Matabar

Ardi had been hiding in the blackberry bushes for two hours now, watching his grandfather whistling into his humorous mustache as he carved a small animal out of a birch branch that had fallen to the ground. Was it a possum, perhaps? Or a baby squirrel?

Ardi hoped it was a possum.

He already had a baby squirrel that lived on a shelf above his bed, amid several of its siblings. A little fox named Shali, who had an amusingly pointy nose, was one of them. She was accompanied by a little bear named Guta, who was a bit clumsy, always sleepy and quite forgetful, but was no less the boy’s favorite friend. The third... well, the fourth, actually, in their friendly company, was the recently-found squirrel named Skusty.

The boy did not get along well with Skusty.

Skusty was always sneaking something out of the kitchen: cookies, jam, candy. How could Ardi explain to his mother that it wasn’t Ardan Egobar, six years old, one meter and thirty-six centimeters tall, with rosy cheeks, black hair, and amber irises, who stole treats from her kitchen every night?

It was all Skusty’s fault!

But no matter how much Ardi puffed up his chubby cheeks (His mother often told him, ’Ardi, don’t puff up your chubby cheeks at me...’ Even though they weren’t puffed up at all!), and no matter how much he smiled a naive smile and innocently scratched the back of his head, for some reason, only Grandpa believed that a wooden squirrel could steal anything.

Skusty was the worst.

As the only child in all of the Alcade, Ardi really hoped that Grandpa would carve out a possum for him. Or maybe a snow leopard kitten. He’d seen them from time to time. Not the actual kittens, of course, but adult snow leopards. All he had to do was venture upriver to the North Grove, and, of course, make sure no one had noticed his little adventure.

His parents had strictly forbidden Ardi from straying to the other side of the mountain. They’d mentioned something about animal trails, a contract with the Guardians, and other barely understood words.

But then again, if Shali, Guta, and even the pesky Skusty never did anything to harm their two-legged friend (aside from stealing cookies, damn that squirrel), why should the rest of the animals behave any differently?

So off he went.

First, he went up the river to the North Grove, then he snuck through an old hurricane-toppled spruce forest, and then, after a few short dashes through some hills, one could end up at Hawk’s Cliff.

Why was it called Hawk’s Cliff?

That was just what Ardi called it. He liked to name things. His mother said it was because it bothered him that he’d only ever known four names his whole life: his own, his mother’s, his father’s, and his grandfather’s, though...you couldn’t really call that a name. Everybody just called the old man "Grandpa."

And so, while situated upon Hawk’s Cliff, and also hiding behind a rock — which he’d named The Ogre’s Pimply Ass — when the weather was good, and with the blessing of the mountain gods and some incredible luck, one could gaze across the gorge at the high peaks of the Alcade. Their wild forests, swift rivers, majestic lakes, and endless waves of stone stretched all the way to the horizon. And there, sometimes, the boy could even see the snow leopards, the kings of the mountain peaks.

"Spare a handful?"

Ardi jumped, not realizing at first that it had been his grandfather’s voice that had pulled him out of his dreams of that old adventure. After all, it had been almost three days since the last e-x-p-e-d-i-t-i-o-n, which was an eternity in a child’s imagination! Ardi even felt as if he had aged backwards, though that might have been influenced by the fact that yesterday had been his birthday.

His mother had made his favorite blackberry pie. Also...

"How’s it going up there?"

"What... where?"

"In the clouds."

Ardi looked at the sky. Maybe his grandfather was teasing him; there was not a single cloud to be seen today. And the rain, if Skusty’s predictions were to be believed, wouldn’t come down from the western slopes until the evening of the third day. Not that Ardi usually had much faith in the cunning little squirrel, but Skusty’s weather forecasts had never been wrong.

"So, what’s the verdict? Will I see any blackberries today?" Grandpa inquired without turning around, seemingly absorbed in his work. "Or did you plan to eat the whole bush yourself?"

"I didn’t plan anything," the boy replied with a furrowed brow, though he refrained from popping another handful of berries into his mouth.

