The Execution (13 page)

This outburst shocked him and he was
very anxious, with an urgent need to quiet her, to comfort her. He
had in all honesty, never heard a woman raise her voice before,
much less rant as this one was. He was shaken, and as rational
thought returned, he regretted all at once his terrible behavior.
He made to reach out to her.

She pulled away screaming, “Get away
from me! Don’t touch me, you—you monster!”

D’ata ignored her pleas. It crushed
him that she might truly think of him in that way. “Julianne,
please forgive me. I’m so sorry!” He reached for her.

She stumbled and sobbed as she lost
her footing, crashing backwards onto the ground. He bent down for
her and she kicked at his outstretched hand, then scrambled to pull
her legs under herself. As she leaned forward to regain her
balance, D’ata was already on his knees, pulling her close, this
time to protect her.

“
I hate you,” she sobbed
as she collapsed against his chest.

His lips brushed against her hair, her
dusty fragrance filled his soul. “Julianne, don’t cry—please. It’ll
be all right, everything’s going to be all right. You can hate me
if you wish.” He smoothed her hair with his hand as he pulled her
close. “You’ve nothing to fear. Please, listen to
me—Shhh.”

Her sobbing quieted a small
bit.

“
I swear by all that is
sacred to me that I’ve known you forever,” he whispered into her
ear, “I would never hurt you. I would never lie to you, and this is
going to be all right.” Gently touching her chin, he turned her
face up towards his. His eyes searched hers as a sudden and
deafening realization made the universe, once again, tilt even.
“Julianne—I love you.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

†

Ravan sat cross-legged on his bed in
the attic, his hair disheveled from the incident downstairs. He
frowned and picked at the loose threads on the hem of his sleeve,
recalling the evening’s events. Outside, snow started to
fall.

As is the human way, he replayed
repeatedly in his mind what had happened, imagining the revenge he
would enact on Steele for the liberty the man had intended to take
with him. It disgusted him thoroughly.

As the threads of his sleeve
unraveled, so did his resolve, and his melancholy deepened. He’d
grown mistrustful about the motives of monsieur LaFoote and it
devastated him to think that she might be a part of it. Who was
Duval and what did this unknown person care about him? What did it
have to do with the Innkeeper? Why had they lied to him?

He was indignant and angry, and down
in the deepest recesses of his being—he was afraid.

The boy absently rubbed the red
scratch marks that Pierre left on his arm and reached down to
finger the weight of Pig-Killer in his boot, comforted by its
presence. ‘It would seem the blade has specific purposes and was
suitably named,’ he thought to himself wryly.

He remembered the horrible wound
across Pierre’s face. What a spectacle it had been! The fat nose
that was practically detached, flopping down over the screaming
mouth, blood streaming down the folds in his jowls. The blood had
glistening with blubber as it ran off, the fat oozing into the red,
the oiliness of it greasing the chin and chest of the detestable
man. Dark scarlet and vulgar, it was not at all like the blood of
hunting, not bright, not pure. It did not run as it did from
creatures that were truly alive.

His stomach turned again as he
recalled Pierre’s awful intentions. Ravan was no stranger to the
notion of rape. More than a few of the children at the orphanage
had been sexual victims of their homelessness before coming there.
Those particular orphans carried with them a wound which would
never heal, an eternal mistrust. It was in invisible scar, painful
and ugly nevertheless. Ravan would rather die, he thought to
himself.

As his rage seethed, he held silent
satisfaction at imagining the hideous wound the man would forever
wear, a badge of cowardice, and he had given Pierre the mark.
People would point and whisper now when they saw Pierre, and this
gratified Ravan a great deal.

Bellowing erupted from the kitchen
below, probably as the Fat Wife sutured Pierre’s face back
together. It enraged Ravan that she should even have to touch the
pig-man. His eyes narrowed and a new thought occurred to him—he had
an enemy for life. This was a first for him, and it tasted foreign.
He allowed the awareness of it to settle somewhere into his
subconscious, a new gift in his growing repertoire of slanted
experiences.

