Read Online By Darkness Hid by Jill Williamson - Free Book Online
Authors: Jill Williamson
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sickening idea. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long to build a cottage.
Normally a man had to build his own home. That very act proved him capable of providing for a wife and family. Riga was happy to cheat his way to manhood, letting his father pay a carpenter to build his home.
Poor Gren.
Something rustled to Achan’s left. A jackrabbit bounded down a narrow trail between some waist-high rosehip bushes. Achan followed. If a rabbit went this way, perhaps something bigger had too. His tunic snagged on the thorny bushes. Ripping it free made so much noise he decided to return to his original route.
Had Achan’s father built a cottage to win his mother? Or had his birth been a mistake? Achan didn’t know. Perhaps his father had been a soldier just passing though and never knew he had a son. But how, then, did Lord Nathak end up with Achan? He didn’t want to follow that train of thought, for it led to frightful scenarios he refused to consider, even for a moment.
Most infuriating was that Achan had no memory of his mother—or his childhood at all, for that matter. His earliest recollection was of a young noble pushing him into the mud when he was seven. Gren had come along moments later and helped him up.
Most children had some recollections of what had happened to them before they were seven. What was wrong with him? Had the tonic somehow robbed him of his earliest memories? What did Lord Nathak gain by forcing it on him? Was his head truly clearer without it, as Sir Gavin had suggested?
Achan twisted around and found he could no longer see the prairie through the trees. Pressure built in his temples and his pulse raced. On some level of his mind, he sensed an emotion from outside himself. A sound too soft to be identified reached his ears, and he wheeled around, wondering if a person was nearby. He spotted a doe munching the buds of a poplar ten paces away.
Though such a thing was impossible, the emotion seemed to be coming from the deer. Curiosity, perhaps. Achan’s eyes met the doe’s, and their minds connected somehow. The pressure grew and Achan cringed. He could taste bitter leaves and branches. It disturbed him.
Come here, girl . He formulated the words in his mind, preparing to speak them aloud.
But before he could make a sound, the doe turned away from the tree and, as if she’d heard his thought, trotted toward him.
Achan’s lips parted in awe as the animal silently maneuvered over a fallen tree, around a briarberry bush, and came to stand in front of him. Achan held out his right hand, and the doe sniffed it, her nose cold and wet against his fingertips. Could she hear him?
Come closer.
The doe stepped nearer. Achan scratched her ear, gripped the dagger tightly in his shaking left hand, and gulped.
* * *
I sense you! a male voice hummed. Tell me your name!
Achan stopped and turned around in the tall grass of the prairie. He’d left the road for a bit, hoping to take a shortcut. The orange sun sat low and bright on the horizon, but he could see the grey plumes of smoke from the castle’s chimneys in the distance, though the manor was still barely a speck on the horizon. He shielded his brow with his free hand but could see no one. The doe’s warm body draped heavily around his neck. His head throbbed from the smell of its blood.
Hello, new one. Welcome to our ears. My, how strong your presence is. Who are you?
A woman’s voice. Kind. Again Achan twisted around in the grass, nearly dropping the doe. “Who’s there?”
Grass surged for miles around like a great green sea. He was alone. He swallowed, his heart pounding, and gripped the doe’s legs tighter. Perhaps he’d been too close to the Evenwall after all. But wouldn’t he know if he’d stepped into the mist?
He turned back toward Sitna Manor and waded through the grass. He wanted to reach the gate before they raised the drawbridge for the night.
Who are you, gifted one? a deep male voice
Normally a man had to build his own home. That very act proved him capable of providing for a wife and family. Riga was happy to cheat his way to manhood, letting his father pay a carpenter to build his home.
Poor Gren.
Something rustled to Achan’s left. A jackrabbit bounded down a narrow trail between some waist-high rosehip bushes. Achan followed. If a rabbit went this way, perhaps something bigger had too. His tunic snagged on the thorny bushes. Ripping it free made so much noise he decided to return to his original route.
Had Achan’s father built a cottage to win his mother? Or had his birth been a mistake? Achan didn’t know. Perhaps his father had been a soldier just passing though and never knew he had a son. But how, then, did Lord Nathak end up with Achan? He didn’t want to follow that train of thought, for it led to frightful scenarios he refused to consider, even for a moment.
Most infuriating was that Achan had no memory of his mother—or his childhood at all, for that matter. His earliest recollection was of a young noble pushing him into the mud when he was seven. Gren had come along moments later and helped him up.
Most children had some recollections of what had happened to them before they were seven. What was wrong with him? Had the tonic somehow robbed him of his earliest memories? What did Lord Nathak gain by forcing it on him? Was his head truly clearer without it, as Sir Gavin had suggested?
Achan twisted around and found he could no longer see the prairie through the trees. Pressure built in his temples and his pulse raced. On some level of his mind, he sensed an emotion from outside himself. A sound too soft to be identified reached his ears, and he wheeled around, wondering if a person was nearby. He spotted a doe munching the buds of a poplar ten paces away.
Though such a thing was impossible, the emotion seemed to be coming from the deer. Curiosity, perhaps. Achan’s eyes met the doe’s, and their minds connected somehow. The pressure grew and Achan cringed. He could taste bitter leaves and branches. It disturbed him.
Come here, girl . He formulated the words in his mind, preparing to speak them aloud.
But before he could make a sound, the doe turned away from the tree and, as if she’d heard his thought, trotted toward him.
Achan’s lips parted in awe as the animal silently maneuvered over a fallen tree, around a briarberry bush, and came to stand in front of him. Achan held out his right hand, and the doe sniffed it, her nose cold and wet against his fingertips. Could she hear him?
Come closer.
The doe stepped nearer. Achan scratched her ear, gripped the dagger tightly in his shaking left hand, and gulped.
* * *
I sense you! a male voice hummed. Tell me your name!
Achan stopped and turned around in the tall grass of the prairie. He’d left the road for a bit, hoping to take a shortcut. The orange sun sat low and bright on the horizon, but he could see the grey plumes of smoke from the castle’s chimneys in the distance, though the manor was still barely a speck on the horizon. He shielded his brow with his free hand but could see no one. The doe’s warm body draped heavily around his neck. His head throbbed from the smell of its blood.
Hello, new one. Welcome to our ears. My, how strong your presence is. Who are you?
A woman’s voice. Kind. Again Achan twisted around in the grass, nearly dropping the doe. “Who’s there?”
Grass surged for miles around like a great green sea. He was alone. He swallowed, his heart pounding, and gripped the doe’s legs tighter. Perhaps he’d been too close to the Evenwall after all. But wouldn’t he know if he’d stepped into the mist?
He turned back toward Sitna Manor and waded through the grass. He wanted to reach the gate before they raised the drawbridge for the night.
Who are you, gifted one? a deep male voice
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