Prologue

 

     Hamat was born in the most silent hour of a frozen winter night far into the snow-covered reaches north of Kitaka’en. The midwife proclaimed he was to have a life of good fortune, for he came into the world under the light of three full moons- a sure sign of luck. His father announced that he would have strength and courage, for he made his entrance in a time when even the beasts of the forests were too afraid to be born. His mother, in her exhausted pride, said nothing, but gazed upon her son with a glowing affection she was unlikely to show another in her life.

     In his early years, Hamat grew at an astounding speed. He was agile and intelligent, a boon to his father, who taught him of woodslore and hunting. By the time he was seven, the boy was an excellent shot, steady, quick, and careful. He knew how to read the secret language of the forest, and to understand the voices of the animals and wind and streams. From his father he learned the art of tracking, from his mother all there was to know about the growing things that sprang to life with the passing of each season.

     His family lived in the ancient peace of the northern forests, in a cabin his father had built of wooden planks and insulation that he’d bartered for with the fine furs of the animals he’d trapped. They had no neighbors on the mountainside where they lived, and had very few visitors throughout the year. When he felt the boy was old enough, Hamat’s father would take him along on his quarterly trips to the city of Kitaka’en. Son would marvel at the crowded buildings and the wonders of the marketplace while father bartered for the necessities he’d carry home that night. It was a two-day journey to and from the city, and one morning as they made their way back home, Hamat’s father, introspective after the exposure to the claustrophobia of city life, said to his son,

     “There’s only one thing that we have in our lives which we must be sure never to allow anyone to take away. That is our freedom. You have a right, son, to live in any way you please, to control your own fate and make your own decisions. Never allow another man to be your master. Follow your heart and the feelings in your gut. There may be a time when you need to struggle, even fight, to remain free. But it’s the only thing a man has that’s truly his own- his mind and his soul, and the ability to do what he wants with them.”

     Hamat, used to his father’s long silences and brief dialogs, felt that this must be some kind of important information, a principle of life, like the patterns of migrating birds or the swelling of the waters in the springtime. He filed it away in his mind without question, figuring he’d one day find himself in need of it.

     He had no idea at the time that he’d come to embrace this belief in little over a year. He was alone, hunting and frolicking in the woods when the earthquake struck. It was not a mild tremor as would happen occasionally, but a terrible rocking of the ground. The trees groaned, the animals were silent, and the planet shook itself as though it were a god turning over in its sleep. Terrified, Hamat took what shelter he could and relied on luck to save him. This plan seemed to have worked, for the lurching of the ground soon subsided, leaving him unscathed. He counted, mindful of the aftershocks that were sure to come. When no further shaking occurred, he decided to make his way back home.

     He was standing across the river when he decided he must be lost. Already the logic inside him pushed against this idea, but he was so disturbed by the fluttering sensation in his stomach brought on by the reality before him that he chose to ignore it. He must’ve been standing further downriver than he’d thought, he argued to himself. That would explain why he couldn’t see the house from where he stood. Instead of moving on, however, he remained in place.

     Hamat knew this five-mile radius of forest as well as he knew his own bedroom. The slippery shale bed of the river told him through the soles of his feet that he knew exactly where he stood. For a moment, he loathed his inability to convince himself of disorientation. Staring at the mountainside across the river, he allowed himself to see what was different about its familiar face. He shrank from what he found in his observation- the path of debris left by the landslide that had cascaded down, a road of desolation. He saw no house because it was no longer there- swallowed and hidden by the traitor mountain. Without another thought, he scampered across the boulders that jutted from the white currents of the river.

     He searched the area where his home had stood frantically, calling for his parents. Here and there, beams of timber protruded from the mud like exposed bones. Hamat yelled himself hoarse, but received to answer to his pleas. For a time he quelled his instincts for survival, digging in the dirt until his hands bled. Finally, he could no longer ignore the voice within that warned of aftershocks and darkness. He retreated back across the river. There, he spent one terrorizing night.

     When dawn came, he resolved himself to remain by the bank of the river, watching the mountain across the way. He knew that if his parents had not been at home at the time of the landslide, they’d return to the cabin in search of him. He spent the entire day waiting in stillness, as he might wait for game to cross beneath a tree in which he hid. His parents did not appear. He watched until sleep stole over him, biting his lip to keep from crying.