Instead, he tucked them into the pocket of his simple jacket, which was a creation of his mother’s hands. As were his gray pants; she’d also knitted him a hat adorned with a whimsical pattern depicting two deer, a shirt with raccoon spots (often mistaken for stripes, but falsely so!), and practically all of the family’s clothing. Except for the shoes. Those were his father’s contribution, brought from somewhere in the v-i-l-l-a-g-e. The nature of that place still remained a mystery to Ardi.

But he hoped to visit it one day.

His father had promised him he could.

"Ar..."

"Yes, yes!" The boy exclaimed, interrupting the old man, then stumbled out of his hiding place and ran to his grandfather.

Proudly, though a bit scratched up and dirty, he held out a handful of blackberries.

Discontent flashed in Grandpa’s strange eyes.

Ardi had often avoided them as a child. But now that he considered himself an adult (despite his parents’ differing opinions), Ardi was undaunted by their yellow hue, the vertical slit pupils, or the overly sharp and elongated fangs in his grandfather’s mouth.

Grandpa shifted his bushy eyebrows and feigned a scowl. The deep wrinkles on his broad forehead gathered like the folds in a crumpled sheet; his gray, sparse hair draped over his frail shoulders, and those same fangs peeked out from beneath a scarred upper lip.

"Didn’t your mother teach you not to interrupt your elders, you little rascal?"

"Grandfather, I’m not little anymore," Ardi countered with a frown. "And besides... what does the word ’rascal’ mean?"

Grandfather hiccupped, his expression quickly returning to his usual friendly one. He put his knife down and looked around, as if afraid that Ardi’s mother might suddenly emerge from the kitchen with a rolling pin and a floor cloth. Sometimes, that was how she greeted the boy’s father when he appeared from the other side of the ravine.

"Ask your dad when he..." Grandfather paused, ruffled the boy’s hair, and sighed. "Did he promise to return in time for the celebration?"

Ardi nodded, his gaze dropping as he ran his fingers over the shavings left behind by his grandfather’s craftsmanship, small and prickly to the touch.

Grandpa’s hand moved from Ardi’s head to his shoulder, pulling him closer. Grandpa had always seemed like an old oak tree to Ardi. He must have been mighty and tall once, but now, having survived many storms, forest fires, and the relentless work of wood-boring beetles, he was wrinkly (or dry) and decrepit.

Still, in his presence, Ardi still felt something...like when, on a bad day, when the relentless downpour tries to grab you by the scruff of your neck and the whipping wind keeps slashing at your cheeks, you suddenly find refuge in a warm place where it smells inviting and no one is in a hurry.

Grandpa always smelled of the forest. And snow. Only fools claimed that snow had no smell. Ardi was sure that snow smelled just like his grandfather.

"Did I ever tell you the story of Prince Edwin and how he tricked the water spirits?"

"How he bound them with ice magic and convinced them they were earth spirits?" Grandfather muttered under his breath at that.

"And what about the story of Princess Veselina, who crossed the boiling lake in a single bound to..."

"To meet the son she thought was dead," Ardi interjected.

Again, that grumbling came, sounding like the growl of a furious wildcat.

"Grandpa, you tell these stories every time my father comes home late from work!" Ardi laughed.

"That damned asshole could afford to do so less often... I’d not be running out of stories so soon if he did!"

Ardi was puzzled by this other word he hadn’t heard before. It seemed useless to ask his mother, so he decided to ask Skusty about it instead. The cheeky little squirrel often said things that made Guta and Shali raise their voices so that Ardi couldn’t understand him.

"How long has it been?" Grandpa started rummaging through his pockets, but as usual, he had left his notebook somewhere in the kitchen.

It was such a large room that Ardi had once spent hours playing hide-and-seek in it with his parents. For some reason, his grandfather had burst out laughing when he’d heard of the boy’s undisputed victory. Why he’d laughed so much still remained a mystery to Ardi.

"Fifteen days, fourteen hours and forty-two minutes."

"Really? How did you figure that out?"

