Donn: Arthit and the Shadow

Tonight was the summer solstice. And the summer solstice was the day of the Festival of the Horned God, one of the most important days for House Penia, which relied almost entirely on farming for its livelihood. They grew wheat, barley, corn and several other grains, a range of vegetables and fruit—especially grapes—and livestock including cows, hogs, and sheep, and a bad harvest could mean a deadly winter for both man and beast.

The valley was also home to the Dylath-Leen shepherds, medium-sized dogs that served as sheepdogs and guard dogs. They were almost always brindle, their fur a pattern of brown and back blotches, but every few years one would be born with stripes.

Today twelve-year-old Arthit was watching the sheep in the high pasture with “his” dogs, dogs he had spent almost every day with since they were puppies: Scamp and Barbi. Barbi was stretched out on the grass getting a belly rub while Scamp sat on a nearby rock, keeping watch on the scattered sheep while hoping that one of Arthit’s scratching hands would drift his way.

Mama Pensri and Mama Noor and Mama Mahelt were busy getting ready for the Festival, baking and cooking the food for the celebration, and Mama Hafsah was busy with her baby and the other young kids, but she’d brought him lunch a few hours ago.

Most of the valley would gather at the Nest, where the men of House Penia were building the bonfire. Arthit wished he could go and see the bonfire… last year he could see the firelight and the silhouettes of people dancing, but he wasn’t an adult yet and the Festival was only for adults.

He wondered what they did down there that they wouldn’t let him see.

Scamp gave a small bark and jumped off his lookout, racing toward a lone sheep trying to climb the stone wall running across one part of the pasture’s edge. The bones of the mountain showed there, making it impossible to erect a fence, so they’d built a stone wall instead to stop sheep from wandering. Every so often a sheep would try to climb it, and every time one of the dogs would cut it off, and force it back to the flock.

Barbi rolled over the watched what Scamp was doing, prepared to race to help him fight off a wolf or other predator if necessary. Scamp had the situation well in hand, though, and forced the sheep away from the wall and back to the center of the pasture without any difficulty.

Arthit noticed a shadow out of the corner of his eye and glanced up to see a red-tailed hawk soaring over the pasture, head turning back and forth in search of prey. He knew there was a family of fieldmice over in the fence, but the hawk sailed past without diving, leaving only its plaintive cry behind.

He looked down at the Nest again… the wood for the bonfire was ready, it looked like. Branches and relatively small saplings had been leaned against the central pillar, a huge straw structure standing on the empty ground in front of the Nest. It was in the shape of a man with horns.

When the full moon rose later they’d light it for the Festival.

Most of the other gods had temples, or at least Godsworn—Truthsayer Aninagria had been chosen by the goddess Aletheia, but Aletheia had no temple. The Truthsayer said she had no temples anywhere. Arthit wondered how you could worship a goddess with no temple.

The Horned God didn’t have any temples, either. Everyone said he disliked fire and buildings, preferring to spend his time in the fields and the forests. Some people said the Horned God was a woman, not a man, but nobody seemed to care much either way. The pictures and carvings he’d seen usually showed him with the upper body of a man and the legs of a goat, with curly ram’s horns on his head. Once a trader passing through the valley had a scroll with a picture like that of the Horned God with his thing real big, and a women bent over in front of him. That was a man for sure, he thought.

They said sometimes the Horned God visited the high pasture… Arthit wondered if he’d ever see him. He thought those horns were amazing, and wished he had a set on his own head.

He plucked a few long stalks of grass and folded and tied them up into a little Horned God doll: two arms, two legs, and a head with two ends sticking out like horns. They weren’t curled like his, but they still looked pretty good, he thought.

Arthit slapped a mosquito that landed on his arm; a splurt of blood. He had a range of insect bites and scratches over his arms and legs, and scratched them absent-mindedly every so often. Some had half-healed scabs, some had been torn open again by a careless fingernail.

He paid them no heed, for the most part, but they really itched right after the mosquito bit him and it swelled up like that.

