Matabar

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.

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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…"

"What are you three up to?" The snow leopard didn’t seem to notice the boy at all. "Why does this cub walk and smell like a Two-Legger? Hasn’t he turned six winters and six years old? Six full cycles have passed. Have you chosen a mentor for him?"

"We..."

"I…"

"Ergar, Storm of the Mountain Peaks, we…"

"Shut up, squirrel," the snow leopard growled. "Your presence here is as inappropriate as…"

"Hey!" Ardi protested. He climbed out of the vent and approached the shelf where the four toys stood. "I don’t know who raised you, Ergar, but Skusty is my friend. So are Shali and Guta. Don’t fight with them." He paused. "Please," he added after he thought it over a bit. "They are good. And I know that eavesdropping is bad."

Suddenly, Ardi felt Ergar’s gaze on him. Or going through him. Looking somewhere deep inside of him. Under his skin. Under his very bones. Even deeper still. It was a very unpleasant sensation.

"You’re worried about your family, ignorant cub," Ergar stated rather than asked. "That’s not an excuse for breaking the hunting laws, but a reasonable cause. Go and listen while I have a little word with your friends."

And the toys fell silent. Ardi, glancing anxiously from one small creature to the other, returned to the air vent. He seemed to have missed the beginning of the conversation. Or its continuation... or the beginning of the continuation...

"A new Sheriff? What a pity. Old Daniel was quite fond of the bottle and a terrible card player, but I liked him."

"Yes," Mother set a plate on the table and clinked the silverware. "He’s not very pleasant, but he seems to be a decent man. Kelly Bryan. Doesn’t look more than thirty."

"Decent," Grandfather snorted in his usual manner. It reminded Ardi of Skusty. "Like the backside of a pimply ogre."

"A pimply ogre’s backside?" Father was clearly surprised. "Such flattery, coming from you? He must be something indeed."

"Well, he didn’t soil his pants at the mere sight of me, so I’ll give him some points for that."

Father laughed. His laugh was loud and clear, showing neither teeth nor fangs.

"And what did he want?"

The chair legs clattered slightly on the floor as Mother sat next to Father.

"He was looking for you."

Father just made a strange sound. Ardi didn’t understand what it meant. And he prided himself on being good at deciphering sounds. After all, that was how he learned all the important news — either by pressing his ear to a cup or by climbing into the ventilation system.

"The Rangers are a separate division of the Imperial Army. If he were a senior officer, it might make sense to inform us about the change of post, but as it stands... Why would he ever go up the mountain?"

Ardi didn’t know why, but none of the villagers at the foot of the mountain or from the nearby settlements had ever ventured up the mountain. Only once had a boy who had been fleeing from teasing children ventured too close. Ardi happened to be nearby at the time and was able to help the poor kid by hiding him in the bushes before running off to avoid being seen.

"Maybe they need more hides?" Mother suggested. "Winter is coming, and I haven’t made new coats and furs for four seasons."

"Maybe so."

Grandfather sighed again. This time, he sighed like Ardi did when he knew he had to wash the dishes. Mother called it resignation.

"Remember three months ago, when the Ogden family’s farm burned down in the west?"

"Yes," Father set his spoon aside. "Poor souls... If we had known sooner, we might have done something."

"It was the Shanti’Ra gang."

A gang? Ardi remembered from Grandfather’s stories that a gang was a group of unwashed, unshaven, and not very pleasant robbers. At least that’s how Grandfather had described them. But those were just stories. Made-up tales.

How could a gang be here? In the real world?

Father remained silent for a long time before he asked, "The Shanti’Ra? What are those fanatics doing so close to the mountain?"

"I don’t know, Hector," Grandfather sneered just like Skusty. "Maybe they’re after the Ertaline ore, a fragment of which lies on your son’s nightstand? Perhaps they want the remains of magical beasts beyond the gorge? Or maybe they just wanted to raid the village, rape the women, and stock up on supplies for the winter. Or maybe they simply came to settle old scores... Who knows?"

