Chapter One
The pain was riveting, spurring me on to throw another punch square into Lorcan’s nose, had he not beaten me to it.
It flared through my skull, red hot behind my eyes, cooled by the thick mud that I collapsed into. I could hear them laughing above me, taunting me as though they had won a fair fight. But as far as I’m concerned, five against one showed their weakness not mine.
“Dare to insult me again little rabbit?” Lorcan sneers, his intention being to bait me into another round, but I had moved on from their pesky childish tricks long ago. He was the sort to find amusement in setting traps for those less fortunate; a snare linked to a tree being his idea of a good time, watching me step into it and dangle upside down. It was humiliating at the time, but it had ensured that I be wiser than to show fear or give into their whims.
“I don’t think there’s an insult fitting enough for a face like yours,” I say through my splitting grin, my face undoubtedly coated in mud and smeared blood that tumbles from my nose. I imagine I look mad, like a hungry beast that yearns for the taste of blood and chaos, but it’s only Lorcan’s crew that seem to be unnerved.
“If you want to see the sunlight, I can show it to you right here and now!” He threatens.
We had never seen the light of day, the sun or the shift between day and night. It had died with our parents and grandparents when the monsters started to rain down from the skies, bringing the oppressive grey with them. But they all dreamt of it, clinging to its descriptions and stories their elders would tell them, their parents keeping their lips sealed as if to forget. It’s said that you see it when you die, that it waits to greet you after so long in the dark, and while the offer to see it for myself was tempting, I have no intentions of dying at the hands of a scrappy boy. If I am to die, it will be of old age, surrounded by riches and the nobility that came with being a beast slayer.
“I think I’ll wait,” I say and kick out my boot into his groin. Lorcan doesn’t stay standing for any longer than a second before dropping to his knees, hands cradling his injury. I scramble to my feet through the aching pain in my ribs and arms, my body weighed down by thick mud and exhaustion as I run with euphoria pounding wildly in my chest. I can’t help but laugh and call out taunts for them to catch me, knowing full well that I’ll make it back to town before they can.
I sprint on the edge of the forest, hearing the birds whistling overhead as they glide on the rushing breeze that crashes against my back, propelling me forward. I couldn’t imagine another life, to not be free in the moments between the pressure of my family and the trials looming over my head, moments that make times like this so much sweeter.
As I run, a noise reaches my ear, a creak of wood to my right, a subtle rustle of leaves that stand out of place from the winds meddling, and then a snap of a twig. I duck out of instinct, missing a branch that swings through the air where my head would have been, hearing it collide with a tree behind me.
Skidding to a stop, I turn my body sharply to look behind, swinging my fist at who I expect to be Lorcan or one of his friends. My hand is slapped away and my forearm grabbed. The next thing I can comprehend, I’m being thrown over someone’s shoulder, the smell of them suddenly familiar and I find myself landing on my back, feeling the air forced from my now burning lungs but a smile plastering my lips.
“You’re getting slow marchog bach.”
Carwyn stands above me, hand extended for me to take. His hair shines a pale blonde in the slightly lighter grey clipping through the colourless leaves into the darkness around them, almost as much as the hazel of his eyes, flecked ever so slightly with a darker brown. We have been friends for a long while now, for almost six years if I count the months precisely.
“I never make fun of your childish dreams, why do you insist on doing so with mine? It was one fleeting year!” I curse him, taking his hand and feeling the muscles in his arms and torso tense as he drags me to my feet.
“Because, marchog bach, it winds you up far too easily. Besides, you never do anything daft enough for me to mock, aside from getting your ass beaten by that swine.”
Carwyn’s fingers grab at my chin, tilting my face left and right as he gets a full look at the damage done. I can already feel my eye swelling, the dried blood beneath my nose and the split on my lip, perhaps even a graze or two across my cheek but then looking at my friend’s expression never gives anything away. It’s always the same disappointed consideration, the same look my tad gives when I get home.
“It wasn’t my fault this time,” I try to reason, but he sees straight through my lying teeth, his eyes rolling in a flash of white before the hazel is staring back at me again.
“Brân, you said that last time too. If you taunt him, he will attack, he’s like an easily riled bear.” I wince at my name more so than the pain of the bruises or the nickname he inflicts on me. It always sounds strange, harsh to my ears as I expect it to be shouted or called in a manner that means I’m in trouble. Tad saw to it that the reflex would stick.
