By sixteen years of age I had eleven shifter kills under my belt. It’s not that I hated lycanthropes, some of my closest friends these days are were-creatures, it’s just that ma was sick, pa was poor and the Regent was paying well for werewolf pelts. I’m not proud of what we did, pa and I tried sticking to the bad ones; the insane, the rabid, the criminal. Originally it was only going to be until ma recovered, unfortunately none of the increasingly expensive tonics and potions the local hedge witch prescribed helped over-much. Ma would rally for a week or so, pa and I would go back to our old job chopping down trees and hauling lumber for the village, and then ma would sink back into her sick bed.

When she finally passed on I was eighteen years old and pa and I were hunting full time. I had grown into my woodcutter’s arms and broad shoulders, years of hunting creatures that have no trouble gutting a man with their bare claws will tone a boy up. I had grown nearly a foot as well, I rivaled my father now in size and physical strength. Youth tend to be more resilient than their elders and I came out of our trials and tribulations with a better mindset than pa. Worn down by all the horrors we had witnessed, and not a few we had committed, the loss of his wife was the final push he needed to take up a hearty drinking habit.

* * *

I managed to escape my father’s fate by leaving to start a life of my own. One evening, after pa had passed out in his own sick amid a pile of empty bottles, I gathered my belongings, took my ax off the mantle and walked out the front door. As an afterthought I went to the shed out back and grabbed my rifle and a box of silver ammunition as well, I could sell those if I needed money.

I buttoned up my warm, woolen sweater and cinched my tan traveling cloak tight against a stiff autumn breeze as I walked down Tarkhet’s main street, my pack slung over my shoulder, swaying in rhythm with my steps. Before leaving town I stopped to see the only person who would notice my absence, Father Aaran. He was a priest at the local church of Gwynedd, the Life Keeper. He had listened to my troubles and sins, always with a sympathetic ear, never overly judgmental. He was a large part of what kept me from joining my father in the bottle.

The small wooden church was empty as I walked in to find the priest kneeling in front of an altar before the statue of Gwynedd. The statue depicted the goddess as a smiling woman of indefinable age in a flowing robe, her arms extended to enfold her disciples in a life-giving embrace. The hood of the Father’s brown robe lay on his back and soft candlelight reflected off of his shaven head, the flickering light deepened the recently developed wrinkles on his face. I sat down in one of the wooden benches and pulled my dark brown, shoulder-length hair into a ponytail, tying it with a leather thong as I waited for him to finish his prayer.

“In the name of the Life Keeper, so I pray,” he finished, rising to his feet.

I rose with him and cleared my throat. He turned and, upon seeing me, the quick, easy smile I loved appeared on his face.

“Hello there young Drake,” he said warmly.

“Father,” I greeted, his smile faded when he took in my packed bag and traveling cloak.

He rushed over and grasped my shoulders, his iron gray eyes held mine.

“Are you leaving son? Has something happened to your father?” he asked, his smile completely gone now.

“My father is as well as he’s ever been: drunk and passed out. I’ve decided Father. It’s time to leave the old man to his bottles. Unfortunately, that means I must leave your wise counsel behind as well, at least after I ask for it one more time.”

“Are you sure this is what you want to do my boy? Your absence may do more harm to your father than you realize.” He said, sitting on a bench and pulling me into the seat next to him.

“I’m a man now, I have to strike out on my own sooner or later.” I started to run a hand through my hair and then dropped it to my side when I remembered I had just tied it up. “Life at home has become unbearable, the old man’s pretty much given up on life, he’s always belligerent and angry. Not to mention that everything in our house reminds me of my mother.”

“But do you need to leave Tarkhet?” he asked, “You could stay with me while you sought work here and found your own place.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and gestured to a door to the side of the pews. “At least stay the night, it’s growing late and the nights are cold. You can sleep in a warm bed and get an early start on the morrow.”

I shook my head. “No Father, it must be now. This town is too small, there are too many bad memories here, they weigh upon my shoulders.”

Seeing the resolve in my eyes he sighed and posed his next question:

“Where will you go?” He looked sideways at my pack, narrowing his eyes at the rifle. “I hope you aren’t considering the mercenary life.”

“No no, no more killing. I just...” I realized then that I wasn’t sure where I meant to go. I had the vague idea that I wanted to go back to cutting down trees for a living. It was a far simpler job, less scarring, both emotionally and physically, than my more recent work. However, I had no precise destination picked out.

“I can’t say I had thought that far ahead, Father. I just decided to leave, grabbed my things and walked out the door. Aside from knowing that I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye, my lack of destination was part of the reason I came to you. I suppose I hoped for some of that counsel I spoke of.”

“I am glad you came to me Drake, I will try to aid you however I can,” he smiled. “Hopefully I can live up to your ideals of my wise reputation. My little parish of Tarkhet is a fairly isolated place, there are not many opportunities for work outside of the town. Let me think,” his eyes took on a faraway look as he considered my options.

“Pa and I had always talked about me signing on with a lumber company someday, perhaps I should head for the capital. A lot of the major companies are based there.”

“Ah, Stronburg! There would be plenty of work there no doubt. That would be quite the trek, at least a month’s travel around the Great Forest. And, once you arrive, it might be a bit busier than you are used to, the capital can be quite intimidating upon your first visit.”

“If I can handle a full den of Wolves, I can handle a big city my friend. Besides, I’ve been to a few large towns with my father, selling the pelts after our hunts.” He gave a small laugh at my youthful naiveté, but I plowed on, “My only worry is getting there safely, these are dangerous times for a lone traveler.”

“A dilemma indeed, there are many hazards between here and the capital,” he muttered, biting his lower lip in thought. “If you are truly set on this path, I may know of a safer way to travel.”

“Please,” I said, leaning forward, “enlighten me.”

“There is a trading town about a week’s hike west of here called Dawn’s Vale. Caravans often stop there to resupply on their way out of the mountains. They have been known to hire extra hands before they continue on to the capitol. Their guards are paid to keep them safe.”

“Wise counsel indeed,” I smiled, a caravan would be an ideal way to travel.

He placed a hand on my shoulder again, “Please take care of yourself out there, try not to take unnecessary risks. Most of all, know that you will be missed.”

“I shall miss you as well my friend, you were always very kind to my family,” I said, rising to my feet and shouldering my pack.

“Not so fast, my son,” Aaran said gently, “We must ask the Life Keeper to bless your journey,” he strode back to the altar and beckoned to me, “come join me in prayer.”

I set my pack down and placed my cloak over it, we knelt together in silent prayer for a few minutes. I silently mouthed my usual prayer, a request for Gwynedd to guide my mother’s soul to her eternal rest and then added a small prayer for guidance during my own journey. Father Aaran ended the prayer with the traditional, “Gwynedd watch over us and keep our lives from harm.”

We rose together from our knees and embraced a final time.

“Thank you for everything Father.”

“Let us also part ways as friends Drake, you have grown into a fine young man and I believe you will do well in the wider world.”

“Fare well Aaran. Look in on my father from time to time, if you will?” I asked.

“I care for all those in my flock,” he told me, opening his arms to encompass the entire town, “but I will make an extra effort for your father.”

“Hopefully I will visit someday with tales to tell,” I said, pushing open the wide front doors and wiping at the brimming tears in my eyes.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2