     The following day, Hamat began to accept that he’d need to figure out what to do with himself. Grimly, he took stock of what he had- the clothing he wore, his hunting knife, a needle and thread, and his old and battered rifle with a small box of ammunition. His first thoughts were to build a shelter for himself and attempt to carry on the life he knew, alone in the wilderness. He discarded the idea almost immediately.

     Even at the tender age of ten, there was no room for naivety or romance in Hamat’s life. He knew what it meant to be an orphaned child in the forest. He’d seen what happened to young animals after their mothers were gone. He understood the terrible logic of need- winter would come one day and find him without adequate clothing, the only box of ammunition he had would run out quickly, there would be no one to help him if he broke a limb or fell sick. There seemed to be nothing for it- he’d have to move to the city.

     As he set off for Kitaka’en, Hamat fought against his rising sense of desolation. He repeated to himself over and over that he was strong and able, that he could take care of himself, that he was as free as the wild creatures that he loved. He would remain in the city only as long as he needed to. As soon as he could, he’d return to the forest. Once in the city, however, he found that it might not be as easy as he thought to achieve his goal.

     In the small metropolitan area of Kitaka’en, it was no small feat for a child to remain independent. Hamat learned quickly of the kind and well-meaning people who called themselves “Brothers” and “Sisters”- those who ran homes for orphaned children. At first, the idea of a home like this appealed to him. There, he would have food when he was hungry, warmth when he was cold, and a clean bed when he was tired. He nearly surrendered himself to the care of these people, about whom he’d heard tales of benevolence and good nature. One thought stopped him. If he was to enter into one of these homes, he’d be forced to abide by their rules. There would be curfews and academics… and what if he was to be adopted into a strange, city-dwelling family? He felt deep within that he didn’t want another set of parents. He would never love them. A lurking fear began to creep over him. If he was taken into the care of the Brothers and Sisters, he would be forever barred from returning to the life he knew and loved. This terror drove him to avoid them like death.

     With the patient attention of the hunter that he was, Hamat watched the people all around him. He studied their behavior, observed their reactions. Soon, he understood what it was he would need in order to trick them all. A plan formed in his mind, one that he would carry out with great attention to detail.

     In his wanderings, he found the ancient underground passageways that had been tunneled beneath Kitaka’en hundreds of years before. Some had fallen in or flooded, but he discovered one that was still serviceable. He made his home beneath the ground, away from the prying eyes of neighbors who were sure to take notice of a boy alone in a house. The caverns proved quite convenient, for he could exit with ease into the forests of the south where he could hunt and fish. Realizing that he couldn’t possibly be the only one to have discovered the passageway, Hamat decided it would be best to live in one of the wide chambers carved into the sides- places that were once used by Pantagruel on their return from the Celebration for sleeping off the effects of the hallucinogens they ingested. The entries were fairly narrow and well hidden. He planned to fashion a door for his cave, a strong one that could be barred at night.

     He understood nearly immediately that he would be forced to steal. He loathed the idea, but think as he might, he could see no other solution. He had nothing with which to barter for the things he could not provide for himself. Yet the thought weighed heavy on his soul. For as long as he could, he held himself from taking what he needed from others. He slept in his bare cave without light, dressed himself in darkness, and lugged gallons of water home. He spent days at a time in the forest, cooking all the fish and small game that he caught, for an open fire in the poorly ventilated cave would prove disastrous. He had not a single comfort in his life, and eventually he realized that he could not carry on this way.

     By that time, however, Hamat was well-acquainted with his new city. He came to notice that at times a person would die or move away, leaving behind a house full of possessions just waiting for another to claim. He soon learned to read the signs of such abandonment and take advantage of them. Within a month’s time, he was the proud owner of a lamp with kerosene, a bed with a mattress (taken in pieces one night at a time), a mirror, two small trunks and a carpet. He had a small grill upon which to cook, which he used in the better ventilated main passage. In his nightly scavenging he also came across numerous trinkets to be used in trade.

