The Feral Path: Homeward II

by Barb Hendee

  “I can’t take you down yet,” he said, “not until the ceiling has better supports.”

  “No… that’s all right.” She paused, looking almost troubled. “I was wondering if you might be able to have the workers prepare a small cavern just for me, just for my coffin.”

  The request stunned him. He didn’t know why.

  But he felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. Turning away, he answered, “Yes. Whatever you wish. I’ll give the order.”

  · · · · ·

  Spring melted into summer, which cooled into autumn, and Teesha was deeply content. By mid-autumn, the warehouse was finished, and she and Rashed had jointly hired an overseer and dockworkers to handle the daily business. They’d found importing wine, ale, and wool to be the most profitable—with lumber and tobacco following close behind.

  They’d also made deals with outlying farmers and local fisherman for dried fish, ground wheat, and root vegetables, which could be sold directly to the crews of seafaring vessels for a small profit.

  They paid their workers a fair wage for a fair day’s work, and Rashed even counseled the men to set up a fund into which they would each donate five percent of their wages, so that if any of them was injured or fell ill, he could be paid a portion of the fund to ensure his family did not starve while he recovered. The men all liked this idea and asked Rashed to oversee the fund himself. They feared his icy stare and cold demeanor—and avoided being alone with him—but they trusted him with their money.

  He and Teesha had no trouble hiring enough help. The two of them worked as close partners, making all decisions together, and Teesha couldn’t remember ever having been so happy. Best of all were the living quarters and the sitting room at the back of the warehouse. He’d told her to spare no expense in decorating, and she’d taken him at his word, ordering furniture from the king’s city of Bela.

  The sitting room sported curved couches upholstered in green velvet, braided rugs, and a variety of silver ornaments sitting on polished tables. One of the walls was graced with their fine painting of the northern seacoast, and she kept her sewing basket in this room because Rashed always enjoyed walking in and seeing her engaged in intricate needlework. He marveled at how she could make vivid scenes come to life through mere embroidery.

  But their living quarters were well protected by solid locks and doors and were absolutely off limits to anyone in the warehouse, including the overseer. Rashed had built a trap door in the floor of the sitting room, and before sunrise, the three of them slipped below ground, into the darkness, to sleep out the day in their coffins.

  Rashed was pleased by all he had built and the life he’d created for them here. Edwan seemed to have at least accepted the situation, and Teesha helped with this by making an effort to spend some time alone with him upon waking and just before falling dormant.

  For the most part, all was well.

  Only one thing troubled her.

  Ratboy had shown no interest in their new business. Teesha was well aware that Rashed didn’t encourage him and indeed tended to treat him as if his presence among them was tolerated as opposed to wanted. For her part, Teesha preferred having a larger family, and she believed in safety in numbers. She wished Rashed would treat Ratboy a little better and make him feel more included.

  But this seemed beyond Rashed’s scope.

  As a result, Ratboy vanished more and more, off on his own, and Teesha had begun to worry about how he spent all that time. A few days ago, she had been dealing with some local wool merchants when she’d heard of two young women gone missing sometime in the last ten nights.

  Two so close together was alarming.

  Her first impulse was to inform Rashed, but she changed her mind, vowing to keep a closer eye on Ratboy herself. She’d brought him back from the edge once; she could do so again.

  · · · · ·

  Ratboy was in the mood for a fight.

  Normally, when he hungered for more than just feeding, he preferred young women in threadbare dresses with long hair. But as he stalked the streets of Miiska tonight, he wanted something that could fight back.

  He didn’t know why… or why he felt so dissatisfied.

  Rashed had built them a haven of safety beyond compare, and Teesha had worked her usual magic in turning it into a home. Ratboy enjoyed the evenings when she spent time teaching him to read and write. But as the business grew, she’d grown busy with it, always dealing with this merchant or that sea captain.

  She had little time for him anymore. He knew nothing about business, nor, if truth be told, did he want to. He wanted no possible comparisons between himself and Rashed.

  It appeared that Rashed was a born merchant—strange for someone who’d been a soldier before and after rising as one of the undead. Ratboy would only look like an incompetent shadow next to Rashed should he try to pitch in and help at the warehouse.

  So he’d slipped off by himself more and more, thinking again on the nights when he’d hunted with Parko.

  Ten nights ago, he’d gone too far and killed a girl while feeding. The experience had left him glowing in the aftermath, feeling more alive, more in control than he had since the previous winter when they’d first arrived here. He’d only been able to hold back for a few nights before he’d dragged another girl into an alley and fed with glorious abandon.

  But what would Teesha say if she found out?