"I looked at my watch," the boy replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Grandpa just smiled. This time, it was a different kind of smile. There were no fangs in it. And his wrinkles didn’t mimic the appearance of a mountain stream.

"Since it’s your birthday..."

"That was yesterday!"

Grandfather tightened his grip on the boy slightly. Not to hurt him, but just to... Ardi didn’t know why. But whenever Grandpa did that, it was a sign that the boy was doing something wrong.

"Never interrupt when someone is talking to you, Ardi," Grandpa’s eyes shone with a steely intensity. "Always listen to the end, and then, believe me, you’ll discover much more in the words of others than in your own."

Ardi scowled. He didn’t understand any of it...

"You’ll understand eventually, you little disaster," and once again, his hair was tousled. "Since it was your birthday yesterday, I have another present for you. And don’t ask me why. If you start bombarding me with your endless questions again, we’ll be here the whole evening! And I was hoping to get my hands on the remains of last night’s pie before it’s completely gone."

Pie... Ardi’s stomach rumbled. Remembering his request, the boy handed his grandfather a handful of blackberries, then took a few for himself. They sat in silence for a few moments, the old man and the boy, side by side.

Grandfather’s cane lay beside him, while Ardi swung his legs, occasionally kicking pebbles at it, aiming for its shiny top.

"And this gift is..." The boy finally ventured.

"Oh, it’s the most precious gift one person can give another."

The boy’s heart raced with anticipation. The most precious gift? Could it be a new knife? To venture into the forest without a knife was unthinkable. Despite his father’s reluctance, Ardi had always kept a small, sharp knife in a brown sheath attached to his belt. However, after his numerous adventures, his attempts to emulate his grandfather’s craftsmanship, and even after using it only when necessary, the knife had seen better days.

Or perhaps...

Ardi’s gaze drifted to his boots, which had been patched more times than he could count, soon to be outgrown and become another waste for the family. Could the gift be boots sturdy enough to cross rivers, rain-soaked ground, and thick underbrush?

Or perhaps...

"An answer," his grandfather revealed, causing the boy to lean in so hard that he seemed to shrink before his very eyes.

"An answer?" Ardi echoed, confused.

"Yes, an answer!" Grandfather’s eyes sparkled as if capturing the essence of the night sky. "But it’s not an easy one. Easy answers, Ardi, are like autumn leaves. You step on them, savoring the crunch and rustle, enjoying them in the moment, but knowing they hold no life. This answer is special, as rare as amber — much like the color of your eyes, named after your grandmother."

Ardi had never known his grandmother, not even her name, nor the reason for all the mystery surrounding her.

"But!" Grandfather interjected, raising his index finger.

"You must think hard before you ask. Such a rare, sincere answer should not be given twice. What value would it have if it were? So, think carefully and ask only one question."

Just one question. In the last ten minutes alone, Ardi had buried countless questions in his mind. Aside from his father, few had the patience to indulge his unrelenting curiosity, often running for cover after twenty or thirty questions. They naively assumed that Ardi, still a mere boy, would simply forget these questions. But they, the "adults," failed to realize that Ardan Egobar had outgrown the naivety of childhood!

Ardi wondered.

A jumble of thoughts swirled in his head. What did his father do? Why didn’t they ever go down — to the v-i-l-l-a-g-e? Why didn’t any of the people whose songs the boy sometimes heard and whose lights he sometimes saw go up to meet them? Why didn’t anyone but his grandfather believe that he was really playing with his wooden friends, and that they were playing with him in return? What made it cold in winter and hot in summer? Why did it rain? What made him want to go to the bathroom, sometimes for a long time, but more often, he was quickly done with it? What did it mean to be an asshole? And who are assholes? He was also curious about a dozen other words that Grandpa had used and then hidden the fact he’d done so from Mom.

There were so many questions that Ardi’s attempt to count all the stars in the sky didn’t seem so dizzying by comparison.

But there was one question that interested Ardi the most.

Across the creek was a small clearing. Though there was no barn, no corral, and no crates of winter food, the whole family went there every few months to weed the area and spread river sand along the paths. And they were very careful with the boulders they brought down from the mountains.