Next time, he would not wound
Pierre—he would kill him. Then, he would leave the carcass for the
creatures of the forest to finish off. His mind twisted as he
figured his future. Next time, it would not be Steele’s nose he
would sever! Ravan sneered, his lips parting, and quietly, very
insidiously, hatred planted its first seed in his belly.

He tossed Pig-Killer back and forth,
lightly, one hand to another, familiarizing himself even more with
the weight and balance of the elegant weapon. He scowled at the
quiet rapping at his door, sheathed the blade and dropped it into
his boot. Sliding from the bed so he would be standing when he
confronted the Innkeeper, he tossed about in his head what he’d
already rehearsed, what he intended to say.

It was not the Innkeeper, however, who
spoke softly from the other side of the door.

Ravan unbolted the lock and was
greeted by the Fat Wife.

Her face was drawn, her eyes damp, and
she promptly looked away as she pushed her bulk into the room,
turning to re-latch the lock.

Ravan softened immediately. She seemed
distressed, and he briefly looked her over to make certain that the
monster, Pierre, had not tried to hurt her as well. For that, he
would kill him tonight.

As she turned back to him, drying her
hands on her apron, it occurred to Ravan that she’d probably only
just moments ago washed the blood of Pierre from them.

“
Get your things together,
you’re leaving.” Her voice trembled and she moved quickly to his
night chest, carrying a flour sack.

“
Why?” Ravan moved between
her and the chest.

“
Because, if you stay—you
will belong to Duval. You have to leave before he comes for you.”
She said it as if Ravan should have known all along, “He wasn’t
going to just yet, didn’t think you were ready, but Steele has sent
word to him, and he is in town already—close by.”

Ravan reached out, grasping the flour
sack, forcing her to look at him.

She paused, her round eyes dreadfully
sad and pale.

The branches from the giant pecan tree
scratched on the windowpane, a lonely and ominous sound that seemed
to say, “You must listen to her—you must leave.” The wind moaned in
agreement. Snow whipped past the window as the evening light
faded.

Ravan took her hand. “You have been
kind to me, a friend. I’m going nowhere.” He continued, grasping at
purpose. “I work hard. I provide more than I take. I don’t know who
this Duval is, but he doesn’t frighten me. I want to
stay!”

He tried to produce a smile, secretly
knowing she loved when he smiled, but the edge of his lip quivered
sadly and he failed miserably.

“
You can’t, child.” She
pulled her hand from his and took him by the shoulders, shaking him
gently. “Ravan, you don’t understand. Duval isn’t a man you can
fight. He buys what he wants, and he wants boys—men, like
you.”

Ravan looked fierce and unyielding
into her eyes.

She released his shoulders and with a
heavy sigh sat down on the bed, flopping her hands onto her
lap.

The bed creaked beneath her weight,
and Ravan eased down next to her, more comfortable sitting by her
than standing over her. “I don’t want to go. I’m happy here, as
happy as I think I can be.” He defended his position. “Besides,
there are other boys. I would die before I would let him touch me
like that!”

“
Ravan, it’s not like
that. Duval is a man who...” She frowned. “He doesn’t want you
for…” She struggled before continuing, then cut straight to the
matter at hand. “He enlists forces, men, into a mercenary army that
he owns and trains.” She looked out the window as she spoke. “He
will take you and break you. He’ll make what he wants of you—a
killer. You will become a tool for whatever his needs are, and his
needs are plenty.” She turned to face him, pivoting her weight on
the bed. “The likes of you will feed his ego and line his pockets.
I can’t let that happen to you.”

Her urgency was not lost on the boy,
but he persisted. “You have little faith in me if you believe
another man can so easily govern me.” Ravan tossed his head back in
defiance. His voice belied a courage he did not totally
feel.

