely unexpected reprieve. “Of course...but

Dharn and I...it’s very awkward between us now. I don’t really know if we should stay in the same
house, especially with Jasil moving in.”

“Yes, I know. But Dharn and Harnig have wanted to follow the migration of the black-tailed todels

for years. This year is ideal because of the depth of the winter. Apparently it makes their hides
especially valuable. So he plans to go hunting with Harnig and return in the summer. By then I’ll have
news.”

“I can’t ask Sirel to do without him for months.”
“She’s happy if you’ll stay in his stead. He really wants to do this, Kelten.”
It all seemed so simple, but Kelten remained uneasy. “He’s not really fit, you know. I thought he’d

be here until winter. He shouldn’t be riding and chasing todels or anything else.”

Tirk nodded. “He knows that too. It’s not as arduous as you imagine, and he’ll take care. You can’t

protect him forever.”

“No, but I should be very cranky if he died of a haemorrhage after all my hard work. How long did

you think it would take?”

“Three months, no more than four. I could have an answer sooner but Ma needs you while Dharn’s

away. The end of summer at the very latest. You can be in Krilo in a week if you ride to Horgilan and
catch the train there.”

“Very well.” Kelten smiled. “You really think it’ll work?”
“I really do. I wouldn’t raise your hopes unduly. This is my world, and I know it well. So...will

you stop ducking away from me now?”

Kelten gave a guilty start. “I didn’t—”
“I know. But now you can relax. Ma’s very pleased, you realise. We didn’t tell her about your

deception, but this is a much better choice.”

“It is. Thank you. Goddess bless you, and Dharn. Will Megwen make it difficult for me to stay?”
“Megwen’s fighting not to be deposed, actually. Things have certainly grown more lively since

last year.” He grinned. “You better watch those goats. I have to clean up and then help Ma. Dharn’s
bringing her new puppy home today.”

“Already? Will he have it trained before he leaves?”
“No, but it’ll be Ma’s dog. She’ll have the training of it. You can help with that too.”
Quite suddenly, Kelten had a future he could look forward to. If things could be resolved with

Dharn, he would want nothing else to be happy. There was no reason for Dharn to be angry now, was
there?

Once the goats had been watered, it was time to drive them back to the overnight pens. Kelten

caught sight of Dharn carrying a small, wriggling brown bundle in his arms—the new dog. Kelten
waved, smiling widely. Dharn stopped, raised his hand, but his expression didn’t change as he turned
away towards the house.

Kelten stopped, brought up short by the cruel difference between his expectation and reality.

Nothing had actually changed. Dharn was prepared to leave his widowed mother at the busiest time of
the farm’s year to avoid having to share the house with him. The breach between them was as wide as
ever, whatever Tirk’s plans were.

Sirel’s puppy, Tirk’s presence, the start of the kidding season, all gave Kelten excuses to avoid

Dharn, or to keep him occupied when forced into his presence with other people. He kept to the
background, letting the family enjoy each other’s company while they had it, and didn’t raise his own
situation with any of them. He didn’t like the fact Dharn was going away. Was rather angry that he
would do this to Sirel and put his own health at risk, in fact. But the others accepted it as a done deal,
and Sirel didn’t seem unduly concerned at the prospect. A pregnant daughter, the pup, the farm, would
keep her busy enough. Kelten vowed to do his best to make Dharn’s absence as small a burden to her
as he could manage. That was all he could do.

Dharn and Tirk departed without fuss two weeks later. Kelten had thought to avoid a scene by

saying his farewells privately to Tirk by the goat pen, and once again gave his thanks for what Tirk was
about to do. Tirk had accepted his gratitude but seemed somewhat strained. Perhaps it was simply
sadness at the parting from his family whom he wouldn’t see for another whole year. Kelten wished
him luck for the journey, and had gone to the barn to hide until the brothers had gone.

He heard barking—Dog, not Hoppy, as the new pup had been named, for his habit of bouncing up

and down in the one spot when animated. Dog was probably excited at the prospect of being out on the
trail again. It had been somewhat dull for him of late with Dharn restricting his activity while he healed
from the head injury.

Another bark, much closer, then Kelten jerked in alarm as he heard wood creak and realised

someone was in the barn with him. But it was only Dharn, leaning on a stall’s gate, looking at him with
a hooded expression.

“You frightened me.”
“Sorry.”
“I thought you had gone,” Kelten signed, keeping his face blank of all emotion, though his heart

raced as it always did when he came anywhere near the man. Damn those eyes of his.

“Wanted to say goodbye.”
“Oh.”
Dharn frowned and came closer. “Are you all right?”
Kelten backed away, because he wanted to keep his emotions in check, and Dharn had a way of

undercutting his fortifications. “Yes. You? The head?”

Dharn touched the injury site. Though Sirel had cut his hair short all over, the shaved area and scar

were still noticeable. “Headaches.”

Kelten was sure that wasn’t all he suffered. This hunting trip was such an unwise notion. “You

should take it easy.”

“I will.”
“Dharn, I....” Kelten moved towards Dharn, unable to contain himself, but this time it was Dharn

who backed off. “Can’t you forgive me?” He used his face as well as his hands to plead for mercy.

Dharn’s hands moved jerkily, peevishly. “Nothing to forgive.” His expression didn’t quite match

the harshness of his signing.