He scratched it again, then made another doll, and looked at the sun. It was already dipping toward the horizon, and it’d be time to get the sheep back down to their pen in another hour or so.

He was a little excited because tonight he’d be left in charge of the house and the kids. At twelve he was the eldest—not counting eighteen-year-old Jasque, of course, who was on the road with Donn and Hakim—and they’d judged he was responsible enough.

Of course I’m responsible enough, he thought. I’m twelve!

He touched his dagger again, just to be confirm that it was still safely in the sheath, on his belt.

I’ll protect them tonight! I’m a big boy now!

He wished he didn’t have to take care of the babies, though… as much as he loved his siblings he hated it when they ignored him and started doing dangerous stuff. At least Mama Hafsah was taking Nelchaka, the new baby, with her, so he only had to worry about his siblings Eshan, Aerlie, and Donnal, and Noor’s children, the Terrible Twins: six-year-old Behzad and Leila.

He thought Uralorea should have stayed, because she was only fourteen or fifteen, but they said she was a woman already. She sure looked the same to him, though. Whatever. Mama Pensri said she’d have to drink a lot of wine.

Arthit grimaced.

He hated wine.

A few hours later he whistled the dogs to get the sheep moving down the road, back to home and their pen for the night. Papa Shu said there were all sorts of scary creatures that liked to eat sheep, and he’d seen the remains of a slaughtered horse last year, all shriveled up like an empty bag with bones in it… Papa Shu said it had probably been a Dark Young passing through. He said they weren’t common around here, but you could never tell when you might run into one.

They brought all the livestock down close to the house every night, in pens or in the barn.

Tonight it’d be just him and the dogs until real late.

He’d made half a dozen of the little Horned God dolls, and decided to bring them back to the house for the kids to play with.

Scamp and Barbi chivvied the sheep down the road, keeping them in a tight flock and not allowing any to drift more than a few meters. About half an hour later all the sheep were safely in the pen, and he went inside.

The sun was pretty low, and Mama Noor was cleaning up Donnal now. The other kids had already eaten, and the young ones bathed. Arthit’s dinner was sitting on the ledge around the firepit.

He sat down cross-legged and picked up his plate: stew, bread, tomatoes and a stack of greens. She’d given him that green tea that tasted funny again; he’d chuck it and pour himself some of that apple tea as soon as she was out of the room.

“We’ll be leaving soon, Arthit. If there’s a problem send one of the dogs down, OK?”

“I’ll be fine, Mama. I’m a big boy!”

“We know you are, Arthit,” she said, pulling him close for a hug.

“I put some apples and raisins in a bowl over the oven, for later,” she whispered into his ear so the other children couldn’t hear.

He nodded, happy to keep the secret.

“You share it with everyone, hear?”

“Yes, Mama Noor.”

“Time to go, Noor,” came Pensri’s voice from the entrance.

Arthit looked and saw Mama Pensri waiting with Uralorea and the others. Mama Mahelt was wearing a shawl, hiding her face almost entirely, like she always did, and Mama Hafsah had her baby in a sling across her chest.

Mama Noor released Arthit, wiped Donnal’s face once more, and stood. She took off her apron, and laid it on the shelf next to the entrance as she slipped into her sandals.

“We’ll be back soon, Arthit!” called Pensri, and Behzad and Leila, holding hands as usual, give their mother Noor one more group hug before they let her go.

Barbi and Scamp took up their positions at the entrance, appointing themselves guardians of the house and leaving protection of the livestock pens to the other dogs.

They soon vanished from view in the dusk, heading down the road toward the village and the Nest, where torches and villagers gathered.

Arthit put more charcoal into the firepit, and stirred it a little with the tongs, watching the cloud of orange sparks swirl up into the chimney.

“Eshan, slide the doors shut.”

“Why me?”

“Because I said so.”

Eshan pouted, but was unwilling to rebel against his older brother. Eshan would probably grow into a bigger man than Arthit, but right now, with a two-year lead, Arthit outweighed him considerably. Besides, it was getting a little chilly.

