Ardi lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Outside the window, night had already fallen. Cicadas could be heard.
They clicked amusingly, either merging into a single rhythm or creating the unpredictable cacophony that irritated the boy so much. Wrapped in a down-filled blanket, the child thought about his day.
Accompanying him were four animal figurines. Although they were made of wood, like everything else around Ardi, they differed from the general atmosphere of the room. It was small, but spacious enough to accommodate a carved bed along the far wall. His father and grandfather had made it themselves, it seemed. Most of the time, Ardi felt like a dwarf while sleeping on it, and even now, he was still a dwarf, just a little bigger. If he tried to stretch out his whole body, he could barely reach the edges of the bed with the tips of his fingers and toes. Ardi also secretly made notches on the headboard, under the mattress, in order to mark how far he’d traveled in his adventures.
The nightstand had been made using the same gray wood as the bed. On it rested Ardi’s clothes, his knife, and other knickknacks. Beautiful river pebbles, a small shard of crystal brought to him by the stream, two falcon feathers, and... the fragment of an antler. These were all the child’s little treasures.
There was also a wardrobe.
A shabby one, with slamming, tattered doors, but a fairly sturdy bar inside it. It was strong enough for Ardi to copy his father and do chin-ups on it. He couldn’t yet reach the one his father had set up, which had been placed between the two trees that stood not far from the long-dormant waterwheel. As one might’ve guessed, the wardrobe, like everything around it, was made of colored wooden planks.
Unlike the figurines.
For some reason, each of them, as if imitating living animals, would cast its own color. But these thoughts, like so many others, only flashed through Ardi’s mind and disappeared moments later. He was preoccupied with something else. Something much more important. And it wasn’t even the process of contemplating the ceiling, along which a small spider was now crawling, hurrying about its own spider business.
"Who was that?" Ardi asked aloud. "And what a strange word that is... Sheriff."
"Maybe it means he’s a master honey gatherer?" Came a heavy, thick, lazy voice.
"Guta, stop it with the honey!" Replied a whistling, slightly growling voice. "All you want to do is suck your paws and think about honey! A Sheriff is something else. A Sheriff is... I don’t know. I’ve heard from the wolves that sometimes Two-Leggers come into their territory with foul-smelling, rattling sticks. And then it’s not the prey that bleeds, but the hunters."
"Mm-hmm," said the first voice. "We don’t suck our paws, Shali."
"Sleeping Spirits! Is that all you got from my response?"
Ardi smiled slightly. Guta and Shali could argue like that for hours. And the one time the boy had allowed himself to argue with his mother like that, he’d gotten hit with a rag just below his back. Not much, of course, but the lesson had been learned.
"Oh, what do you two know?" A third voice squeaked. A voice that usually didn’t bode well. "Sheriffs are what Two-Leggers call people who go after overly obedient kits! They take them to a place where they all have their heads shaved equally, make them wear strange leaves on their bodies, give them sticks, and then send them off to fight other Two-Leggers!"
"Skusty, stop lying! Look, Guta is already afraid!"
"That bear is afraid of everything!"
"Maybe if you scared him less often, he wouldn’t be so afraid!"
"Ha!" Laughed the squeaky voice. "If I don’t scare him, how will he deal with his fear?"
"I’ll hit you," came the thick, bass voice.
"That’s precisely what I mean, Guta! Did I scare you? Not at all! It never happened! Shali is lying!"
Ardi laughed a little. Skusty was cunning and funny, but very cowardly.
"Why do they only take the obedient ones?" Asked the boy.
"Because no disobedient cub would agree to such atrocities!" Skusty shouted sharply, then lowered his voice and added. "Well, Ardi, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’ll get any more wisdom from me. Soon, it will be time to cut the wool from your head! And you don’t have much on top, poor thing."
Ardi didn’t want his hair cut! And then there was...
"What about Mommy and Grandpa and Daddy?"
"I..."
"Don’t listen to him, Ardi," the whistling voice interrupted.
"Yes, that’s right, Shali," the bass added. "Don’t listen to the squirrel, Ardi."