“But why are you so angry with me?”
Dharn’s eyes softened and he raised a hand as if he wanted to stroke Kelten’s cheek. Kelten’s heart

beat faster. Could their old affection have a chance of mending things between them? But then Dharn’s
expression hardened. “You’ll be safe here.”

Kelten wilted. “Yes. I’ll look after your mother.”
Dharn’s face creased as if he was experiencing some sudden pain. “Goodbye,” he signed abruptly,

turned on his heel and left. Dog’s barking faded as he and his master moved away from the barn.

Kelten sagged against a post, disappointed and confused. If Dharn had not been making a belated

attempt to mend their breach, why bother speaking to him at all? And if there was nothing to forgive,
what grudge could the man be holding now?

Kelten shook his head and forced himself not to think about it. Down that road lay misery. Maybe

when Dharn returned, if Tirk was able to give Kelten good news, then they might be able to resolve the
argument. And if not...well, Kelten would have to move on without Dharn’s friendship. His own
feelings on the matter didn’t seem to be important to Dharn at all.

Chapter 15

Kelten wiped his brow and took another swig of water. The noon heat had passed but there was

still plenty of sun on this fine midsummer’s day. The goats and the farm’s four freshly clipped sheep
grazed desultorily or rested on the ground, chewing their cud. The air was still and heavy and, apart
from Hoppy getting worked up about something back at the house, peaceful. Distant barking no longer
made him jerk up and look around for Dog. Hoppy was a vocal creature, a little too much so, as one
tended to discount his excited yapping which rather negated his value as a guard dog. He’d settle down,
Sirel assured Kelten. Until then, the intermittent bursts of barks were as much a background to Kelten’s
day as the bleats of the sheep and goats, and the distant bellows of the bulls in Petbe’s fields.

He looked towards the farmhouse, saw Jasil crossing the yard, and waved. Jasil saw him, and

shook his head exaggeratedly, signing “no” to emphasise the point. So no message from Tirk, again.
An irregular post from Krilo came with the infrequent deliveries of goods from the city. There had been
two such drops of parcels and letters since the summer began. Jasil had been into the village that
morning, but there was still no news. Was that a good or a bad sign? Kelten didn’t know. He didn’t like
to ask Sirel about it because she grew anxious whenever he even hinted at the possibility that Tirk
might not succeed.

He waved an acknowledgement back to Jasil, who signed back and headed towards the dairy.

Maome was making goat cheese today. With her pregnancy so advanced, she needed her partner’s
assistance for the heavier duties. It had been a pleasure for Kelten to be able to watch the progression of
her condition, an experience that his year’s hospital work had not given him. Since those few pregnant
women Kelten had treated or seen had been unwell, it was also something of a revelation to observe a
healthy woman, enjoying her state. Maome was a placid, sensible person, and had a good deal of
womanly support around her. Kelten had listened and watched, learning much from Sirel, Jasil’s
mother, and Maome herself.

He didn’t know if he would ever use the knowledge gained in this way, but it still was knowledge

and so to be valued, just as the many things he’d learned about goats and sheep and other herd animals
helped to keep his mind active and distracted. Though the profession of farming held little appeal as a
career, he’d come to respect the complexity of the task, and was pleased in a small way to find he had a
reasonable aptitude for goat herding. If he ended up doing this for the rest of his life, well, then, there
were far worse fates—and far worse companions—than this kind family and their animals. Knowing it
would drive his stepfather into apoplexy if he discovered any of his relatives had undertaken anything
so menial, gave Kelten a small measure of amusement on top of it.

If it weren’t for worrying about whether Tirk had had any success, he could have thrown himself

wholeheartedly into the chance to live a different life than he’d ever expected, and learn how a deaf
community could work successfully, if not entirely harmoniously.

If it weren’t for missing Dharn like a right arm, he could have been truly happy. There were times,

of course, when he was content, and far from sad. But there was never a time when Dharn was out of
his thoughts, or that he didn’t miss him. He never ceased to wonder what his one-time lover had been
trying to say as he left. Kelten regretted not pushing the issue sooner. Dharn would not have felt he had
to leave, and this time of waiting could have been filled with cheerful companionship and lovemaking.

He took another swig of water and put the flask away, nudging a curious kid away from his pack

with his staff. “Now then, young master, that’s not edible, even for you.” The kid skipped off in alarm,
baaing until his mother answered.

Watching the goats was often amusing, and the landscape held entertainment that he would have

never imagined before he’d left Bunes. After months with Dharn on the trail, he now saw life and
traces of movement everywhere in the apparently still surroundings. He took pleasure in watching the
tinier creatures in their daily activities. Even in this apparently empty grassy field, he’d spotted small
birds, the marks of mammals, plants that the untrained might overlook. That he certainly would have
overlooked before a brawny, brave hunter had taken an interest in him.

He wished Dharn was here. He wished that every day. So did the others, though perhaps without

the depth of yearning Kelten held deep in his heart, and without the same regrets. The birth of Maome’s
child was now less than two months away. If Dharn didn’t return soon, Sirel and Maome wouldn’t have
the support they had a right to, at a time when they would need it most.