“
Ravan.” She smiled,
possibly warmed by the fire in the young man. As if to make her
voice more convincing, she softened it. “I have no doubt you could
defend yourself from the devil himself—if it were only him that’s
come, but you are underestimating the danger that you are in.” She
looked away, her mouth cascading into a frown. “It’s not just
Duval. You see, he will come with many, however many it takes to
make you bend to his wishes, and if you don’t?” her voice caught,
“he will kill you.”

Taking a deep breath, she struggled to
control herself. “This is a terrible burden to place upon one so
young, but you don’t have much time, child. Duval has paid for what
he believes to be his, and he is close. He doesn’t choose someone
lightly, and you were singled out. You were chosen long before you
even came here to the Inn.”

Ravan took only a moment to process
the implications of what she said and then bolted from the bed.
“What? You mean while I was at the orphanage?” He was incredulous.
“It’s been planned out for me since before I came here?” He
believed himself horribly betrayed. Who had deceived him so? When
had this all been decided? And now—who was to be
trusted?

She stepped in without delay. “No, I
mean, yes, I mean—child, the old man knew nothing of this. You must
believe me on that, but your abilities, your instincts, with the
hunting and such,” she paused, “that hasn’t been something easily
hidden from the men in this town. Envy is a terrible thing, Ravan.
A mountain stack of bleached antlers is not going to go unnoticed,”
she paused, ashamed to have to tell him, “even if it is hidden
behind a barn at an orphanage.” She hesitated, “They want you
because of what you do, Ravan.”

Her face was drawn, her pale blue eyes
fading to almost clear. “You must listen to me. You’ve been
followed for some time, by men who work for Duval. They will come
for you now that they think it is time.”

Ravan had come to recognize the moods
in her eyes, and he knew she spoke with deep intent. He thought
hard, recalled the circling sets of footprints in the forest—men’s
footprints. There had even been a time, when he’d doubled back,
crisscrossing his own trail and then scampered up the stream to
elude the strange visitors who’d invaded his beloved
forest.

He had sat in the boughs of the thick
firs, watching the confusion on the faces of the men below. He
thought it random circumstance, a hunting party. Perhaps they had
been following the same prey and he’d foiled them. But his gut
instinct told him to elude the men, to remain unseen.

He looked out the window. “I don’t
care. It doesn’t matter who paid whom, I have not consented to this
barter. I refuse to be a part of it.”

She reached for his arm, turning him
gently as a mother would, to look at her. “It isn’t fair, and it
isn’t right. Nevertheless, it is the way of things. You are in
grave danger, child.” Her clear eyes fogged over. She was crying,
but this time she did not look away. “Ravan, I cannot remember such
happiness as I have had at your coming here. I love you child, like
my own son. It pains me more than you can ever know to send you
away like this, but if I don’t, you will become one of Duval’s
monsters. And that I couldn’t bear. I have been part of this
deceit, and for that I pray that God and you can forgive
me.”

She turned, busying herself, reaching
for the flour sack on the bed. “I’ve brought you some food—some
meat and bread.” She tapped him on the forehead and forced a smile.
“You possess whatever else it is that you need to get away, of this
I am sure. I’ve saved a little money for you.” She pressed a small
leather purse with a draw cord into his hand. “You must go, my
child, before it is too late.” A tear trickled down her cheek,
catching and disappearing at the corner of her mouth. “Duval is
close, on his way. I think Steele has sent word to town, and you
know it’s not very far.”

Ravan opened his mouth to object, but
a sudden commotion in the great room downstairs silenced him. He
heard yelling, the voices unfamiliar, and dogs barking distantly
from the front of the Inn. He glanced swiftly at the door, then
back at the woman.

“
Go far—as far away as you
can,” she said urgently, pulling him to the window. “Be off with
you, and...” she paused, her voice catching in her throat, “run,
Ravan. Give them the run of their lives.” She pressed the sack into
his hands.

He stood for a moment staring at her,
the sack hanging limply in his hands. He was stunned from the
sudden horror of it all, confused and afraid. The commotion
continued and he could hear Pierre wailing his story to any who
would listen.