     Hamat began to make regular trips to the market. In his observations of the people of Kitaka’en, he was hit upon by the interesting fact that human beings believed what they saw. By looking the part of a well cared-for boy of unquestionably good origins, he could hide his solitude and independence in plain sight. He kept himself very clean, his clothes carefully mended and his nails immaculate, despite the hours that it took. He was a winsome youth with a good deal of charm and excellent manners. The sellers in the market saw his wholesome cleanliness, his shining raven hair, his suntanned skin and the intelligence that lay in the gaze of his copper-colored eyes and believed wholly his tale of running errands for an invalid mother. Many grew to like him, and none of the people of Kitaka’en’s Market Square ever suspected the truth of the subterranean dwelling, the scavenging for need, or the sudden loss that made this boy a man before his years.

     He was careful to avoid the places where his father had traded for fear of being recognized and questioned, save for certain times of year when he would hide, waiting for a glimpse of either parent. He never saw them, but it would be years before he gave up the pursuit. Could he see into the future, he’d have seen himself as the man he was to become, awake on a lonely night wondering what had become of them.

     Two years passed without incident.

     Hamat was walking home one summer evening, admiring the twilight and longing for his coming escape into the wilderness, where he planned to spend a few days. So lost in thought was he that he almost didn’t notice the small figure standing in the alley. Yet that small silhouette caught his eye at the very last moment. Turning to investigate, he found a little boy, perhaps about six years of age. Studying the child, Hamat saw that he was dirty and disheveled, his clothing ratty and his vibrant shock of blue hair greasy and sticking out every which way. Snot was running down from his nose, but he made no effort to wipe it. Disgusted, Hamat addressed the little boy.

     “Hey, you. What’s the matter? Are you lost?”

     The boy said nothing, but shook his head.

     “Where are your parents?”

     The boy shook his head again, bowing it until his chin pressed against his chest. It was then that Hamat noticed the gleam of gold from the chain that dangled from his pocket.

     “No parents, huh?” For the first time in his life, Hamat felt empathy for another human being. The feeling disturbed him, leaving him unsettled and slightly angry. “You should go to the Brothers and Sisters. They’ll take care of you. Just ask around. You’ll find them.”

     The little boy said nothing in response. He was truly a pitiful sight, and probably hungry. Hamat found himself annoyed by his feelings of sympathy and solidarity. He was reminded of his own loss, his own times of hunger and loneliness. He didn’t wish to feel these things again. Stonily, he told himself that this boy was not his problem- and he’d prove it to himself that he didn’t care.

     “What time is it, anyway?” He asked casually. He watched with eagle eyes as the boy pulled a watch from his pocket and flipped it open. He held it out for Hamat to see.

     The watch was very, very old. Its golden casing was burnished by time and the hands of those that had carried it. It was worth a fortune in timber and tiling- everything Hamat could have dreamed for his future home. Moving slowly, he took the watch, making the motions of reading the time on its face. In an instant, he snapped the cover closed and pocketed the treasure.

     “Thanks,” he said dispassionately and turned to walk away.

     He’s gone a few steps when the boy spoke for the first time.

     “Gimme back my watch!” He demanded.

     “No.”

     Hamat continued walking. He was slightly startled when the boy shoved him from behind.

     “Give it back!”

     Though he attempted valiantly to pummel Hamat with his fists, the boy’s efforts were in vain. The older boy was far bigger and stronger, and soon the younger was tossed flat on his behind. He did not give up, however, and was soon trailing behind Hamat in determined silence. This rather amused the older boy, who decided to meander through the streets until the little one got tired and went away. This plan failed utterly. It was growing late, and Hamat found himself longing for home. Eventually, he gave up his wandering and headed for the entrance to the underground passage in which he lived. He’d lose the child in the darkness to be sure. So he plodded through the city, the small ghost boy following in his wake.

     In the end, Hamat wound up slamming the door to his dwelling right in the face of the boy, who he hadn’t been able to shake. Though the child pounded on the door with all his might, Hamat pointedly ignored him. Finally, the noise died down and the passageway grew silent. Assuming that the boy had at last given up, Hamat went to bed, carefully locking the watch away in one of his trunks. Troubled by pricks of conscience, he slept rather fitfully.