Sirel suffered most of all. Even with the baby on the way, a noisy dog to train, and the company in

the evenings, she clearly missed her eldest son, and however cheerfully she behaved, the sadness
lurked. Lately she had taken to standing at her backdoor in the late afternoons, peering westwards
across the fields towards the coppice as if imagining a big man on a tall horse, a lively dog at his side,
riding out of the trees towards her. Kelten knew the feeling all too well, for did he not spend hours each
day doing much the same thing as he tended the goats? They both yearned for the same man’s return, if
for very different reasons. But Dharn did not come, no matter how long he was watched for.

If only Tirk would send word. Kelten thought sometimes he should write to him in Krilo, but

wondered if that would be seen as insulting. And if the news was bad, would it be better to know
sooner or later? The outcome wouldn’t change, but it would upset people here. If only for their sake,
not his own, he wouldn’t do anything to destroy what illusion of peace they had.

For now, all he could do was what he had done for four months—tend the goats and watch to the

west, the direction in which Harnig’s farm lay, and from which Dharn would surely come soon. If word
had not come from Tirk by the time Dharn returned, and if Dharn still found his company unpalatable,
then...well, Kelten would go to Krilo anyway. He would have kept his promise to Tirk and given him
plenty of time to find a solution. He hoped that solution might yet come, but he couldn’t stay here
forever. Everyone knew that.

“Oh shut up, Hoppy,” he muttered. The wretched dog had been giving tongue for ten minutes by

Kelten’s pocket watch. It must be driving Sirel mad by now. What had set him off this time?

Out of habit Kelten peered towards the coppice. Nothing there of course....
...except a small dark shape racing out of the trees, and behind it, a big man on a tall horse, leading

another mount.

Kelten couldn’t tell who it was at this distance. He didn’t dare hope, and he didn’t dare risk being

caught off guard. He unbuckled his holster and drew the pistol that had been his constant companion
from the day of the attack, at Dharn’s insistence.

A few seconds later he put the pistol back in his holster and stood with his arms folded, unable to

keep the grin off his face. Because that small shape was a three-legged dog, and the farm was in no
danger from its favourite son, returned at long last.

Dharn dismounted twenty yards or so from Kelten, and walked up with his horse’s reins in his

hands. “Welcome back,” Kelten signed, but as Dharn drew closer, Kelten frowned. His friend’s
appearance was greatly altered—his beard gone completely apart from a few days’ growth of reddish
stubble, and his hair not just cut short but shaved. He looked tired and worn as Kelten had never seen
him, even after surgery.

Dharn stopped, looking uncertain. “Are you all right?”
“I am now.” Kelten walked up to him and hugged him tight, uncaring if Dharn rejected him

because the relief, the raw joy at seeing him again, overwhelmed every caution, every reason to
hesitate. All that mattered was Dharn was home.

He needn’t have had any fear of rejection. Dharn’s arms went around him as hard and warmly as

ever, his lips as delicious and wonderful as in Kelten’s dreams.

“I missed you.” Kelten whispered. “You should have stayed.” Dharn didn’t answer, of course, but

it didn’t matter. So much heartache was washed away in the strength and affection of his embrace, his
familiar taste and smell of smoke and tea and clean, honest sweat.

Dharn leaned back so he could look at Kelten and stroked his face. “You’re well?”
“Yes.” Kelten touched the scar on the side of Dharn’s skull. “You? Headaches?”
“Not any more.”
“I missed you. Every day. Every hour of every day.”
A flicker of pain in Dharn’s brown eyes, then he drew Kelten into another hug. An apology

without words, but it was all Kelten needed. Whatever had been wrong between them was gone now,
and he wouldn’t question how.

But then a man’s hail made him turn towards the coppice. Another horse and rider stood waiting at

the tree line. Dog ran back but there was no hint of aggression in his barking. A friend, then. “Who’s
that?” Kelten signed.

“Tirk. We have a lot to talk about.” Dharn smiled a little.
“Tirk?” Why was Tirk here, of all people? “Does he have news for me?”
Dharn nodded. “Can you bring the goats in early?”
“Yes, but what’s going on?”
Dharn kissed him again. “We’ll talk at the house later.”
You bet we will. “Shoo, go find your mother.” Kelten pushed Dharn gently away, then waved to

Tirk and tried not to let his knees shake. Surely Dharn wouldn’t be so relaxed if Tirk bore bad news, or
be so friendly, but what in the name of the goddess was going on with these two?

Dog came bounding over after Dharn but to Kelten’s surprise, stopped to ask for a pat from him.

“Well, hello, Dog. Hope you caught lots of big fat todels....” He stopped. That was what was wrong.
There were no skins or bags of jerky on Dharn’s horse nor on the pack animal. How could he have
been hunting without them? Even if Harnig had taken the bulk of the catch, it was inconceivable that
Dharn would have returned entirely empty-handed.

Tirk interrupted his thoughts. “Kelten, it’s good to see you again.”
He dismounted and Kelten walked over to shake his hand. “And you. But why are you here? And

where has Dharn been all this time? He can’t have been hunting todels.”

Tirk smiled as he shook his head. “I knew you’d know as soon as you saw him. Mind if I sit? It’ll

be easier if I talk to you while Dharn talks to Ma. She’ll want a chance to cry.”

Not reassured at all by that remark, Kelten motioned to a place on the log he used as a seat when

the goats were in this field. “Dog, go find Dharn. Go on, boy.” Dog bounded off towards the
farmhouse. Kelten turned to face Tirk. “It’s bad news, isn’t it?”

