YEAR OF THE FLEDGLING

6. Theron

theron

AND AN ERADICATOR FUNERAL

At sunrise, the four remaining Eradicators strapped Faraday’s body to two wooden poles with a long piece of cloth and lifted his corpse onto their shoulders before carrying him down the hill from the keep and toward the edge of the village where the cemetery lay.

Eradicators weren’t permitted to be buried inside the cemetery, of course, but there was a small area behind the fenced section at the back where they were allowed to house their fallen brethren.

Theron glanced toward the village as they made their trek down the slope. It looked quiet and grandiose in the early morning light, fog from the sea plumping pale, peaceful pillows around the wooden and stone structures.

He rarely entered its streets, as no more than two Eradicators were tolerated inside the city limits at a time, and even then, they were to keep their heads and bodies covered with their cloaks at all times, which he hated to do because the itchy, thick, dung-colored robes were frightfully suffocating.

Not seeing much use for himself in the village, Theron instead opted to take on more patrol shifts in the woods to avoid the townspeople. That was where he truly belonged, anyway, in nature where the birds grew feathers large enough for flying.

He was grateful that their keep was located at the edge of the forest that led up toward the great mountain. The trees were his home. He understood them much more than he did the townsfolk.

“Hoods up,” Jarrott instructed as they came to the bridge that crossed the channel. The Eradicators of the past had dug this very gully to separate the people from the forest. And this was the line where they had to start following village rules.

Behind Theron, Krazzle grumbled moodily. “Damned nuisance. No one’s going to see our faces from this distance. And it’s not like any of them are going to come over here to attend one of our services and pay their respects, anyway.”

But Jarrott stuck firm to his order. “Rules are rules,” he said. “And this one’s easy enough to follow with no punishments to worry about.”

Krazzle muttered something else, but Theron didn’t hear what he said, since he’d already lifted his hood, which muffled many outside sounds.

At the hole where he’d dug Faraday’s grave, they paused.

When the four of them looked at each other in question, Jarrott let out a tired sigh. “Well, who’s going to sing it?”

A pang of agony shivered through Theron. Faraday had always been the one to begin their funerals and sing the dirges whenever they buried a fallen Eradicator. It seemed wrong that he could no longer fill the air with his beautiful, deep baritone.

“Boy,” Krazzle said, kicking at the back of Theron’s leg. “You have the best voice of the four of us. Get it done.”

Theron sniffed and nodded. A tear slid down his cheek as he began the words, his voice wavering through the pain. He was going to miss the old man. No one knew Eradicator history like Faraday had. He’d been the best at telling stories; he had never failed to keep Theron riveted to every word he said.

As he sang, bidding the grandfatherly figure a final farewell, a bird came and perched itself on the branches of one of the trees that sat on the edge of the cemetery. It began to sing along with him, and Theron glanced up, wondering if it was the same fledgling he’d seen with Orsando, leaving the nest to explore the world on its own.

He was nearing the end of the song when a loud noise—like the pounding of hammers on wood—resounded from the village, followed by roars of laughter and cheers.

Theron’s voice faltered as he glanced over. Whatever they were doing, the villagers seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely.

“Inconsiderate boars,” Krazzle snarled. “Don’t even care that we’re having a funeral over here, do they?”

“Just ignore them,” Jarrott instructed softly from the other side of Faraday’s body. “And keep going, boy.”

Theron cleared his throat and started singing again, but his gaze strayed curiously toward the town. From where he stood, he could just barely see into the village square, where they held all their meetings, community entertainment, and mobile marketplace. And as he watched, the people began to erect what looked to be a stage of some sort.

Theron might not understand them, but he did find himself continuously intrigued about the people inside the channel. Today, they were creating quite a commotion and seemed to be preparing for something big.

He could only wonder what.

Turning back to the funeral as the song finished, Theron watched as Jarrott and Orsando lowered their side of the poles so that Faraday’s swathed body fell into the hole and landed at the bottom in his final dirt bed.

Jarrott hissed out a long, tired sigh. “You’ll be missed, dear friend,” he murmured before glancing at the other three. “Alright, let’s cover him up.”

After they dropped the carrying poles to the side, Theron grabbed one of the shovels, only to get it stolen by Krazzle. He glared after the cranky Eradicator but then reached for the last remaining shovel, whose handle looked to be broken in half. But Orsando noticed and gave Theron his own shovel so he could take the short one for himself.

And from there, the four worked together, covering Faraday with loose earth. Theron couldn’t help himself, though; he kept glancing toward the village.

They seemed much rowdier than usual. Happier. Playful.

“What’re they doing, anyway?” he asked.

“Causing a ruckus and disrespecting our funeral,” Krazzle snarled. “What’s it sound like?”

But Jarrott paused his work to squint toward the streets before he nodded wisely. “Looks like they’re preparing for the annual harvest festival.”

“Harvest festival?” the young Eradicator repeated with a wrinkled nose. “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s a jolly occasion, to be sure,” Jarrott said.