They didn’t end up in a tight pile or a nice pattern, as was the case in some places in the Alcade, but just wide enough so that a table and a few chairs could be placed between each of the stones.

And there were symbols on them, painted in a strange black paint. The rain couldn’t wash it away, the wind couldn’t shake it off, and no matter how much you rubbed it with a cloth, you couldn’t wipe it off. Ardi knew this for certain. He’d already tried. That was the only time in his life where he got a real scolding from his grandfather. He’d never seen him so angry before or since.

And then his father had told him that their relatives slept under those rocks. Ardi didn’t understand why they slept underground when they could climb into bed and wrap themselves in a blanket, an unparalleled pleasure. The only thing missing in that picture was the blackberry pie.

The boy’s stomach rumbled again.

"What are they dreaming about?" Ardi whispered, his voice barely audible.

Grandfather’s right eyebrow arched in surprise, then he turned his gaze toward the house poking out from the edge of the forest. Somewhere beyond it, a stream babbled, its water murmuring near the boulders marked with strange paint.

Grandfather’s wrinkles crinkled once more, not in anger this time, but in a contemplation that seemed to carry the weight of many untold stories. It reminded Ardi of the time he and his father had been fixing the roof and the boy had snapped the rope, causing him to fall and bruise his hand on the hard ground.

Had he unintentionally hurt Grandpa?

But that hadn’t been his intention and...

"It’s all right," Grandpa smiled, a gesture that seemed as worn and enduring as the well-used furniture in their home. "That’s a complicated question, Ardi. But since I’ve promised you an honest answer, and remember, you little rascal, that a promise is the most precious and fragile treasure one can have..."

Ardi scowled. He still vividly remembered how upset his mother had been when he had broken her flower vase. Surely that was more fragile.

How could a promise be fragile if it wasn’t something you could see or touch?

But Ardi was used to Grandpa’s way of speaking, often filled with startling words of w-i-s-d-o-m.

"Ardi, do you remember the story of the Etherly girl?" Grandfather inquired.

The boy’s frown deepened. Among the countless legends and stories he had heard from his grandfather, the tale of Etherly was barely even a whisper in his memory.

"Was that when you spent an hour explaining how a girl didn’t listen to her brother’s long story and then ended up as Spiderbug’s feast?"

Grandpa nodded.

"Yes, I remember it!" Ardi exclaimed, his concern causing him to jump up on the bench. "You don’t have to retell it!"

Grandpa just smiled, his expression a mixture of jest and indescribable warmth. It was a smile that made Ardi feel the same comfort and security as when he was snuggled up under a cozy blanket in winter. His nose might be cold, but the warmth enveloping him was like a lullaby, lulling him into slumber.

"Do you not find yourself to be a bit like Etherly?"

"Me?" Asked the child. "But I’m a boy! She’s a girl. I mean, I’ve never seen a girl before, but Papa told me the difference between a deer and a fawn. I guess I’m different too."

"Of course you are. But I’m not talking about looks... Well, okay. What I mean is, I’m not going to give you a quick or easy answer. You’re going to have to listen and think," Grandfather narrowed his eyes at him, and Ardi felt as if two wolves had snuck into the henhouse once again.

With bloodthirsty eyes, they stared at their opponent, who held a miniature steel fang in his paws. Ardi had been very frightened, of course, but he’d gotten over it! He even had the scar on his chest to prove it! His mother had been proud of him, but his father had scolded him terribly and wouldn’t let him leave the house for a week.

Gathering his courage, the boy replied with determination, "I’m ready!"

"Then listen," Grandfather resumed his carving, shaping wood into a new companion for Ardi. "Many years ago..."

"How many years?"

Grandfather coughed, making a sound reminiscent of a fish’s tail slapping the water, a word Ardi always had trouble remembering.

"So many that if you collected all the sand from the riverbank and tried to count it, you’d still fall short of the correct number."

The boy gasped in amazement, "That would be..." He pondered, his fingers curling in thought, "...more than a thousand, right?"