Arthit brought out the Horned God dolls he’d made that afternoon and started playing with them. Aerlie, his eight-year-old sister, grabbed one immediately, and Donnal, who always wanted to do whatever his older siblings were doing, picked one up himself.

“That’s the Horned God,” explained Arthit. “He’s got these big horns on his head, see? And his legs are like a goat!”

“Is the Horned God coming to the festival tonight, too?” asked Aerlie.

“Of course! It’s his festival!”

“I want to go, too!”

“You can’t go, Aerlie. You’re still too little.”

“So are you!”

“They put me in charge of the children tonight.”

“Uralorea went, and she’s only fifteen, right?”

“Mama Pensri said she’s a woman.”

“I’m a woman, too!”

“You’re a girl!”

“Girls are better than boys!”

She stuck her tongue out at him and turned her attention to the doll.

There was a shriek from the firepit, and Arthit jumped up to see what had happened.

Behzad was sucking his fingers, crying in pain.

“What happened, Behzad?”

“The fire burned me!”

“Well, don’t stand so close, silly!”

“But we’re cold!” he wailed, and twin Leila nodded agreement, her shoulder pressed against his.

Arthit didn’t feel that cold, but he laid his palm on the floor to see how it felt. It was covered with thick mats made of interwoven reeds, worn by feet or charred by sparks in places. Every couple years Papa Shu or Mama Pensri would have new ones made down in the village, and the room would smell amazing for a few days until the fresh reed fragrance faded.

Usually they slept on beds in their rooms, but tonight they’d been allowed to sleep in the main room instead, around the warmth of the fire. Thick, padded sleeping mats were already spread, but Mama Noor had only left out thin blankets, and the twins wanted something warmer.

“Go get some blankets, then,” he ordered. “You know where they are.”

“They’re too heavy!”

“Why do I always have to do everything,” grumbled Althit. “Eshan, come with me.”

Arthit slid open the door to the rear of the house, where some blankets were kept for cold nights. The hallway was black, only a little light seeping in from the firepit behind them.

“I’m scared…”

“Baby!” said Arthit, but he was scared, too. He couldn’t show it to his little brother, though. “The blankets are right on that shelf there. C’mon.”

He stepped forward into the darkness but Eshan didn’t move.

“C’mon, Eshan! Help me carry ’em!”

Eshan shook his head.

“You go get them. I’ll wait here.”

“Fine, I’m not scared of the dark,” he said, and stamped his feet harder than usual as he walked into the dark.

The closet was only a few meters down the hallway, and now that his eyes had adjusted he could see the outline of the door flickering with reflected firelight.

He slid it open and reached in, grasping a few blankets, and pulled them out.

They were too big and too heavy to carry all at once, but it was easy to drag them back down the hallway to where Eshan was waiting.

He and his brother dragged the blankets into the room, and slid the door shut again. The hallway was pretty cold; it always got cold quickly.

He took one blanket over to the twins, who quickly threw it over themselves like a tent and began whispering to each other. Donnal, only three, toddled over and pushed his head inside to join them, and they expanded their fort to include him.

Eshan handed one of his blankets to Aerlie, who was still playing with the Horned God dolls, leaving two. He and Eshan kept one each.

Between the firepit and the blankets everyone would be comfortably warm, Arthit thought, and the little ones would probably fall asleep soon.

He scratched his arm again, and looked at his finger curiously. Blood.

If he got blood on the bedding Mama Noor would get angry again.

He wiped it off on the grass doll.

He wondered what the Festival was like.  

That was funny… the grass-stalk horns on his doll were curling up, just like a ram’s horns. Grass curling wasn’t very surprising, but it was weird they both curled up the same way so fast.

There was a scratching at the door—the dogs wanted in.

He ignored them because Barbi and Scamp both knew how to slide it open with their noses, and a few seconds later they stalked past him to walk around the room, sniffing here and there. They both ended up under the northeast window, sniffing and growling.