“Not at all. Your name is cleared and you’ve been declared innocent of all crimes. You can travel

wherever you wish in Inades, including to Gark, though I suspect that vacancy has long since been
filled.”

Kelten blinked and stared, wondering if this was Tirk’s idea of a joke. But then he recalled Dharn’s

shaved head, his tired features.... “What did Dharn do? He didn’t go to Harnig’s farm at all, did he?”

“Yes, he did but only because we were headed to Horgilan station. We lied to you, because you

would never have agreed and neither would Ma. I did suggest to him exactly what I described to you,
but he was adamant it was wrong for you to be punished for his mistake, and that a conviction would
ruin your professional career. Which it might have done.” He wiped his face. “Do you have any
water?”

Kelten found his flask in his pack and offered it. Tirk swallowed deeply, with obvious relief.

“Thanks. We set a hard pace. Dharn was eager to be back.”

“Your mother missed him. We all did.”
“I know. But it wasn’t just Ma he was in a hurry to see.”
Kelten’s eyes widened in realisation, then he punched Tirk’s shoulder. “You moon-cursed

bastards. He feigned all that. Feigned being angry with me, so he’d have an excuse to leave and I
wouldn’t question it.”

Tirk rubbed his arm and grinned ruefully. “I have to plead guilty. He was angry with you—for

lying about your stepfather, and for planning to sacrifice yourself—and he was determined to stop you.
He had a plan half-cooked up by the time I arrived, and I helped him refine it. It was either that or let
him go to prison without anyone to help him through.”

“Wait...how did you manage it? You two are too clever by half, I think.”
“Wouldn't be the first time someone’s accused me of that. How’s things with Megwen?”
“Calm for now and don’t change the subject. Where has he been and what did you do?”
Tirk sighed. “Only what I planned to do for you. We went to Krilo and sought the Order’s help so

that Dharn could plead guilty and receive fair treatment. The Order threw its weight and its advocates
behind his case and won permission for the matter to be dealt with in Krilo. Fortunately the magistrate

was an intelligent woman, and understood the situation, and why ordinary prison would be unusually
cruel for Dharn. She wanted to give him an entirely suspended sentence for removing you from
custody, but that would have meant him living in Krilo for two years under my guardianship, and he
couldn’t leave Ma for so long. So, since he couldn’t pay a fine of sufficient size, she imposed a three-
month sentence—”

“No! Not three months in prison?”
“No, no, calm down. She allowed it to be served on the Order’s farm under the supervision of the

constables. He had to return to the police cells each evening, but at least he wasn’t left without a
translator in the ordinary prison. I was allowed to visit and the charity made sure his welfare was
protected.”

That wasn’t as bad as it could be but...Dharn in custody for three months, when Kelten had

imagined him out in the wilderness, Dog at his side, happy and free. It was done now and couldn’t be
changed, but he wished he could take that pain away from Dharn. “He did that for me?”

“He said it was only right.”
“But...the murder charges?”
“All dropped and the record cleared. As it might have been anyway, if Dharn hadn’t been so

impetuous,” Tirk said, tsking a little. “Further investigations had already revealed the criminal nature of
the three men he killed, and the magistrate found that your statements were consistent with the
evidence and with Dharn’s affidavit. They were, she said, quite plainly not the actions of a guilty man.
Harnig came with us to Krilo, confessed his role in the escape, and received a suspended sentence on
account of his good character, his age and his family’s need of him. It’s unfortunate Sed doesn’t have
constables based here or Dharn could have come home sooner too.”

“But don’t they want me to go to Krilo? Or Tuwilo? How can it all be cleared up so completely?”
“Good advocates, a sensible officer of the law, and Dharn helping the picture be completed so it

made sense. He was the missing part of the puzzle.”

Kelten stood, clenching his fists. “I never wanted him imprisoned. He acted from the best

motives.”

“Yes, but he made a mistake and wanted to make it possible for you to go back to whatever life

you chose to lead. You’re welcome here, make no mistake, but no one wants you to feel like a prisoner.
He knows how important your career is to you.” Tirk slapped his thigh. “Cheer up, man. It’s over. You
can be a doctor again. Whatever you want.”

Kelten scratched his head, quite bewildered by all this unexpected information. “What I want is a

cup of tea, and to get the goats home. I can’t take anything else in.”

Tirk laughed. “I warned Dharn you’d likely have a heart attack from shock when we laid this all

before you. He insisted on your not being told, but it might have been kinder....” He cleared his throat
and patted Kelten’s shoulder. “I’ll ride on back, let Ma be cross at me for a bit. Take your time, but not
too long. Dharn has a lot of catching up to do. Oh...and I rather think I’ll be the one on the sofa
tonight,” he added with a wink.

Kelten watched Tirk head off, but his thoughts were not on what he could see but what he’d just

been told. From the start, fine intentions had led to evil results. Dharn had wanted to save Kelten from
prison, and Kelten had ended up a fugitive. Kelten had wanted to shield Dharn from the law, and had
ended up a murder suspect, then had precipitated Dharn’s astonishing sacrifice, one Kelten never
wanted or would have asked for.

But now it was over. Merl and Bern’s true killers had been established, their family knew the truth,

and Kelten could resume his path. Only, he didn’t want to do that alone any more.

