Only the faintest path leads through the bushes towards the roof we spotted from the water’s edge. The shack is a mess, a hasty construction of split logs with only a woven mesh of weeds covering the doorway. The whole build is off the ground slightly, raised upon a muddy platform with a couple of untrustworthy steps leading up to it. Rot and damp seeps through the gaps, the largest of which could easily allow a bird entry. A couple of long thin poles, entwined with string ending in a hook, rest against the unstable frame. Accompanying them are several buckets and some more sheets of the door mesh which also covers what I assume are windows.
“Something’s wrong,” says Edwyn, suddenly alert. I notice his knives have appeared out of nowhere as he pushes past us to ascend the steps of the house. He holds one hand back behind, indicating that we should at least wait and let him enter first.
With blades in both hands, the hunter lifts the mesh to step inside. The hut is only the size of a single room so if there’s anyone in there he’ll spot them instantly. Guy and I hesitantly wait at the door. After a couple of seconds of inactivity, we conclude that the hut must’ve been empty and follow Edwyn inside.
The smell hits us first, it’s a miracle it hadn’t reached us from outside. The place has been torn apart, the room is a war ground of splinters and broken things and Edwyn stands in the middle of the it amid cracked chair legs and smashed tables. In one corner fish have been left on the floor to rot, not decomposing yet but responsible for the pungent odour of the room. Suspect red droplets and splashes can be seen every now and then but without any signs of their owner. Looking down I notice long skid marks etched into the dirt and dust beneath our feet.
“I knew him,” Edwyn grunts, “he would have fought well.'' Ah, so the fisherman would never have helped me the other day, just handed me back over to the hunter.
“One of our people was here?” Guy asks, Edwyn grunts yes in response to which Guy quietly curses.
“Halpians,” Edwyn spits the word, “we need to leave.”
“How do you know it was them?” Guy asks as we quickly skirt around the perimeter of the lake, more hurried than we were travelling before.
“Who else would it be?” Edwyn replies, “they’re closer than I thought, we need to get you back.”
From then on Edwyn resumes his silence, unwilling to converse any further and instead focusing entirely on making headway. I shudder at the realisation of how close we were to the colony last night, they could have easily found us and that would have been that. I would never have had the chance to return to my family, I would never see Robyn again, and Guy’s people would never know that he had survived his initial escape.
On with our trek we continue, eventually we leave the lake to climb a steep bank into the hills. The back of my neck gently simmers under the sun, which is now directly above us, I can almost feel the skin darkening. No wonder Edwyn’s so leathery, without the shade of the trees it wouldn’t take long for your skin to harden and crack.
Another couple of hours pass almost completely in silence as we ascend the base of the mountains. The shadows have begun to stretch, this morning Edwyn had said the journey was only a day’s walk so with any luck we should be close. Steep grey faces sandwich us on either side now, forcing us down a long channel, a never-ending road to a seemingly unreachable destination. Guy tries a few times to get some more details from the hunter but to little success, Edwyn seems to find it almost a nuisance to accompany us to the others, an intrusion on his beloved solitary life.
Without distractions other than the almost constant image before me and the uncomfortable silence between us, my mind slowly begins an adventure of its own.
I am back in Avlym, and ten-year-old me bursts through the door in tears. It has been almost a year since my father’s passing. Twin streams mix with the berry juice staining my cheeks. My mother sits at the table with Randall, sharing a drink as was the custom for this hour of the week.
“Dale?!”, my mother says shocked, I am supposed to still be out berry picking with Ida for another couple of hours. I try to choke back my pain when Randall turns to look, in my distress I had forgotten that he would be here.
Upon seeing my red-veined eyes and quivering lips she swiftly crosses the floor to embrace me. All emotion rushes out of me now, despite my shame at crying in front of Randall I have no hope of reigning it back in. Mother slowly detaches me and through blurry vision I look her in the eyes, which are now not unlike my own.
“Did it happen again?” she asks.
All I can do is nod. For the last few weeks since the baker’s little boy had been born, Rhys, the older child, had been taking out his frustration on me. Whilst I had been used to his tormenting, he had begun to increase his torture until it was stretching the limits of simple childish cruelty.
As soon as I confirm her fears, Mother pulls me close again as she tries to comfort me.
“Get up, we’re going to have a chat with this boy,” Randall starts furiously. “Who does he think he is? I’ll teach that little prick some manners.” He slides away from the table and pulls me onto my feet as I frantically wipe my eyes.
“No Randy don’t,” my mother stops us, recognising that it would not do for the village to see one of their strongest hunters tipsy and taking out his anger on the