"Much, much more," Grandfather confirmed. "And if you stop asking hasty questions, you’ll get to the answers much faster."

"But how will I know the answer if I don’t ask?"

Grandfather simply smiled. Ardi shook his head and pounded his fist against his chest, then pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, knuckles first. It was his and his grandfather’s secret sign, not to be shown to anyone else. It meant something like, "I will be on my best behavior."

The forest around them slumbered.

Leaves danced playfully, evoking images of flames roiling in their smoky fireplace — a fixture his father had always intended to repair, but, as his mother often remarked, he always seemed to find more pressing concerns.

A chill wind crept beneath the boy’s jacket, its bite foreshadowing the coming harshness of the months ahead. The migrating birds were already gathering in flocks, the echoes of the snowy peaks on their wings. They were leaving the Alcade, heading south to the prairies.

Ardi had heard his mother’s stories of the prairie — she had been born there. He had heard, and could not believe, that there were lakes of grass, and that the land was so flat that even a boulder seemed as high as a mountain by comparison.

"Once upon a time, there was nothing..." Ardi was about to open his mouth, but he noticed that his grandfather’s wrinkles were gradually disappearing. After thinking about it, he decided that it would be better to remain silent for a while. "The light came on. If you ask me... and you will ask me later... where it came from, I will not answer you. No one will. There are many opinions. Some believe that it happened by accident, others that the light came from the original world that was destroyed by the gods, and that our world is one of the many fragments that were created as a result of that catastrophe. Others believe that the Light was brought by the Face of Light."

Ardi remembered his mother’s stories about the Face of Light. She’d told him that, as a child, when she’d had to cross the prairie, she’d met a priest of that god. He had escorted her by stagecoach to the settlement where the boy’s parents had met. Grandfather and Father never allowed themselves to speak ill of the Face of Light and the beliefs tied to him in the presence of the boy’s mother, but when his mother was out of earshot, they...

"A god credited with being the light," Grandpa snorted. "What a useless god... Just don’t tell your mother about this."

Ardi ran his finger over his lips to show that he had them buttoned tightly.

Grandfather smiled, nodded, and continued the story. "When all things came into being out of the Firstborn Chaos," Grandfather looked at the frowning boy, who was gripping the edge of the bench so tightly his hands were shaking. "Chaos, little punk, that’s the soup you made for us two years ago."

"Skusty’s recipe?" Ardi asked.

Grandpa grimaced. "I’ll remember that boiled mud, flavored with dirt and sludge, for a long time."

"But Skusty said everyone liked it!"

Grandpa just shook his head and ruffled his hair again. "Never trust squirrels, they’re real assholes," he coughed and continued the story. "So, from this soup from which all elements and all things were brewed, came many of the old gods. Most of them died with the arrival of the civilizations of the human kingdoms. They were no longer believed in. And belief to a god is like food to a man. No food, no man. No faith, no god."

Ardi didn’t really understand what his grandfather was saying. He didn’t know who the gods were. His father had forbidden his grandfather from telling Ardi anything about the strange wooden statues scattered throughout the forests of the Alcade. Besides various figures — elders, young husbands, old maidens — they often depicted fairytale animals. An eagle with four wings, or a bear dressed in the stars of the dawn sky, a lynx that looked like a foal, or a snow leopard with four tails. But Grandfather, when Father was late, would sometimes mention that these were the patrons of the Matabar.

Matabar was the name of Ardi’s father’s and grandfather’s people. Mother, on the other hand, had been born in the great settlement of Cavest, which had burned down in a fire, while her family had come from the Kingdom of Gales, which had faded into history and become one of the Pillars of the Empire.

"And so, my little weasel, every nation — from the humans with their machines and cities, the orcs of the prairies, the dwarves of the mountain, the giants of the far north, the Fae hidden in the shadows of the hills, all the way to the inhabitants of the sea floor and the skies above, and many others — has its own myth. Their own story. Their own understanding of what those who have fallen asleep see."

"Asleep underground?" Ardi said before he could stop himself.