But nothing had happened which made it possible for him to stay and still be productive. Dharn’s

actions would have no impact on Megwen, whose animus towards him was reportedly now greater than
ever. He was in no danger of being forcibly removed, and she had been persuaded to relax her stance
on supplies, but he was still profoundly unwelcome. Hirta had been active in warning the clan to avoid
him and his advice. Not that he’d offered it—he’d made a point of not making the slightest remark
about Maome’s pregnancy unless she asked—but even if Megwen changed her stance, Hirta had
effectively sown suspicion about him. He would find it nigh impossible to win trust as a physician now.

If he stayed, he couldn’t be a doctor. If he left...he couldn’t have Dharn. Six months ago the choice

would have been simple. Now he had no idea what to do.

A nanny goat’s plaintive bleat reminded him that he still had work to complete. He whistled and

beat his staff against the log. “Come along now. It’s time to go home.”

He trailed along behind the herd, chivvying and encouraging with his voice and the occasional

prod from his staff. How nice it would be if someone would do for him what he did for these creatures,
and decide what he should do and where he should go.

He shook his head in disgust. Envying goats. How low had he sunk.

Chapter 16

After he penned the goats ready for milking, he found the co-conspirators in their mother’s

kitchen. Though to judge by their expressions, Sirel had apparently just finished saying something that
left the brothers chastened, she didn’t seem too angry at their deception. She grinned when Kelten
walked up to Dharn and punched him in the shoulder. “Yes, he deserves that.”

“But also this,” Kelten said, bending and kissing Dharn, then leaving his arm around his shoulders

because he couldn’t bear to be so close and not touch him. “You shouldn’t have gone to jail for me.”

“I had to. You did nothing wrong, and it was my fault.”
“Could have told me. I was so miserable because I thought you hated me.”
Dharn kissed him and held him tight. Kelten felt his big heart thumping against his own ribs. It felt

like home. “You wouldn’t have let me go.”

“No. Bastard.”
Dharn smiled. “Forgive me?”
“Maybe. In one hour.”
Dharn just laughed, and Sirel smiled at them both. “Go wash up, Kelten, dear. You too, Dharn.

Tirk, go help Maome and Jasil so they can finish the goats quickly. Tea and bread shall tide you until
supper, though I don’t know that I shouldn’t send you both to bed without it.”

Dharn grinned when she finished signing, and Tirk could have looked more abashed than he did.

“Come on, Ma. Dharn needs feeding up, and he did do your friend a favour.”

“That he did,” Kelten signed, looking into Dharn’s eyes. “That he did.”
After Tirk, Jasil and Maome returned from milking the goats, the impromptu meal turned into

something of a celebration. Sirel laid on rather more than tea and buttered bread for their refreshment,
setting out clotted cream and heaped summer fruits in honey to ladle on freshly made griddle scones,
and slices of goat cheese and dried pears. Tirk and Dharn, thirsty from the trail, accounted for pot after
pot of tea, but still found room for the apple brandy which Sirel broke out to toast Dharn’s safe return
and the restoration of Kelten’s good name.

With the back door open to let in the breeze, and the two dogs chasing each other around in the

yard beyond, Kelten sat thigh to thigh with Dharn and couldn’t get enough of looking at him or
touching him. Dharn kept a hand on Kelten’s arm or an arm around his waist. Sirel smiled and nodded
to herself from time to time as she watched them. Maome held Jasil’s hand and glowed with
contentment. Tirk grinned continuously. How much of a burden had it been to him to keep such a
secret from his mother, and to worry about his brother’s welfare at the same time? Not a small one,
Kelten thought.

“How long will you stay?” Kelten asked Tirk as he reached for more cake.
“Until summer’s end. Thought my help might be useful with this one on the way,” he said,

nodding at Maome’s rounded belly. His sister raised her tea mug up at him in salute. “And you?”

Kelten made a decision. “At least that long, if you’ll have me, Sirel.” There, that put things off

nicely.

She beamed. “And longer, dear. You know that. I’ve enjoyed having you so much, and you’ve

been such a help to me. Ah, but Dharn...?”

Now what were they up to? Dharn moved back a little so he could face Kelten and sign. “Got

something to show you. It’s a three-day ride. Want to come?”

“Of course, but what is it?”
Dharn smiled and tapped his nose. “Secret.”
“I didn’t like the last one.”
“A good secret.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Tirk said. “I can do your chores and you’ll be back in time for the baby.”
“Very well.” Dharn hugged Kelten, his big grin unfeigned. “I don’t understand though.”
“You will,” Dharn said. “Have some more tea.”
They sat and ate until dusk approached, then Dharn got up from his chair and announced he still

had a few things to do in the barn. He took Kelten’s hand and the expectation that Kelten would follow
needed no signed confirmation. Dharn fetched a candle lamp but didn’t light it since there was still
enough light to see by without it.

The bats were already zipping through the warm evening air chasing the bugs and flies, and the

frogs by the dam had begun to issue their nightly musical threats to their rivals. Dohal birds squabbled
as they settled in to roost. A lone, overly territorial rikit stood on the house’s weathervane and issued
his challenge to all comers, even though the other rikits had flown back to their nests an hour since. In
their pens, the goats and sheep bleated and shuffled around. The horses in the stable snorted and
whickered quietly to each other, the crunch of their teeth on sweet hay yet another sound in the
orchestra of the farm settling down for the night.