“He looks like a bear at some angles,” I mutter, watching Carwyn’s lips pull into a smile. His hefty arm slings over my narrow shoulders and heaves me along towards the dull, dotted glow of lamps and torches that we know as home.
Our feet hit the gravel road, it crunches underfoot and alerts the towns watch to our arrival, but I don’t look up as Carwyn greets them. They’d be in the same birth year as him, two years before my own.
They trained together, training me and my group with real metal weapons that could slice and cut when we reached fourteen. They were relentless in their testing, especially towards me. They threw everything they had at me, hating how much I loved to feel the pain, calling me a beast like those of legend that thrives on devastation. I still haven’t told Carwyn of the times they would corner me out of sight to see how many punches I could take before I broke. There’s guilt when I look at him, knowing that I’ve kept it from him for near enough five years. But the guilt I imagine feeling is worse, knowing how upset he’d be if he knew what was happening right under his nose.
“Tad is going to kill me,” I mutter, kicking a stone and watching it bounce up ahead.
“Not before the trials he isn’t,” Carwyn assures me, patting my shoulder before he strolls like royalty through the main gates.
He knows everyone and everyone knows him. He is charismatic, his grin infectious and the combination of his waving blonde hair and boundless hazel eyes are utterly swoon-worthy for the single women of the town, even some of the married ones, but especially for the elders who can’t resist his charm.
“I forget that he’d rather see me devoured by a monster than killed by his own hands, thanks for reminding me.”
I march past him, peeling off to the right on the path that follows the road further into town, knowing full well that he has to go the other direction to get home. And yet, as I dodge passersby that stare and mutter about my beaten appearance, I hear his jogging footsteps catching up to me.
I’m in half a mind to start yelling at him, to demand space and peace, but he makes it hard to do when his voice starts talking to me in a tone so apologetic that all I can see is a lost puppy.
“I didn’t mean it like that. Just think Brân, if you pass your trials, then you get freedom from your family, from here. You get to come with us into the wild of The Bleak, where some don’t dare to tread, and where those that do might not come back alive.”
“You quote master Elgan too much and I know I’m going to have to listen to it at least a dozen more times before the trials, without you reciting it too.” I let him fall into step beside me as we cross the road, delving deeper into the dreary stone architecture.
The buildings here in Cadarnle are short in stature, much like the other neighbouring towns and any that have sense to not block out the only dull light that exists with staggeringly tall structures.
We pass down the streets without much thought, our feet knowing where to go without our concentration.
“You’ll do well in the trials, Brân you’ve had the best teacher,” he smiles at me again as we reach the iron gates to my family’s home. It is lavish compared to some parts of town, my tad’s position as vice-Mayor seeing to it that we are well cared for in fortune and authority, my parents at least. The secondary spot next to mayor has only given others a reason to mock me and my family, the not-quite-there position that my tad takes too seriously, as if it’ll get him anywhere in the near future.
“I don’t know about best, adequate maybe,” I tease, nudging him with my elbow. He laughs, as do I, relishing in the small reprieve before the gates seems to stand even taller, looming over me with a promise of confinement and rules. “If he kills me, promise you’ll be at my funeral?”
“He was such a young soul, a fool, second most handsome to his best friend and beloved only son, after their darling daughter who they adore without compare.” His eyes batted, hands clasped together as he all but sung the words, swaying with a pleading demeanour towards him.
“Now that stings Carwyn,” I say, giving a shove to his shoulder, catching a glimpse of movement past the metal bars. I look in the direction of my home and see my tad stood on the doorstep, a stern look on his face beneath the thick moustache and pointed beard.
I gulp down a breath of panic, hoping Carwyn can say something to make me feel less ill than I do looking at my tad’s soulless eyes across the slated courtyard.
“Don’t let him bully you. You’ll pass the trials, find the beast and bring home its head for all to see, for him to see.”
I find my throat closed up, not letting me reply but I nod to him, pushing the squeaking hinges open and letting gravity take it back to its resting place with a rickety clatter.
Each step I take feels heavier than the last, the smell of the servants cooking, a meat of some kind and roasted vegetables mingles with the stench of pen ink and paper from my tad’s study.
I look up to the man standing in the doorway, his lip raised in a sneer that tells me of his disappointment without him having to spit the words at me.