"It’s always like this!" Skusty snorted. "All you say is don’t listen to Skusty, don’t do what Skusty says, and then we all end up in a big, stinking pile of sh..."
A floorboard creaked.
The one by the front door. The boy’s father, his mother, and even his grandfather had tried to fix it multiple times. But no matter how hard they tried, no matter what ideas they came up with, they could never solve the problem. So, every time someone came home, whoever was inside would know about it right away.
Ardi looked at his knife, which was the cause of this "miracle."
Sometimes — very rarely, but still — Skusty had good ideas....
"Daddy’s here!"
Ardi jumped to his feet, grabbed a tin mug from the windowsill, carefully pushed the nightstand aside, lay down on the floor, and put the simple device to his ear with his neck against the wall. The first sound he heard was a resounding duh, followed by a slightly more embarrassed and awkward thunk. The boy’s imagination immediately pictured his father lifting a deer carcass off his shoulders... But no, the sound hadn’t been as whiplashy. The horns didn’t hit the ground. It was probably a boar. A big, fully-grown boar that even his father couldn’t carry home on his shoulders. He could only drag it back. So yes, a young boar. Nearby, judging by the sounds, a hunting rifle had been placed.
The next sound made the boy jump a little. Couldn’t his parents have kept it down? The two were kissing.
"Is Ardan asleep already?"
Goosebumps ran down the boy’s body. His father’s voice was like the rustle of an awakening forest. Not thick or liquid, not rumbling or hollow. It sounded like home. A living voice. In it, a floorboard creaked or a mouse scampered somewhere. Ardi hoped he’d have a voice like that when he grew up.
"Yes, Hector. The boy had a rough day."
"Of course... It’s his birthday and..."
"That was yesterday," Mother interrupted him. Someone else might have thought she was angry, but she wasn’t. Ardi had never seen his mother angry. Upset, stern, sometimes even annoyed, but not angry. "You’re late."
His father was silent for a while, and then he opened the doors of the hall closet, which was also creaky, and put something inside with a "quacking" sound.
"I’ll give him his present tomorrow morning."
A present? One that made that sort of sound? It certainly wasn’t a knife or boots, then. It was something else... something heavy enough for Ardi to hear, but not too big, or it wouldn’t fit so easily on a shelf in the closet.
A slight rustling came from the other end of the hallway. Grandpa didn’t use a cane at home, and his limp gave him away before he even entered the room.
"Hello, Hector."
"Hello, old man," Ardi’s father replied, not coldly, but still distantly.
Ardi had never understood the relationship between his father and his grandfather. They lived under the same roof, ate at the same table, laughed together on holidays, and sometimes, they even shared stories. But the boy had never heard warmth in Hector’s voice directed toward his grandfather. What’s more, Dad had never called his own father by his first name.
And neither had Mom.
And so, Ardi didn’t know what Grandpa’s name was. He’d asked that question many times, but instead of an answer, he’d gotten more and more stories, obviously made up by his grandfather.
"How are things up there in the mountains?"
"There was an avalanche on the southern slope," the boy’s father answered. "I had to wait in the shelter. That’s why I was delayed..."
"That’s not what I meant."
"Wasn’t it?"
"Don’t, Hector. You know exactly what I am talking about. He should have been on his way to us by now."
Ardi heard a fist smashing into the wall. Then there was silence in the hall. Though it lasted only for a few heavy moments.
"Don’t forget, old man, that you live under my roof. That means you live by my rules."
The boy’s father, on the other hand, knew how to get angry...
Ardi shrank back.
Even from here, he could see his father’s long fangs, his sharp, vertical slit pupils, and his long hair, which was darker than the night that surrounded their home. Though his father never raised his voice or hand in Ardi’s presence, the boy knew well what happened to those beasts who incurred his father’s wrath.
One day, a bear had come into their clearing. It had frightened Ardi and made him scream. Out of surprise, of course. After all, Ardi was friends with Guta, which meant he was well acquainted with bears. But his father had misunderstood the situation...
The bear had barely escaped with its life, and later, the boy’s mother had spent a week sewing up the long cuts on his father’s arms and shoulders.