Dharn might never have known these sounds, though it was he who had taught Kelten to pay

attention to such things. To Dharn, a warm summer evening would likely be about the scents—the
earthy ripeness of goat farts and horse dung, the grassy smell of cut hay, the heavy sweet blossom of
the garna trees thick in the air, and from the dam and the river in the distance, the green coolness of
rushes and algae. Kelten paused and inhaled, sensing the world as his lover might, looking at the fading
pale light on the horizon, and the cool brightness of Nodos in its first quarter and the early stars
emerging from the darkening heavens.

“What?” Dharn asked.
“Beautiful evening,” Kelten signed back. “Smells...happy.”
Dharn grinned. “Smells like home. I missed it.” He looked into Kelten’s eyes and signed, “I

missed you. Very much.”

Kelten’s throat closed with the strength of his feelings for this generous, wonderful man. “I was

very sad. Now, I’m not.”

Dharn squeezed his hand. “I’m happy too.”
He led Kelten into the barn, but not over to the stalls. He pulled Kelten down onto a tack box, set

down the lamp, and, taking Kelten’s face between his hands, made it clear through his hungry kisses
and his eager hands, just how much he’d missed Kelten and how thoroughly their estrangement was
over.

Kelten’s fingers unbuttoned Dharn’s shirt almost without him directing them, and his hands found

their way inside his trousers with ridiculous ease. He cupped Dharn’s erection and wanted to free it, but
it was unseemly to engage in sexual intercourse in this semi-public area.

Or perhaps it wasn’t, because Dharn had Kelten’s belt undone and his trousers opened and half

down his thighs before Kelten quite knew it was happening, and by the time he did, Dharn had pressed
him back flat against the tack box, kissing him hot and insistently, while his big strong hands did all
kinds of unmannerly and delicious things to Kelten’s body.

“Stop.” Kelten pushed him back. “I want to do something too.” Dharn knelt back, all mussed and

eager, puzzled by Kelten’s signing. “Take those off.” He pointed at Dharn’s trousers. “Down. Off.”

Dharn gave him an amused look, then sat back on a hay bale and took off his boots. He slid his

trousers and drawers off and tossed them to the side. He stood, hands on his hips, erection poking past
the hem of his shirt, looking like all kinds of sinful temptation. But Mother Sret made good things for
her children to enjoy, and Kelten intended to do that. He crooked a finger and beckoned Dharn over.
He pointed to his own mouth and Dharn’s cock, and then to Dharn’s mouth and his own erection.
Dharn’s grin grew impossibly huge as he worked it out. “Hurry up,” Kelten signed.

The tack box was just long enough for Kelten to lie on it with his knees hanging off one edge, his

head barely supported on the other. Dharn stood astride him and bent forward. Kelten dug his fingers
into Dharn’s taut buttocks, and licked at Dharn’s balls, burrowing his nose into the nest of pubic hair
and inhaling the rich aroma of Dharn’s hard-worked body, Kelten’s own arse tightening with pleasure
as Dharn mouthed the top of his erection.

A few moments before, all he’d wanted was to have Dharn’s cock inside him one way or another,

but the freedom to taste and sniff and lick and touch was too wonderful not to indulge. Kelten hadn’t
even given himself release since he had last slept with Dharn, so he was desperate and hungry for
Dharn’s touch. But as he let himself wallow shamelessly in the pleasure of Dharn’s hands on him, his
mouth, those clever, clever fingers, his mind couldn’t stay away from the lingering sadness in his soul
over so much time wasted, so much time separated when they could have been a comfort to each other.
He couldn’t forget that he might yet have to part from this man if he wanted to do what he had trained
for. He buried his nose again and breathed deeply, imprinting the manly scent in his brain and in his
heart, sending a prayer to the goddess that she might somehow grant these two seemingly irreconcilable
wishes of his heart.

But then Dharn drove all sad thoughts from his mind. He groaned as Dharn’s mouth engulfed his

balls, his tongue working them and massaging them, Dharn’s hands under Kelten’s arse, squeezing and
separating them, spreading him. Kelten wished almost that he’d asked Dharn to fuck him, but they had
no lanolin with them, and it had been a while. Kelten would need to work up to that. Soon, he needed
to work up to it.

Dharn’s cock bumped Kelten’s face. He needed to taste it. He tipped his head back and let the

wonderful hardness fill his mouth, even his throat as he relaxed to allow the salty thickness, the slick
softness. Dharn was always careful with him when they did this, but he loved being taken deep, and
Kelten loved taking him in. He urged Dharn closer with his hands and swallowed, letting his throat
ripple around Dharn’s length, his incoherent sounds of pleasure as Dharn tongued Kelten’s crown,
vibrating against Dharn’s cockhead.

For so long a period of abstinence, Dharn’s control was impressive, and Kelten was the one

struggling not to come too soon. Dharn’s mouth was a demon, his hands everywhere and controlling
Kelten, guiding him, his fingers delineating skin and bone and muscle the way they did fine grained
wood. And the taste of him was Kelten’s master too, overwhelming and seducing him, filling his senses
the way his cock filled Kelten’s greedy mouth. When Dharn came, Kelten swallowed him down,
licking him from root to crown, seeking every last bit of his essence, and when Kelten found his own
climax, it was if they flowed together, Dharn’s seed in him, his seed in Dharn, no point of separation
between them.