Father swore. Very vehemently. If Ardi had said such words, his mouth would have been washed out with soap. It had happened before. And of course, it had happened because of Skusty. The squirrel had assured him that those words meant something like "thanks for the treat." It had turned out that they did not, in fact, mean that.

"And how do you know that, old man?"

"I have my sources, boy. And so would you, if you weren’t so…"

"Shaia, do you think the Shanti’Ra could be the reason why we have a new Sheriff?"

Mother didn’t answer right away.

"Maybe yes, maybe no, dear," she took a plate and headed for the sink. "In any case, if the Sheriff of the people decided to climb our mountain, then... Their situation must be bad. Otherwise, they wouldn’t dare ask for help from those they use to scare their own children."

Father swore again.

"We could offer to let them come up," Father suggested.

The sound of a chair falling and something fierce and beastly rang out in Grandfather’s next words.

"The human tribe? On my mountain? Have you lost your mind, boy? You dishonor the graves of your ancestors. Your mother lies there and…"

And there was that same beastly growl, but this time, it came from Father.

"I know where my mother lies, old man! And I know you weren’t there! You weren’t there when we were burned and shot! Or shall I show you the scars? They still haven’t healed, spawn of darkness!"

"If you remember so well, rascal, then why let people in?"

"Because, damn you, there is a human woman sitting at this table. Your own daughter-in-law. Ardan’s mother. And Ardan himself, who also has human blood in his veins."

"And Matabar blood," Grandfather said firmly. "And if you still remembered how to hear and see, you would know that it is much stronger than the human part."

Father exhaled and sat back heavily in his chair.

"I have no reason to argue with you, old man. No reason, no desire. You’re too old for me to punch you in the damn face, and I’m not young enough to see the point of it."

"Slug," Grandfather almost spat, struggling to push his chair back.

Ardi didn’t quite understand the way Grandfather had spoken that last word. But it was probably not meant seriously. Was it? It hadn’t been serious, had it?

"I know my sins, Hector. And I carry them on my shoulders with as many scars as you do. But I have never turned away from my tribe, from my history, from..."

"Nobody cares, old man!" Father interrupted him. "How can you not understand that? No one cares! We tried two hundred years ago, and what? What has changed? Want me to tell you? Nothing has changed! The human trains go deeper and deeper into the continent. Their ships and boats of iron sail the oceans and seas, and soon, steel balloons will float in the sky. Their soldiers are armed with rifles, artillery, and machine guns. Their Star Magi conjure spells that our Sages, Speakers, and Аеan’Hanes couldn’t even dream of. Two hundred years ago, the Dark Lord might have given them a fight, but now... Now..."

"Now they destroy each other," Grandfather insisted. "They fight each other. They divide with blood what we divided with words."

"Maybe so. But do we live in the Kingdom of Ektas now? Among giants and elves? Are our clothes sewn by halflings and our tools forged by dwarves? Again, no. And do you know why, old man? Because there are no more Ektas. No more halflings. And the few dwarves who still remember the name of the land now work in Metropolis, building towers of metal, stone and glass for humans. Giants? Oh, they work in the ports, lifting containers of goods from lands you once thought mythical. And all it took was for them to cross the Shallow Seas and the Swallow Ocean. Humans did it in a few centuries, while we couldn’t do it in twelve thousand years. Everything around us now belongs to humans. And even if they are going to kill each other in the end, we’ll be gone long before we can witness their demise."

Ardi didn’t understand most of what his father had just said. He only remembered that his grandfather had often told him about the Kingdom of Ektas and its inhabitants. About the King and the Queen. About knights. Courtiers. About all the things that still existed somewhere in the distant past. Much further back than even... last year! And last year, as far as Ardi was concerned, might as well have happened in another lifetime.

"There is no honor in your words, Hector."