"Since when, you foolish boy, has this house been yours?"
"Since the moment you decided that it should be, old man."
But as strange as the relationship between his grandfather and father was, Ardi had never heard them talk like that before. And although he could see nothing but that spider moving from the ceiling to the wall, his imagination was painting a vivid picture of a family argument. And more importantly... who was coming to them from the other side of the gorge?
"So many years have passed..." Grandfather’s voice trembled, sounding like a broken tree.
"No matter how many years pass," his father’s voice was just as steady, "no matter how many..."
They fell silent. Mother didn’t interfere, either. But Ardi could feel, even from here, how tightly she held his father’s hand.
"As long as I have breath in my body, he will not come anywhere near this side of the mountain," his father finally said. "I warn you, old man. The moment I see his tails on the horizon, I’ll burn every shrine and sanctuary for miles around, I swear it on the Sleeping Spirits."
Grandfather sighed heavily and seemed to shake his head.
"You don’t let your wounds heal, boy. You live in the past and..."
"Shut up!" Father snapped, and immediately, Mother hissed at him.
"You’ll wake Ardi," she whispered.
"Ardan," his father growled. "His name is Ardan. Ardan, son of Hector the gamekeeper and Shaia the seamstress. And when the time comes, he will go to school in the village. He’ll learn. He’ll become a carpenter, or maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll get a hunting license. If not, he’ll go to the farm."
"The last of the Matabar? A carpenter or a cowboy?"
Father walked heavily toward the corridor. As he passed the place where Grandfather had stopped, he muttered something to him, but Ardi couldn’t make out what it was.
Judging by the fading sound of footsteps, all three were heading for the kitchen. Which meant...
Ardi grabbed the glass, put the nightstand back, and walked to the other end of the room. There, at the very bottom of the wall, was a ventilation grille, so that the air could circal... circuly... basically, move around the house, as his father had explained it.
But thanks to Skusty, the boy had found another use for it. With the same glass, or rather its handle, Ardi hooked the grille and, panting with exertion, placed the heavy metal on the floor. Then he crawled almost halfway inside to...
"A cub has no business listening to adult hunters’ conversations."
The voice was like the first rumblings of a spring storm. Light, barely starting, and somewhere at the edge of hearing. But it still promised nothing good.
"Hello, Ergar," Ardi greeted. "My name is..."
The breeze... Ardi remembered Grandfather’s stories about the spirits that had appeared before their people were even born. These spirits had taken the form of animals and then become... Ardi couldn’t recall the right word for it — guides? Yes, Grandfather had probably said guides.
The spirits became guides for the first humans who came down from the trees. Why exactly they came down from the trees even Grandfather didn’t know.
The people began to learn from the animal spirits and eventually took the name Matabar. They lived in the mountains. In the mountains that Ardi knew as the Alcade.
"Dad."
"Yes?" Father rumbled.
Ardi looked at his reflection in the stream. Father had almost square features with a massive lower jaw and a high forehead. Mother said the only thing scarier than his father was a bison born of two brothers. Ardi never understood how anyone could be born of two brothers, which made everyone laugh.
"Will Mom be okay?"
Father, squatting beside him, was also drawing something. Not with a twig, but a large stick. Ardi could spend a whole day pretending to be a knight of the ancient Kingdom of Ektas, which Grandfather had often told him about.
Father was huge.
Mother had said that every child thought that about their father, but first of all, Ardi wasn’t a child anymore, and second, he didn’t know anyone else his age. So, Mother must have been joking, because when Father entered the house, he always ducked to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe. He could pick up a milk jug with one hand without holding the handle.
More than that, Ardi felt more comfortable on his father’s shoulders than on the only rocking chair in their home. It stood in the living room by the fireplace. And also, Ardi just realized, he’d never feared his father, unlike his Grandfather.
He didn’t fear his Father’s sharp pupils, long fangs, strange eye color, or overly thick body hair that resembled fur. Father shaved a lot and often, but it didn’t help much.
"Your grandfather will take care of it," Father replied.