  Tonight, he was angry with himself, angry with his existence, and angry with his inability to stop. He longed to attack something that might strike back at him.

  Hiding behind a small shop, he watched down the way toward a place called Dunction’s. The front door opened and a sailor stepped out, unsteady on his feet. The man turned and shouted back inside, “You’re all cheats and liars! Stealing a man’s coin. Cheats you are!”

  The sailor stumbled away from the tavern, and Ratboy guessed that he’d been unlucky in a card game. His luck was about to get worse.

  “Did they fleece you in there?” Ratboy called, moving closer. “Same thing happened to me last week. Lost all my pay and nearly broke my mother’s heart.”

  Men who lost at cards quickly fixed on any comrade of ill fortune.

  “Cheats and liars,” the sailor repeated, stumbling toward Ratboy. “What game were you playing?”

  “Faro.”

  The sailor grunted and then squinted. “Me too. Have you been paid again? Could you spare the price of a drink? We could go someplace else.”

  “I’d never refuse someone who’d been cheated in there.” Ratboy turned in between two buildings, down an alley, leaning idly in the shadows. “But I know a better place a little further inland.”

  It was almost too easy as the sailor grinned and followed him, stepping closer, moving into the darkness.

  Ratboy grabbed him by his throat. The sailor nearly toppled in his ale-addled state, and Ratboy took a swing, catching him across the jaw—hard but not too hard.

  “What the…” the sailor stuttered, then let out a guttural roar and swung back.

  Ratboy easily danced away, letting the drunken, clumsy man come after him. The sailor swung and missed again. Ratboy’s glee rose as he enjoyed his own superiority. Then suddenly, he wanted to feed, to kill.

  He darted in, slamming the man against the sidewall and driving both fangs into his throat. The sailor choked and bucked, but Ratboy held on, draining him in savage gulps until his struggles weakened and finally stopped.

  A loud gasp sounded from the mouth of the alley.

  Whirling on the balls of his feet, Ratboy let go and the sailor’s body toppled down the wall.

  Someone stood just beyond the shadows and out in the street. He was excessively fat, wearing a purple brocade tunic, forest green sash around his fat belly, and a purple cap with a white feather.

  Ratboy hissed and tensed to charge. The man had seen him feeding.

  “Darien!” the man shouted, stepping backward.

  Almost instantly, three men in leather
hauberks, wearing swords, came running from the tavern.

  “Constable?” the one in the lead called. “Are you injured?”

  Panic flooded Ratboy. He could probably take all four of them, but it would be a messy out in the open, and he’d be seen by more of the towns’ people as they heard the commotion.

  With little choice, he turned and fled the other way.

  · · · · ·

  Ratboy was still in a full-blown panic when he reached the warehouse, wondering how he could possibly fix the damage he’d done tonight. He tried to calm himself before unlocking the backdoor and making his way to the sitting room.

  There was Teesha, on a green velvet couch, reading through a ledger.

  Looking up, she smiled at him. “You’re back early. Rashed is out front inspecting a delivery of wine.” She put the ledger down. “Would you like to read to me for a while? I can sew while you—”

  Then she took a closer look at his face, and he realized he wasn’t hiding anything from her.

  She dropped the ledger on the couch and rose. “What’s wrong?”

  Her offer to have him read to her made him more aware of all that he had to lose. Why had he killed that sailor? If he just could go back to the beginning of this night, he’d have stayed home.

  The inner door crashed open, and Rashed strode in.

  Before Ratboy could dart away, Rashed closed the distance and grabbed him by the throat, slamming him against the wall and taking a swing in the same instant. As Rashed’s fist connected with his jaw, white flashed before his eyes, and then he was falling.

  Blinding pain didn’t frighten him. This wasn’t the first time he’d been beaten in life—or after death. Instead, his mind went back to the memory of Rashed striking Parko just before banishing him.

  “Rashed!” Teesha cried. “Stop!”

  A flicker of Ratboy’s sight returned, but his ears still rung.

  “Half the men in town are out searching!” Rashed nearly shouted. “Five of them were just out front of the warehouse… warning me to get inside. The constable came upon a filthy urchin drinking blood from the throat of a sailor. The sailor’s dead—and the constable got a clear look at the killer.”

  Ratboy groaned. This was worse than he could have imagined. The fat man was the town constable?

  Rashed reached down and grabbed the front of Ratboy’s shirt, lifting him and slamming him against the wall again. “Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve ruined this town for us. All our hard work. Our home. It’s gone now.”

  Pain replaced the anger in Rashed’s voice. It was so thick that Ratboy felt regret beyond simply having been caught. He would have given much to undo his actions tonight. Even as his vision cleared, he fully expected Rashed to strike him again.