But Grandfather wasn’t angry.

"Not everyone accompanies those who have gone underground, boy," he said just as brokenly as he had smiled the other day. "But that is a matter of the body. As for the others..."

"Others... what?"

Grandfather shrugged.

"Some call it the mind, others the spirit or soul, and others still call it the spark. It doesn’t matter. It’s just a title, not a name."

Ardi nodded. His grandfather had always told him it was important to know names. If you knew a name, you knew who it belonged to. That was also why you shouldn’t give your full name to the first person you meet. To get Ardan used to this, his grandfather and mother never called him anything but Ardi. His father, however, always resisted their efforts and called him by his full name.

"You will learn about the other nations yourself, if you want to, of course," Grandpa hesitated. How can one not want to learn something interesting? As Shali used to say — without new knowledge, there is no new food. Ardi had no idea what that meant. But it sounded mysterious. "As for your father’s people — we used to think... to believe that our departed travel along secret forest paths, invisible to the living, straight to the high mountain peaks. There, they shed their flesh and reappear in the form of the spirit of their god."

"Their god?"

"Of course," Grandfather touched the simple, blackened, peeling amulet around his neck. If you squinted hard enough, you could recognize that its wooden shape depicted an eagle. "Every Matabar has their own god. But we call them something else — patron spirits. And when the time comes, we shed our flesh and become like our spirits. An extension of them. A part of them. But we’re still ourselves."

Ardi started to get a bit of a headache.

"Sorry, you little asshole," Grandpa ruffled the boy’s hair again. And now Mom was going to scold Ardi for being unkempt! "I don’t know how else to explain it, and I can’t think of the right words for someone your age. So, this is the most honest answer I can give you."

"Thank you," Ardi replied. He looked down at his feet. The wood shavings had mixed amusingly with the colorful leaves. It was just like the soup in the squirrel’s recipe. "What happened to Grandma?"

"Your grandmother?" Grandpa’s eyes briefly began to resemble a lake in early spring. They were very deep and tinted with something clear and slightly moist. "She became the brook our house stands on."

"Is it possible to become a brook?"

"Of course," Grandfather replied calmly. Ardi silently opened and closed his mouth like a fish several times. There were even more questions in his head than before. So many that the boy was afraid they would come out of his ears.

"But now that that’s over with, let’s see if you’re up to the task," Grandpa pulled back his coat and showed him a small snow leopard. It had whiskers, four legs, and an incredibly long, fluffy tail. "Tell me its name..."

He held the figure out to Ardi, who felt the warm surface of the toy in his hands. The freshly-carved wood still remembered the warmth of his grandfather’s fingers and now shared it with Ardi. The boy lifted the piece to his nose and breathed in its scent. It smelled of birch, earth, and a little bit of steel. Ardi looked into the snow leopard’s eyes. They were big and dark, like the bottom of an empty well far from home.

"Remember, Ardi," Grandpa whispered in his ear. "Show me, don’t tell me."

But in order to show someone a name, one had to hear it first. And so, Ardi listened.

He listened as the snow leopard’s paws lightly brushed the snowy stones of the distant peaks of the Alcade. They were almost inaudible, barely perceptible in the silence of the high cliffs. He felt how carefully this majestic and wise beast moved, climbing higher and higher, so that in a single leap, like an eagle swooping down onto the back of its prey, it could end the hunt with one strike. The boy felt a few stings on his palm from its sharp, strong claws. He ran his finger along its thick fur. He looked into eyes that showed neither pity nor compassion.

After his encounter with the wolves, the boy would forever be aware of the fact that for those with fangs and claws, there could only be prey and hunters in this world. And his grandfather had told him, keeping it a secret from his father, that there was nothing wrong with that. Ardi now stood beside the Alcade’s fiercest predator. And the stealthiest. The hunter who followed the paths of the eagles and then disappeared in swirls of snow.

And Ardi had heard its name. But now he had to show it.