And Ardi immediately believed him. Of course he would take care of it. They’d been pushed out of the house as soon as some water had approached. And Mother had screamed. Ardi tried not to cry. Mother and Grandfather didn’t like it when Ardi cried. They didn’t show it, but the boy could tell that crying was not allowed.
While Father...
"Better now?"
Ardi nodded and wiped the wet traces from his eyes with his wrist. He saw his face reflected in the ripples on the stream’s surface. He saw red eyes, along with slightly swollen nostrils and cheeks.
"Better," the boy nodded.
Father smiled, revealing a row of slightly yellowed teeth with two long fangs, the right one a little shorter than the left. Father had never told him where he’d broken it, giving Ardi’s imagination an endless source of inspiration.
Perhaps Father had fought a mountain cougar? Or wrestled a bear before Ardi was even born? Or competed with boars to see who could cut down a young birch tree first?
Father would probably manage in such a contest.
Mother always complained that the amount of fabric and furs that went into Father’s clothes could dress several customers in the village. Such a strange word. Ardi hoped the place itself was just as mysterious, just as enchanting and magical.
Magical...
Maybe there were even some wizards there? Nothing fascinated Ardi more than Grandfather’s stories about wizards, sorcerers, shamans and magicians.
"You won’t tell Mom, will you?" Ardi asked, trying to finish drawing the squirrel before the rush of water blew it away again.
"Hmm," Father murmured, putting his finger to his chin.
Ardi looked at his hands. He wondered if his nails would become claws one day.
"What do I get for my silence?" Father narrowed his eyes at him slightly, so Ardi knew immediately that he wasn’t being serious.
When his father squinted, it was a sure sign that he was teasing the boy.
"I’m not going to tell Grandpa that you greased his cane this morning and that’s why he fell."
Father blinked a few times in silence.
"So it was you, Ardan!" He exclaimed, almost dropping his stick. "But you adore that..." Father choked on another word. "Old man! And I honestly thought I’d forgotten to clean up after oiling the gun."
Ardi turned away.
He loved Grandfather.
But...
"He called you a slug," the boy whispered. "Guta says it’s an insult aimed at cowards. And Shali says the worst thing that can happen to a hunter is to become a coward. Skusty disagrees, of course, but I think Shali is right."
Father looked at him sternly, but warmly. In that, he was similar to Grandfather. Both were like two great fireplaces. Brightly glowing with comfort and warmth, but sometimes, rarely, coughing up unpleasant smoke.
"Were you eavesdropping?" Father asked, his jaw slightly clenched.
That was a sign of "strictness."
"You were talking very loudly," the boy replied evasively, trying not to meet his father’s gaze.
Father sighed and tapped Ardi lightly on the nose. Not hard. But noticeably.
"That squirrel is a bad influence on you, Ardan."
"Skusty is not..." The boy was about to defend the squirrel who had been showering him with compliments all morning for his idea with the stick. But suddenly, he fell silent.
Father, like Mother, had never believed that the wooden figures could talk. So how could Father know that Skusty had taught Ardi how to lie without saying a single false word? The squirrel had also said that he’d learned that trick from a "Sidhe with a very persuasive chest."
Of course, Ardi didn’t know who or what a "Sidhe" was and how a chest could be persuasive.
"Where..."
"When I was a child, I had toys too, Ardan," Father put his stick aside and leaned against the nearby willow.
Its branches caressed the surface of the babbling stream like hair. Ardi often came here to watch the unpredictable dance of its leaves in the water. And in winter, they sparkled like precious stones under a layer of ice.
Father patted his thigh, and Ardi, putting his own twig aside, eagerly climbed onto his father’s wide leg. It was even wider than the bench, the one they had built together with Grandfather in the birch grove.
Leaning back against his father’s chest, the boy relaxed so much that he almost fell asleep. He felt calm and serene there. Not afraid of anything, not worried about anything. Father was near. Everything was fine...
"Then why did you always tell me that it wasn’t true?" Ardi asked without a trace of resentment or indignation in his tone. He was just curious. As always. "That my toys couldn’t talk to me."