Dharn moved at some point...Kelten didn’t know quite when...and now his mouth was on Kelten’s,

nibbling and licking gently, as if seeking himself. Kelten flung his arms around Dharn and hugged him
close. If he had only found him again to lose him....

But he wouldn’t spoil this moment. He’d tried too often to predict his future, to shape it, and the

goddess had each time reminded him less than kindly that she set the fate of her children as she chose.

Dharn pulled him up into a sitting position on the tack box—both of them still bare-arsed—and

grinned at him. “Are you all right?”

“Can I borrow your can opener now?”
Dharn tipped his head back and laughed, then ruffled Kelten’s hair. “You can borrow anything you

want of mine,” he signed.

“All I want is you.” He clenched his fist over his heart, hoping this was the right sign for the job.
Dharn nodded and kissed him, his own fist forming over his chest, thumping it twice for emphasis.

Goddess, so much time they’d wasted. Kelten didn’t care about being a doctor if he could stay with this
man for the rest of his life. He made a damn fine goat herder, and that was enough for anyone.

Chapter 17

Four days later they rode along a tributary of the river that flowed near Sed. Their road had passed

through low hills and open bushland, without the first sign of human habitation. But today Kelten had
heard a train in the distance, and when Dharn pointed, spotted the tracks running on the other side of
the water. “When will you tell me where we’re going?”

Dharn only grinned and kicked his horse into moving again.
Two hours later, cottages came into view. And not just cottages and farms, but storehouses and

shops, a constable’s station, and a huge mill on a weir by the river. A proper town, in fact. “Teleni,”
Dharn finger-spelled.

“Is this it?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” Kelten had made a few guesses about their destination but a tidy little town hadn’t been

one of them.

They crossed a bridge near the weir and entered the town proper. As they rode down the main

street, a man waved to Dharn—then signed a longer welcome. “It’s been too long since I saw you, my
friend.”

“Friend?” Kelten mouthed to himself. When had Dharn been here, and who was this man?

Someone from Sed? Another like Harnig who’d moved away?

They dismounted and hitched their horses in front of a sturdy stone building. Dharn introduced the

stranger, Kasna, who turned out to be the mill owner, and indeed, was a former Sed resident. “This is
Rhede Kelten, physician,” Dharn signed with unusual formality. “He can hear.”

Kasna bowed. “Welcome, Ru Rhede,” he said, then signed. “A doctor, eh? We could do with one

of them.”

“Yes, I know,” Dharn signed, winking at Kelten. For the first time, Kelten had the smallest inkling

of what his stubborn-headed friend might be up to. He smiled and kept his counsel. Dharn better not be
thinking of dumping him here. Kelten wasn’t going to let him get away again that damn easily.

The building they stood before, was where Dharn wanted them to be. Kasna bade Dharn farewell

for now, insisting the two of them come for dinner that night and stay, if they had no better offer.
Dharn didn’t say if they did or did not, though he appeared to be smiling at a secret joke as he gestured
to Kelten to follow him.

The pungent odour of disinfectant brought memories rushing back for him, giving him a deep pang

he tried very hard to suppress. He never thought to smell that particular scent again, not here in the
middle of nowhere. It was a smell quite peculiar to hospitals...but then he looked around him more
carefully, and realised that was surely where they were. This front area was where patients would wait
to be seen, and this unornamented, clean layout was very like the smaller clinics back in Bunes.

He rushed ahead of Dharn down a neatly tiled hall and came to a doorway. Yes, drug cabinets, an

examination table, medical texts....

A young woman in a sober grey suit came from the inner room and stopped in shock. “Hello, do

you need assistance?” she signed.

“No, thank you.” He turned and found Dharn watching him with a slight smile on his face.

“What’s going on, you bastard?” The sign for that word was quite satisfyingly vigorous.

“Go in and I’ll explain.”
It was all so very simple, and yet devious in a way Kelten had come to recognise as the signature

of Dharn and his brother, for Tirk had been up to his neck in this too. The young woman, Vala, was a
healer, deaf like Hirta, but without her overweening pride. The clinic had been built a year ago at the
instigation of the residents, many of whom were deaf, and with money from the same charitable order
which had helped found Sed. Unlike Sed, Teleni was being developed to have a much wider range of
activities, with closer ties to Krilo, with the intention of halting the distressing practice of abandoning
deaf children and others with disabilities who could be accommodated in a community given the right
training and assistance.

“Those who left Sed wanted a safe place for their deaf children and parents, but which offered

their families something other than farming, and training for their young people. My brother has been
working with the school here for years. When the residents had the idea to increase the facilities here to
make it a proper town, Tirk presented it to the Order and they agreed. The Order persuaded the railway
to make a station here, which opened six months ago, and a constable’s station was established two
months ago. A telegraph office is opening by year end.”

“But why not increase the facilities at Sed?”
“You know the reason,” Dharn signed.
“Megwen?”
“Yes. She wouldn’t have it, and she and Tirk and others who wanted change argued badly over it.

They’ve been fighting for years, and so has the Order. Besides, this is a better location, with the train
line.”

“It was Dharn’s idea that we should start somewhere else,” Vala said. “My father is a friend of his

from Sed. We all left six years ago. He couldn’t work with Megwen any longer and he wanted to open
a mill.”