     When he rose in the morning, Hamat resolved to put the incident behind him. He washed and dressed as cheerily as he could, distracting himself with thoughts of breakfast. Whistling, he threw open the door, only to find himself face to face with the boy he was sure had left.

     “Gimme back my watch!”

     Hamat laughed in spite of himself.

     “No,” he said. “What’s a snot-nosed little kid like you doing with something like that, anyway? It’s too good for you. You’ll only lose it or break it or something.”

     “It’s mine! Give it back!”

     Before he could make a move, the boy darted into the cavern and plunked himself sullenly in a corner.

     “I won’t go until you give it back.” He stared at Hamat with grim determination in his eyes the color of the sky during the final moment of dusk.

     “Fine, sit there for all I care.”

     And so the boy did. For the entire day he remained in place, casting baleful glances at his enemy. Hamat went about his business as though alone, taking no notice and speaking not a word to the small figure in the corner. They reached no turning point in their stalemate. When night fell, the exhausted child fell asleep, curled up in his corner. Looking at him, Hamat felt suddenly moved with pity. He covered the tiny form with his own blanket and lay down to sleep.

     In the morning, when he found the child glaring at him once again, Hamat felt more inclined to make overtures. He set a plate of eggs before his uninvited guest and sat down across from him to eat his own breakfast.

     “You can eat. It’s not poison.”

     The boy crossed his arms obstinately.

     “What’s your name?”

     “Gimme back my watch.”

     “Strange name. I have my doubts about its origins. My name is Hamat. Can I just call you ‘Gimme’ for short?”

     “My name is Xelin,” the boy mumbled.

     “Ah, that’s much better.”

     “I want my watch. Give it back.”

     “Listen, if you want that watch back, you’re gonna have to prove to me that you deserve it.”

     Xelin looked at him sullenly.

     “I’ll make you a deal. You do as I say and show me that you’re worthy of owning a treasure like that, and I’ll give you your watch back as soon as I’m convinced. Okay?”

     Xelin, knowing he had no better option, answered,

     “Okay.”

     “Great,” Hamat smiled. “You can start with eating your breakfast. It’s getting cold.”

     The boy did as he was told. He was so ravenous that he left not a crumb on the plate. When he was finished, he announced,

     “I have to go to the bathroom.”

     “I’ll bet,” Hamat laughed. “I’ll show you where.”

     He spent the entire day caring for Xelin.

     “You’re disgusting,” he said with a shake of his head. “Go look at yourself. It won’t do to have you walking around looking like a half-dead animal. We’ll have to fix you up.”

     He bathed the little boy carefully, scrubbing him until no trace of grime remained. He washed and trimmed the deep blue hair, taming the wild cowlicks and checking for signs of lice and mange. He pulled out some of his old clothes and spent the better part of the day altering them to fit Xelin, who played and chatted away. Once he’d forgotten his determined silence, the boy proved to be quite talkative. Hamat, who came from a long line of men that were disposed to economical conversation, said very little in response to Xelin’s fantastical monologues. 

     All the while, his mind was working over just how he was to incorporate his new-found companion into his public life. He couldn’t keep the child locked away, but there were sure to be questions raised about his sudden appearance. Studying the boy in the light of the candles and lanterns, Hamat saw clearly that they would never pass as brothers. Xelin was incredibly small and skinny, with pale skin and fine bones, quite unlike the tall and robust older boy. There wasn’t the slightest resemblance in their faces, Xelin being delicately featured and moon-white, with purple shadows beneath his large eyes. He couldn’t even be made a believable cousin. Relying on the world which he knew best, Hamat decided to tell the inquisitive people of Market Square that Xelin was adopted to help with the chores around the imaginary house he’d built for himself.

     As time passed, Hamat found he’d taken on a great challenge with his decision to look after Xelin. The boy was helpless when it came to caring for himself, and predisposed to respiratory illnesses. In time, Hamat came to realize that the child could not survive an austere life beneath the ground. They moved into an abandoned house in a quiet corner of the city. There, Hamat started a garden, growing vegetables and the medicinal herbs his mother had taught him of. Despite his best efforts, there were many nights when Hamat was forced to go running for the doctor, made to barter food or hours of labor in return for his help.