"Honor? Excuse me? Did you forget to blow the dust off that word first? Honor..." Father drank the contents of his glass and set it down forcefully. Ardi had once tasted the contents of a bottle hidden in one of the kitchen cupboards. What bitter, disgusting stuff that had been! "Honor won’t keep Ardan warm in the winter. Honor won’t buy medicine for your cursed leg. Honor won’t feed Shaia and all of us. No, old man. You probably don’t know this word, but you have to work. Hard. Very hard. And if you don’t know how, look at the humans. They’ll show you."

"I…"

"I-I-I-I," Father interrupted him. "All my life, I’ve only ever heard one word from you. ’I.’ Enough. I’m tired of it. Go to bed. Visit the shrine of the spirits. Walk through the forest. Fill Ardan’s head with another fairy tale. Do whatever you need to do to justify your miserable existence. Just leave me alone."

"Dear, that’s too much."

"Too much? Shaia, tomorrow, you’ll be giving birth to another member of our family," Ardi’s heart began a journey through his entire body. So that’s what it was! That was the surprise! Ardi would have a sister? No, why would he need a sister? It would be better if it was a brother! Together, they would... "And we barely have enough food for the four of us. A single slip-up during a hunt and we’ll be eating roots and pine cones."

Grandfather snorted. Somehow... he did so unpleasantly.

"If you had just asked, the shed would’ve been filled with meat before dawn."

"No thanks, old man. I have my hands. I’ll feed my family myself. Though, perhaps you don’t know this word — myself. In your life, you’ve only done one thing yourself. Or rather, you haven’t done it."

"Boy, watch yourself!"

"Ardi is asleep," Mother said, and the voices immediately fell silent.

"Are you going to risk yourself in human quarrels? For what, Hector?"

"How can you not understand?" Father almost whispered his shout, if that was possible. "The more I help them, the more they see there’s no difference between us..."

"But there is, boy."

"It doesn’t matter! The main thing is, the more I behave like a human, the more human..."

"You’ll never be human in their eyes!"

"Enough!" Hector jumped to his feet. "I don’t care about myself. Maybe I care a little more than I do for you, but I don’t really care. But I do care about Ardan and the one Shaia carries under her heart. They will begin to treat them as equals. And perhaps my children will have a somewhat easier and more pleasant life than the one you prepared for me."

Grandfather, judging by the sounds, was about to reply sharply, but Mother intervened.

"If any of you wake Ardi," she hissed, sounding no less menacing than the snake Ardi had played with last summer. "This family will be two mouths short."

Grandfather exhaled and limped toward the kitchen exit. He stopped at the door and said:

"If you really believe, Hector… If you really believe that humans will ever accept Ardi as an equal, you are foolish. More than that, you are insane. And blind. Blinder than you are stupid. Although, honestly, I don’t know which is worse. But you are right — this is your family. And I have no right to decide for you. Do what you think is right, and I will do what I think is right. And if our paths cross..."

"Don’t waste your breath," Father interrupted him again. "You have little of it left. And I’m not ready to show Ardan how to dig graves yet. Save your heart, old man. My boy, by some cruel joke of life, is very attached to you. And that’s the only reason I tolerate you here. But even my patience has its limits. Don’t cross them. Because I swear on my mother’s grave, you won’t like what you see there."

With that, the conversation ended and Grandfather silently went to his room. Ardi stayed in the air duct. It was the first time he had heard such a serious argument with so many frightening words. Yes, Father and Grandfather often fought, reminding him of two wolverines locked together, but never so intensely... And generally...

"That’s enough, human cub," came the thunderous growl of the snow leopard behind him. "Time to sleep."

"But I still..."

Ardi didn’t remember what happened next.

***

The boy was sitting by the stream, drawing in its sandy bottom with a stick. He was fascinated by how the barely drawn image of the pesky squirrel would disappear as soon as the breeze stirred the clear liquid.

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."