He turned to look at his father, who, while hugging the child tightly, smiled.
"Because they can’t," Father replied, and the boy leaned back against his chest again. "It’s not the toys that are talking to you, Ardan. It’s the ones that Grandfather called to watch over you."
"Grandfather called them?"
Father remained silent, and once again, Ardi felt the questions begin to crowd against his ears. He even considered covering them to keep them from spilling out. It was a silly feeling that followed him with the persistence of a bloodthirsty wolf.
"Once, my grandfather made such toys for me too," Father whispered. "And when the time came, I went to my teacher. For six years, I walked, talked, thought, and lived as he did. And when it was time to return, I... didn’t immediately remember who I was."
Father fell silent. Ardi, placing his hand on his father’s chest, felt the same thing as when he touched the edge of the ice in early spring. It was still strong, but ready to crack at any moment.
"How did you finally remember?" The boy asked.
He didn’t know if this was a made-up story like Grandfather’s or if Father was really telling him something about his past. A past that Ardi knew almost nothing about.
"My mother called me, Ardan," Father’s voice trembled slightly as he pulled Ardi closer. So close that it hurt a bit, but the boy didn’t show it. He felt that his father was in much more pain than he was. "But I didn’t make it in time. I couldn’t get back before it was too late, son. The people from the valley got there first."
"They... hurt Grandmother?" The boy wondered. "Hurt her so badly that she had to leave?"
Father nodded.
"And where did she go?"
"Very far, Ardan. Very far..." Father’s eyes were like the stream running beside them. Slight ripples appeared on their surface. "But don’t blame the humans, son. They did not come out of malice or greed. They came out of fear."
"And who scared them?"
Father looked at him the same way the snow leopard Ergar had looked at Ardi the night before. He looked somewhere inside him. Under his skin. Under his very bones.
"We did," Father answered briefly.
"We?" The boy was completely puzzled. "But how can we scare anyone if we haven’t even come down from the mountain?"
Father turned away, and his gaze seemed to reach the distant peaks of old Alcade. But Ardi could feel, every bit as clearly as he felt the breeze that heralded the coming of winter, that his gaze was looking even farther beyond.
"There used to be more of us, son. So much more."
"Many more?" The boy frowned. "Six... no, ten?"
Father shook his head.
"If you took those ten and added many more times ten, it still wouldn’t be enough."
Wow! How many was that! And where did they all go? Why was the boy forced to wander the mountain alone, playing with wooden toys instead of other children?
"They all left, right?" Ardi whispered. "Left to go to the place where Grandma went?"
This time, Father nodded affirmatively, resting his chin on the boy’s head.
"Ardan, if, someday..." Father pulled back slightly, then removed a thin leather strap from around his neck. A long, white fang was attached to it. Untying the knot and making the strap much shorter, Father placed the fang around the boy’s neck. "If one day, I can’t return to retrieve this... gift, then..." Father blinked and turned toward the river. Ardi could almost hear the spring ice cracking in his father’s chest. "Listen to your grandfather. Respect your mother. Protect your brother. And never forget, Ardan, that you have not only the blood of the Matabar, the Guardians of the mountains, but also human blood. The blood of the Galessians, the people who forged our Empire. And you have the right to choose your destiny and your path. No one can ever tell you who you are, what you can and cannot do. Your life is your own. And remember," Father turned and kissed Ardi gently on the top of his head. He did so tenderly and carefully, and so gently, in fact, that it was as if he were afraid Ardi would break in half if he did something wrong. "Remember, I love you more than anything in this world or any other."
The boy nodded slightly, dazed.
"Let’s get going. It’s time for you to meet your brother."
Father lifted the boy, stood up, and effortlessly, as if he were just a feather, placed Ardi on his shoulders. And with him there, he ran, racing the birds and leaping over streams and ravines, back to the house.
"How do you know that I now have a brother?" The child asked, laughing. Along with the wind playing with the boy’s hair, the strange conversation blew out of his head.
Father smiled mysteriously, just like Grandfather, and whispered:
"The wind told me."