He’d been the only one of them to ever actually live as a villager at one point in his life because he was the only Eradicator to volunteer for service in the last ninety years. The rest of them were fourth sons, who’d been drafted by fate through simple birth order. And when Jarrott’s son had drawn that unlucky number as yet another fourth son of a third daughter, neither Jarrott nor his wife could bear it. They’d already lost three boys to fever and sickness before that, and then this…

Taken into the Eradicators’ Troop, the babe wouldn’t have survived a year on his own.

So Jarrott had gone with him as soon as he was weaned, and the two joined the Eradicators together.

Yet the boy—Jarrott’s last remaining heir—had still died not even a decade into his short life, killed on his first hunting expedition.

At least, that’s what Theron had heard, for it had all happened before he was ever born.

He had to believe it was true, though, because the Chief Eradicator looked suddenly maudlin as he explained, “It’s where they celebrate the completion of getting their fields picked and food stored away for winter. They eat and talk most of the day, putting their livestock and vegetables through competition. Then tonight, after the sun sets, there will be music and dancing for their younglings, like yourself, boy. That’s where the teens go to find a life mate.”

Jarrott exhaled with a nostalgic smile. “I met my wife at the annual harvest festival when I was but seventeen. Asked her to dance during the first song and never looked for another partner for the rest of the night. Or the rest of my life. There was only her from that point on.”

Theron blinked at him in wonder, vastly interested to know more about such a festival. “So…” He squinted back toward the streets, trying to picture it. “The villagers… They dance in pairs?”

The concept seemed foreign to him. He’d only seen Orsando dance by himself.

On those nights after they caught and rid Starcast of yet another dark one, the Eradicators would sit in front of the hearth together, where Jarrott would play the lute, Faraday would sing a cheerful tune, and Orsando would kick up his heels, dancing around the floor.

Jarrott laughed at Theron’s innocence. “Much dancing is done in pairs, boy.”

He let out a long, wistful sigh, something he did a great deal of whenever he thought back to his days of living in the village before he’d volunteered to be in the Eradicators’ Troop.

“I wish you could experience it. Just once,” he murmured in a fond voice. “There’s so much you’re missing out on, living up there in the keep, away from the rest of humanity.”

Theron swallowed down a knot in his throat. He didn’t feel jealous of the villagers often. The way Krazzle talked about them, they must be horrible, terrible, heartless people. But sometimes, when Jarrott mentioned the finer things they had, things the Eradicators were never allowed to obtain, his chest would go tight with an achy longing, and he would begin to wish…

But then Krazzle snorted from beside him. “And why would he want to mingle with those inconsiderate fops who keep all their fun to themselves? They wouldn’t be able to have that fun if it weren’t for us keeping ’em safe and killing the dark ones before they can even get near their sacred village. Spit on them all, I say. I don’t want anything to do with a one of them. They can’t even give us a spot of peace while we’re trying to bury one of our own!” The last sentence came out as a shout in the direction of the village, but no one in the square heard the cranky Eradicator.

“Not all of them can be evil,” Theron decided with a slight frown. “I quite like the healer.”

“And that you should,” Orsando answered with an approving nod. “She’s always acted as a stand-in mother to you. Fed you from her own body when you would have perished otherwise. And she gave us our two milk goats. It’s folks like Magda that we’re honored to protect.”

Theron sent him a grateful glance since he adored Magda. Pausing, he touched the stitches that were still fresh on his face, cutting through his eyebrow, from when she’d come to the keep after their last kill and mended him back together again. She had such soft fingers and a lovely smile. His stomach grew warm with affection whenever he thought about her.

With a moody grunt, Krazzle grumbled, “Magda’s the one and only exception, then.”

Theron merely shrugged as he tossed another shovelful of dirt into the rapidly filling hole. “The healer before her didn’t seem so bad, either,” he couldn’t help but say.

He’d been nearly ten when Master Benson had died, leaving his apprentice, Ms. Magda, as the only villager who ever visited them. And honestly, they were the only two people who weren’t Eradicators that Theron had ever spoken to—the only two he’d ever been allowed to speak to. So maybe more of the townsfolk were fine people too.

“Stop naysaying me, boy,” Krazzle finally snapped. “The villagers could treat us better, and that’s all there is to it.”

Theron glanced toward Jarrott, expecting him to defend the people down in the streets. Having been one of them, he would know better than Krazzle whether they were good or bad. But when Jarrott’s mouth merely flattened into a thin line, and he said nothing, Theron realized the chief agreed with Krazzle’s assessment.

“Sure would’ve been nice to see one of them dances, though,” Orsando spoke up, nodding slowly. “Moving around in pairs, indeed. I bet it’s quite a sight.”

Theron’s stomach tightened with jealousy. “I think I might like to see that, too,” he agreed.

Krazzle sniffed, Jarrott remained silent, and the four of them worked quietly from there on out.

It wasn’t until they had started back toward the keep, their hoods still lifted and dirt-caked shovels hooked over their shoulders, when Krazzle, who was walking in front of Theron, glanced back toward the village and suddenly said, “It ain’t right. I think the boy ought to go.”

At the front of the line, Jarrott glanced back in irritation. “Criminy, Kraz. What’re you grumbling about now?”