“Kasna is your father?”
“Yes. There are twenty families here who used to live in Sed, as well as those who lived here

before. Sed has been losing people for years, but because more move in, Megwen doesn’t care. She
doesn’t want the village to get too big, and she doesn’t want hearing folk at all. But we all have hearing
relatives, and we want them to live with us, not leave for the city.”

“We want the children to have a chance to go to university,” Dharn added, “so we need as many

people to learn sign as possible, hearing and deaf. Tirk has two assistants who are training at Tuwilo
University right now, and has set up a school here which will take students from Krilo as boarders. We
hope to send our first deaf student there in three years.”

Kelten could only stare at his cunning friend with his big plans, and the bright young woman next

to him so clearly willing to help these plans come to fruition. “And what of me?”

“We need a doctor. The Order built this clinic and stocked it, and the government will pay a

doctor’s salary and that of three healers, but no doctor wants to work here. If we can get one doctor, we
can have students, and nurse-medics, and better drugs. But without a doctor....”

“Then you have a village healer and no one else. No offense, dear.”
Vala smiled. “I’m still learning, Ru Rhede. I want to be one of the first students to go to Tuwilo,

and become a medic, if not more.”

“I’m only new at this myself, Vala.” Kelten inhaled, exhaled. “It’s wonderful, but no.”
Dharn frowned. “Why?”
“Because I want to be with you.”
“Yes. You will be. I’m moving here too.”
Kelten gaped. Vala made a gesture to gain his attention. “I’ll give you privacy,” she said, slipping

into the inner examination room.

“Why didn’t you tell me, you bastard?” Kelten had learned a few more insults from Jasil over the

past few months, and he displayed his knowledge with as much enthusiasm as he could put into it.
Dharn blinked in shock at the stream of gestured invective.

“I wanted to surprise you.”
“You...you....” Kelten huffed in aggravation. “All this time and not one of you said one word about

this!”

“I told them not to. Because going to the city might not have fixed things.”
“Bad dog.”
Dharn’s lips twitched in amusement. “Come outside,” he signed. Kelten followed him. Outside he

looked up at the building—the clinic—and could so easily see himself working there. That brief contact
with medical facilities had reawoken in him the burning desire to help, the need to treat and heal and
watch the sick and injured recover their health. It was a desire that saving Dharn’s life had whetted, one
which Kelten had firmly suppressed for months, fearing never to satisfy it again. Now Dharn dangled
the granting of his dearest wish—well, one of them—within Kelten’s reach, and despite his annoyance
at Dharn’s secrecy, it took all Kelten’s will not to walk back inside, throw off his jacket and ask where
he could wash his hands.

“You can’t move here. Sirel needs you,” Kelten signed.
“Yes, she does. But Tirk is moving here, so am I, and when Maome has the baby and is settled, so

is Ma.”

“She can’t! What about the farm? Have you talked about it?”
Dharn told him to settle down. “Yes. For a long time, back and forth. We hoped you might stay,

but the government wouldn't employ a fugitive. I had to clear your name.”

Kelten reached out and touched his arm. “I didn’t want it at that price.”
“I didn’t want you stuck with us when you didn’t want to be.”
“I want to be. I want to be with you. Tell me you’re not lying. Promise me you’re not.”
“I’m not, I swear. We wanted to leave last year, but until Maome was settled, we couldn’t. Now

she and Jasil will take the house. Tirk and his fiancée have built another here. It’s all decided.”

“Fiancée?”
“Vala,” Dharn signed, grinning. “Every summer for five years, he’s visited and courted her,

building his house bit by bit. I’ve helped him, but not this year.”

“You amaze me.”
“We had a dream. Like you, just different.”
“You’ll still hunt?”
“A little, but not until Ma is settled and we rebuild the herd.”
“Won’t Maome miss her mother?”
“It’s only three days’ ride away.” Dharn cupped his face. “This is a decision for you, about you.

Don’t worry about my family. We’re moving here for our own reasons.”

“I wish they were my family. I love them all.”
“They love you. I do. Will you stay? We need you. I need you.”
Dharn had never said that before. Kelten hadn’t believed Dharn really needed anyone, because he

was so self-sufficient, so able at everything. But he’d needed Kelten to save his life, and this village
needed a doctor. “Yes.”

Dharn grinned and swept him into a hug and swung him around.
“Hey, be careful, I have a reputation now!” Kelten repeated his words in sign as soon as Dharn let

him go.

“Yes, you do.”
“Thanks to you, I have one.”
Dharn ruffled his hair. “Go back in, talk to Vala. I’ll take the horses to Kasna’s house, return

soon.”

He kissed Kelten and rested his forehead briefly against his. For the first time in months—for the

first time in his adult life, maybe even before that—Kelten had no lingering sense that something he
desperately wanted was out of his reach. All he wanted from life was right here before him.

“Go,” he signed to the man he loved. “But come back quickly.”
He waited until Dharn had unhitched the horses and led them down the street. Then he turned

around and walked back into the building and found Vala talking to another woman, clearly a patient.
The two women turned to look at him.

“Hello,” he signed, unable to hide his grin. “I’m your new doctor. How can I help?”

If you enjoyed this story, then discover more of my books for sale at

http://logophilos.net/store

Connect with Me Online:

Twitter: http://twitter.com/ann_somerville

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/logophilos

On Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Ann-Somerville/142845022413710

Document Outline