  But to his surprise, Teesha stepped over and put her hand on Rashed’s arm. “Leave him alone.” For once, her voice was not light or cheerful or politely pleading. She was dead serious.

  Rashed blinked and looked down at her.

  “Was it an accident?” she asked Ratboy. “You were feeding and went too far, and then by bad luck, you were seen?”

  When she put it that way, it didn’t quite sound so treacherous on his part.

  “Yes, it all went wrong,” he answered.

  Teesha looked up at Rashed. “This could have happened to any one of us. On occasion, a slip or an accident, even a necessary death, is inevitable. You need to do something, come to some… arrangement with the local authorities to ensure our safety.”

  “I don’t make slips,” Rashed responded.

  “So, you’ve never killed anyone in this town?” she asked.

  He went silent and looked away. But he let go of Ratboy’s shirt.

  “Have you encountered anyone in power here who might be corruptible?” she pressed Rashed.

  After a moment, his eyes moved back down to her face, and he nodded.

  · · · · ·

  The following night, Ratboy awoke and immediately felt something was wrong.

  He just didn’t know what.

  Opening the lid of his coffin, he sat up and looked around. He felt as if he’d overslept, which was unusual for him—not that the dead actually slept. Climbing out, he saw Rashed’s coffin was open and empty. Hurrying down the tunnel to Teesha’s smaller cavern, he found it empty too.

  He was alone. What was happening?

  Quickly, he made his way to the trap door, but when he got there, he found a note pinned to the underside that read:

  Stay quiet. One of us will come for you soon.

  It was in Teesha’s handwriting. Unable to stop, he pushed upward on the trapdoor, finding it locked from the outside.

  They’d locked him down here?

  An impulse to bang on the trapdoor passed. If she’d told him to stay quiet, she must have a reason. He waited, wondering if Rashed had changed his mind… if he was going to be banished after all. Then, he heard voices above—three distinct voices.

  He couldn’t make out any words, but he could hear Rashed, Teesha, and an unfamiliar male voice, all engaged in a discussion. It didn’t last long, but the following silence seemed even longer before he heard something being moved above, and the trapdoor opened.

  “Come up,” Rashed ordered.

  Ratboy climbed up, wary and uncertain.

  Rashed was still tense with anger, but Teesha sat on a green velvet couch, holding her embroidery.

  “I’ve made an arrangement with the town constable,” Rashed stated flatly, “and I paid him well. Any investigation into last night’s events will amount to nothing. We will continue to pay him, and in return, the occasional disappearance of a town member will be poorly investigated. All suspicion will be kept well away from us.”

  Ratboy could hardly believe this. His slip was being overlooked, as if it had never happened. But Rashed stepped closer, leaning down into his face.

  “This does mean occasional, and if anything so careless as last night ever occurs again, I will throw you into the wild and leave you there, as I did with my brother.”

  The arrogance in his voice made Ratboy want to spit back a retort, but he bit his tongue.

  “Do you swear to put our safety first from now on?” Rashed asked.

  Somewhere in the back of Ratboy’s mind, the feral path still called to him. He glanced down at the open trapdoor with its tunnel and the safe caverns for their coffins below. He looked around the plush sitting room, with its books and its comforts, and the sight of Teesha on the velvet couch.

  Fear of losing all this overrode the call to feed with reckless abandon.

  “I swear,” he said.

  Having said the words aloud brought him unexpected relief—that he indeed meant his promise. Looking around again, he knew for certain that the three of them would always be safe and always have a home here.

  This was worth more than the feral path.

  Other Works

  About “Pending” Works:

  This indicator is only used for works confirmed for release within six months following the release of this text. Where a more specific shedule has been set, this is usually mentioned instead.

  The Noble Dead Saga

  by Barb & J.C. Hendee

  Series/Phase 1

  Dhampir

  Thief of Lives

  Sister of the Dead

  Traitor to the Blood

  Rebel Fay

  Child of a Dead God

  Series/Phase 2

  In Shade and Shadow

  Through Stone and Sea

  Of Truth and Beasts

  Series/Phase 3

  Between Their Worlds

  The Dog in the Dark [Jan. 2013]

  […and more to come.]

  Tales from the world of

  the Noble Dead Saga

  by Barb and/or J.C. Hendee

  “Homeward”

  The Game Piece

  The Feral Path

  The Sapphire [pending]

  “Bones of the Earth”


  Karras the Kitten

  Karras the Cat [pending]

  The Vampire Memories Series

  by Barb Hendee

  Blood Memories

  Hunting Memories

  Memories of Envy

  In Memories We Fear

  Ghosts of Memories [pending]