     Hamat grew ever more determined to see that Xelin grew strong. He took the boy to the forest and taught him all he knew of the animals and plants within. He showed the boy the secrets of woodslore and the ways of the hunter. Though easily distracted and lacking the ability to hold his tongue, Xelin wanted sorely to impress Hamat. In the beginning, this came solely from his desire to reclaim his stolen watch, but as the months faded into years, this was gradually replaced by the feelings of brotherly love and gratitude. Though Xelin possessed the same sense of entitlement present in all children, it did not go unnoticed that there were days when times were lean when Hamat would sacrifice his own meals that the smaller boy would not go hungry, that Xelin was never cold in winter, never suffered alone in sickness, and that Hamat was always willing to comfort him, be it from nightmares or croup or scraped knees. The younger boy grew to adore the elder, and was rarely away from his side- a small, pale shadow.

     It became impossible for Hamat to hide the fact that the two boys lived alone in their house, but by then it made little difference. No well-intentioned intruders came to take them away. The people all around them saw the well-tended dwelling, the clean clothes and faces. They were aware of the painstaking care Hamat took of Xelin. Though they could do no more than speculate as to how the boys came to be in such circumstances, not one person could argue that the older one was not both capable and responsible. Neighbors came to both pity and like the boys, and provided for them what they could- hand-me-down clothing, used housewares, baked goods and toys for Xelin. Hamat never accepted a favor without fastidiously recording from whom it came. He repaid every single one.

     Four years passed this way. On the night of the Wish Day, Hamat- now sixteen, “devastating” (as the neighborhood girls called him), and strong- called Xelin to come downstairs. The ten-year-old Xelin was still pale as a spirit, but lacked the purplish smudges beneath his star-dazzled eyes. He’d grown swift and agile and had far less difficulties with his lungs than in his younger days. He’d not yet embarked on the growth spurt that would render him the tall, lean man he was to become, but showed signs of its coming. Hamat had fought Xelin’s weakness and won. He couldn’t help but take pride in his triumph.

     As Xelin approached the table where Hamat sat, the older pointed to the blueprints spread out on its surface.

     “I’m nearly done drafting the cabin. I wanted to see which room you’d like for your own.”

     “This one,” Xelin jabbed at the paper. “You asked me yesterday.”

     “I know. I was just making sure.”

     Xelin began to yammer about their intended move to the forests to the south of the city. Hamat allowed him to continue his long string of speculations and questions until he’d worn them all out. When he finally fell silent, it was with a gaping yawn.

      “You should go up to bed. I’ll be up in a while.”

     “Okay,” Xelin replied obediently. He’d learned long ago not to argue with Hamat when he was told it was bedtime.

     “Did you have a nice day?”

     “Yeah. I love hanging the ribbons on the Wish Tree and knowing that springtime woke up in the south, so it’ll be spring here soon, too. And the dinner you made was really good.”

     “You haven’t asked for your present once all day,” Hamat observed.

     Xelin lowered his eyes and scuffed the floor with his boot.

     “I know this winter was bad, and the cabin’s gonna take a lot to build. I understand you couldn’t get me a present.”

     Hamat smiled gently and reached into his pocket.

     “Here,” he said, handing Xelin a small package wrapped neatly in brown paper. He watched with satisfaction as the face of the younger boy brightened instantaneously.

     “What is it?”

     “Open it and you’ll see.”

     Xelin tore open the paper, forgetting to be careful that it might be saved.

     “My watch!” He exclaimed with delight.

     “Better than new. It’s time you had it back. Be careful with it, okay? It’ll last you a lifetime if you take care of it.”

     “I will!” The boy said sincerely. “I thought you traded it,” he admitted.

     “Of course I didn’t. I promised. I just kept it safe for you is all.”

     Xelin flung his arms around Hamat’s neck, snuggling close.

     “I love you, Hamat.”

     “Yeah, same here,” the elder muttered in embarrassment.

     Hamat was unaware at the time that Xelin was only the first of a number of wandering souls that he would mentor in the coming years. His home would always teem with young people in his training- people who would one day become the small army he took to the south. He never viewed them as his own; they were free to enter and leave his life as they pleased, and all of them did- all but one. Xelin would remain by his side, the moonshadow that would follow him for the rest of their lives.