“That festival,” Krazzle spoke up. “The dancing. The music. I think we should send the boy.”

Theron lifted his face. “What?”

But Orsando snorted from behind him. “Don’t be daft. He’d be whipped until he died for daring to intrude on one of their celebrations. Then they’d put him in the stocks for a moon cycle before beheading him right on the cobblestones where they had their fancy dance.”

“Not if they don’t know who he is,” Krazzle insisted. “Because, seriously, who would know? No one’s ever seen his face before. All he’d have to do is not wear an Eradicator’s cloak, and he’d blend right in with the locals.”

“Ms. Magda’s seen my face,” Theron spoke up.

Krazzle snorted. “And Jarrott just said she probably wouldn’t be there. It’s for the younger folk. Like yourself.”

When Jarrott glanced back briefly, as if he were considering the idea, Theron sucked in a breath of anticipation.

But could this actually happen? Could he get to go? His heart started to beat faster in anticipation.

“If he was discovered, they’d kill him,” Orsando argued. “You know they would. Need I mention Namuel? It’s not worth the risk.”

“The risk?” Krazzle huffed out a bitter laugh. “The boy risks his life for those people every time he goes out on patrol. They owe him one night to get to see the better, brighter side of their world. One night, Jarrott,” Krazzle pleaded. “He should get to experience it. For all of us. And you know it.”

“Faraday would never condone this kind of behavior,” Orsando argued. “We’re honorable. We don’t break rules. And this would—”

“Well, Faraday’s worm food now,” Krazzle clapped back in a hard, angry voice. “And for what? So they could have their celebrations that we’re not allowed to attend? I’m tired of following the rules. I’m tired of dying for them and getting nothing in return. This is our boy, Jarrott. Why can’t he have one fond memory to get him through the horror of the rest of his life? For all of us. For Faraday.”

“They might not realize he’s an Eradicator,” Jarrott finally answered. “But they’d figure out he’s not one of them. He knows nothing of their ways or customs; he’d be sussed out as an outsider in minutes.”

“Then teach him how they are,” Krazzle argued. “But if anyone asks, why can’t he just say he’s passing through but he’ll be gone again tomorrow?”

“Passing through from where?” Orsando demanded. “This whole idea is insane. You’re going to get the boy killed.”

“He’s going to die, anyway,” Krazzle spat. “Just like Faraday and Preygar and Namuel and all the rest. This life is going to take him no matter what we do, and probably in a painful, horrible, unspeakable way that I can’t even think about without wanting to scream in outrage. Don’t you think he should get to experience their perks before he dies like that for them?”

Orsando didn’t answer this time. His silence rang loudly, saying that Krazzle’s words had finally reached him.

“I’m not sure what would be worse for him,” Jarrott wondered thoughtfully. “To learn what he’s missing out on and growing as bitter as you, Kraz, or to go through his entire life never really getting to live at all.”

“As someone who never got to live, has no idea what he’s missing out on, and is still bitter,” Krazzle said, “I say, let him go. Let him see… Just this once.”

As the four Eradicators reached the stone wall guarding their keep, Jarrott hissed out a long breath and tore off his hood to face the others. “Theron,” he barked, glancing at the boy. “This breaks every rule the village has set forth against the Eradicators. If you were caught—”

“He won’t be,” Krazzle insisted. “He’s sharp and quick on his feet. They’d never catch him.”

“If your identity was exposed,” Jarrott started again, ignoring Krazzle, “it could come back on all of us. We might all be punished.”

While Theron swallowed with doom, Krazzle snorted. “And what else could they honestly do to us? Force us to kill their monsters and protect their village while keeping us off their streets and away from their women and grand celebrations? Interrupt our funerals with their laughter? Treat us like animals who don’t even deserve their scraps? Tell me, Jarrott, how much worse could they treat us? And don’t say they could kill us because sometimes death sounds like a blessed relief from this cursed existence.”

Jarrott scowled at Krazzle for his rant, but he didn’t have an answer.

Orsando was the one who finally spoke up. Setting a hand on Theron’s shoulder, he said, “As much as I hate to admit it, Krazzle’s right. Theron’s our son. I only want what’s best for him. And if experiencing one night full of all the treasures the village has to offer helps brighten his life, then I want him to go too. I accept whatever risk it would bring.”

Theron whirled toward Orsando in surprise. He’d been the most opposed to this idea. But with Orsando changing his mind, Theron began to think…

Maybe he could actually do this.

He swung back to Jarrott, who was watching him intently.

“I would accept the consequences too,” the chief murmured with a slight smile. “But do you want to try this?” he asked Theron. “Knowing all the dangers that come with it?”

Theron’s lips parted. He’d never been given this kind of choice before or this kind of opportunity.

Knowing he could not pass it up, despite the risks, he nodded once. “I do. I want to go.”

And if he was caught, he’d make sure they only punished him, not any of the others.

“Alright, then,” the Chief Eradicator answered. “I’ll teach you all I know, although it’s probably been thirty years since I attended my last harvest festival. Maybe we can still prepare you enough to trick the villagers into thinking you’re one of them for one night.”