He reached out his hand to the distant peaks of the Alcade and grabbed a handful of snow, sprinkling it over the figure. Pulling out his knife and arming himself with his grandfather’s cane, he ground a bit of steel powder and dipped the snow leopard’s claws into it. Picking up the figure again, Ardi placed it in the path of the birds, then lowered it to the ground, where he caught a sliver of the night sky that appeared on the horizon and covered the beast’s eyes with it. When he was done, he whispered into the snow leopard’s ear:

"Hello, Ergar," and continued as his grandfather had taught him. "Be my friend, for we are not yet brothers. You and I are from different tribes, but we live on the same land. You keep the land from your side, and I will keep it from mine. And when our paths cross, we will know that we are from the same spirit."

"Well done, Ardi," his grandfather patted him on the back and then covered the figure with his own hand.

When he removed it... the small wooden figure was still lying in the boy’s lap. After all, Ardi couldn’t really take a piece of the night, bring in snow from distant peaks, and turn steel into claws.

But still...

"Hello, Kitten of Two Tribes," the snow leopard whispered before falling asleep.

"Ergar must rest," Grandfather spoke. "He has come from the depths of the mountains you call the Alcade. And he needs to regain his strength. Put him on the shelf with your other friends — they will help him."

Ardi nodded. Grandfather had never doubted that the wooden figures could play with the boy.

"You..." Grandfather started to say something else, but suddenly turned back to the house. His hands clenched around his cane and his gaze became somehow different. The change reminded Ardi of his own knife in a way.

"Run to the barn, lock the doors and don’t come out until I call for you."

"But..."

Grandfather just looked at him, and Ardi was already back in those blackberry bushes. He made his way through them to the barn. It was a small building at the edge of their property. It was a bit worn down, but with a sturdy roof, though there were holes in the walls that Grandfather would fix soon. There were some tools Ardi didn’t know the names of inside, and a cupboard with a heavy lock.

The boy had tried to open it once, but his father wouldn’t even let him ask what was inside. He said that if the spirits had mercy, the boy would never know the contents of the mysterious cabinet. Of course, Ardi had tried more than once to find out the truth about what was inside, but he had never succeeded. But at least he knew for sure that it wasn’t a carbine or a revolver or cartridges of gunpowder. Those were what the boy’s father had kept on the wall. Ardi had never felt the urge to pick up a gun. His curiosity had been entirely sated by the scene that had been the cause of several of his nightmares.

He had not been entirely honest with his grandfather when he’d said that it was his father who had shown him the difference between a deer and a fawn. It was because, against his father’s orders, Ardi had followed in Hector’s footsteps and seen what it meant to hunt. And now he knew what the thunder of the iron rod and the resulting acrid, foul smell meant — blood and pain.

So why was the boy thinking about weapons now? Because he hadn’t made it to the barn. He had frozen in place in a bush of junipers. Pulling back a branch, the boy couldn’t take his eyes off the clearing near their porch. His mother was standing there. She was wearing her usual blue dress with its wide skirts, her apron spotlessly clean as always, and she was holding a carbine. The muzzle was pointed downwards, but her hands gripped the wooden stock tightly. The polished steel reflected her brown hair and sparkling, soft brown eyes. Ardi had a beautiful mother. He knew that because of what his father had said.

Ardi’s grandfather had halted in front of her. How he’d gotten here faster than Ardi was a mystery. But what interested the boy more was something he’d never seen before. Another man. Yes, there was actually a man standing in front of him, at the edge of the forest and near the clearing, only fifty meters away. He was tall enough to reach his grandfather’s chin.

The stranger’s hair was covered by a leather hat with a high, rounded crown, which was also concave at the top, and it had a wide brim. The man’s face, covered with stubble and small pits, reminded Ardi of sandpaper. His yellowish teeth were constantly chewing on some sort of dirt that made his saliva the same shade. The man was dressed in a patched brown coat, black pants with obvious signs of recent repairs, and high boots with strange little spiky circles on the heels. They were round little things with sharp points.

His voice was deep, but softer than Hector’s.

"Where is Hector?" The stranger spat yellow slime at his feet.

"What are you..."