Scamp was scratching at the reed matting, acting pretty excited. Barbi stood a little behind him, between him and Arthit. She was tense, too, eyes fixed on whatever Scamp had found.

Curious, Arthit crawled over for a closer look, but Barbi blocked him just like she’d block a sheep trying to go the wrong way.

“What is it, Barbi? What’s there?”

He stood for a better look, and saw a black stain on the mat.

It grew bigger as he looked, tiny little streaks of black stretching out from the center to stain the mat’s reeds.

His hand drifted to his dagger.

He wished Mama Pensri was here.

A black line suddenly shot forward from the biggest blob, reaching Scamp’s paw, and he jumped back with a yelp. He started barking in alarm, and Barbi joined him, barking and growling. Their shoulders dropped lower, fangs out, hackles erect.

“Everyone, wake up!”

Eshan was already sitting up, watching Arthit, and he jumped to his feet at Arthit’s shout, blanket still around his shoulders.

“What? What is it?”

“Everyone back, move back!” he ordered. “Get to the other side of the fire!”

The black stain had spread to a second mat now, and the dogs were slowly backing up, keeping their distance as it grew.

Scamp was walking on three legs; it must hurt to put his weight on his front paw where the thing had touched him.

There was a scrabbling from the half-open door, and Arthit turned to see half a dozen more dogs race into the room: the dogs who patrolled the pens.

None of them was barking anymore. They were all growling, ready for a fight—but there was nothing to fight against, just a growing blackness on the floor.

It approached his sleeping mat, and suddenly split into two… it flowed around it, avoiding it.

The doll! The Horned God doll he had made!

The thing was staying away from it!

Something funny… he threw another few sticks on the fire to see better.

The doll was surrounded by grass or something! Green shoots were popping up all around it, leaves bursting open as he watched, flowers blooming. And in the middle, standing on two grassy legs, his doll faced the stain, rippling like a wind was blowing.

He looked for Eshan’s doll… where was it?

It was already in the black, half melted in the corruption!

Why only his doll? Why did the blackness eat Eshan’s… blood!

He’d wiped his blood on the doll!

“Give me your dolls, quickly!”

He snatched up the other dolls and rubbed them on this scabs. He tore the scabs off, but only a little blood seeped out. Not enough.

His dagger!

He pulled his dagger and stared at it.

He knew what he had to do, but… he couldn’t.

He knew he had to pray to the Horned God with the sacrifice of his own blood, but… he’d have to cut himself.

He put the dagger on his hand and froze.

The dagger blade shone red in the firelight.

“Arthit! My blanket!”

It was Aerlie.

She pointed at where she’d been sleeping, and Arthit turned to see her blanket turn black, decaying into slime before their eyes.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the dagger across his palm, and then screamed and dropped it in pain.

Tears burst from his eyes. He couldn’t see anything.

It hurt!

But he could feel the dolls with his other hand, and he picked them up one at a time and rubbed his dripping palm over them, painting them in blood.

He picked up his original doll again, and wiped his hand over its body, too, then sat with his back to the edge of the firepit wall.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and his vision began to clear.

The reed mats were turning green, a flood of plants and flowers bursting from the mats, growing and spreading before his eyes.

The Horned God dolls stood like guards between the stain and the children, stood on their own legs, glowing green and gold in the firelight.

Roots and tendrils snapped forth into the blackness, tearing at it, shredding it to dust, driving it back, back, until they reached the wall, and the blackness was gone.

The scent of honeysuckle filled the room, and Arthit heard the trilling of countless birds, birds so exquisitely beautiful he forgot his pain and his fear and the waves of awe and wonder swept over him like the dawn.

“Arthit?”

“What is it?”

“What happened?”

Shouting from the entranceway as his parents rushed in, summoned by the dogs’ howling.

The children all turned, eyes huge with the thrill of the sacred beauty they had felt, and all fell silent.

Behind them, the firepit shone on a wall of greenery, flowers of every variety exploding in all the colors of the rainbow, a glorious backdrop to the tiny grass dolls that lay scattered across the room, shriveled and brown.

END