"Don’t mess with me, old man," the stranger interrupted, pulling back his cloak to reveal a gray vest. No, not the vest itself, but a silver ornament in the shape of a crossed sword and pistol. Strange — Ardi had gotten the impression from his grandfather’s stories that only women and wizards wore jewelry. "My name is Sheriff Kelly Bryan."

"Sheriff?" Grandpa frowned. "I remember what a Sheriff looked like once. And he didn’t look like you."

"Yeah? Then what do I look like to you, old man?"

"Someone my daughter-in-law is going to shoot the goddamned balls off if he doesn’t get out of here right now."

Ardi’s mother raised her carbine, hoisted it to her shoulder, and clicked the bolt. The boy’s heart skipped a few beats. But the strange man with the funny name of Sheriffkelly didn’t even seem to notice the gun.

"Assaulting an officer of the Empire in the course of their duty?" He grinned, pulled up his pants and displayed his ammunition belt and the two holstered revolvers there. "I remember when we were kids, we used to scare the girls around the campfire with stories of scary, crazy half-humans living on the mountain. And to be honest, you’re not scary at all. Crazy, maybe, but not scary."

Ardi didn’t like the way Sheriffkelly said that. Yes, he thought his grandfather was a tad too... strange. But that was his grandfather!

"According to your own rules, valley folk are not allowed to go up the mountain..."

"...without a legitimate reason," the stranger interrupted again. "Sheriff Daniel, old man, is not standing before you right now because his rotten guts have become dinner for the night beasts... Maybe you had something to eat too, dark ones?"

Even from his hiding spot, Ardi could see his grandfather’s hands gripping his cane tightly and his mother’s index finger resting on the trigger.

"Calm down, lady," Sheriffkelly waved at her. What kind of strange names were these? Sheriffkelly, Sheriffdaniel... Were they brothers? And few night beasts would eat rotten entrails. Fresh ones, perhaps. But rotten... "I understand your joy at meeting another man, but you could be a little gentler. "

"You wouldn’t be able to handle five minutes of my gentleness, you slug," the boy’s mother hissed. Yes, his mother, the same person who was always affectionate and brushed Ardi’s hair very gently, but what did that have to do with it? The stranger just shrugged.

"I came here in peace, actually," he said in a calm tone.

"I don’t know how humans do it, but we don’t insult those we come to in peace," Grandfather replied sternly.

"Fair enough. But I would like to point out that it was the lady who took out the iron first," the stranger nodded in the direction of the carbine. "But, well… Your company, believe me, is no more pleasant to me than mine is to you. So, I’ll ask you once more, as the rightful representative of the authority of the New Monarchy in this fucked-up country. Where is Hunter Hector Egobar?"

There was silence in the clearing for a while. It was uncomfortable. Viscous, like tar. Ardi was afraid someone might suffocate in it.

"He’s still not back from the Alcade," Mom finally said.

"Up in the mountains, eh?" The stranger stretched. "How long has it been?"

"Just over two weeks, Sheriff," she said the word so strangely that Ardi wondered if he’d gotten the stranger’s name right.

"So, he’ll be back soon," Sheriff... Kelly muttered under his breath. "Then I’ll return in two days," he said, looking down at the boy’s mother’s belly. Ardi was used to his mother’s big tummy by now. He kept asking what she’d eaten to make her so fat, but no one would answer him. All they would say was that the boy was in for a surprise. "You should come down to the town. For once, the city didn’t send us a stinking drunk, but a sane medic. He prefers whores to whiskey. And I mean no offense here, ma’am. I am merely advising you to see him about the birth. I do believe you’ll soon be in labor."

"Thank you for your concern, Sheriff," Ardi’s mother said slowly, with lengthy pauses. "Now, if you care about your balls and the medic’s whores, you’ll leave my meadow and this mountain."

"As you wish," the stranger spat again, then waved his hat oddly and headed down the path. Mom didn’t put down the carbine until a few minutes later.

Once again, Ardi felt something akin to that time he’d heard a noise that had turned out to be hungry wolves.