Nicci tried to soften her stern voice, with only marginal success. “You are our companion, Bannon. Are you a criminal? I do not intend to punish you, but I need to know. You are a handicap to our mission and safety in the state you are in.”
He lashed out. “I’m not a criminal!” He strode away, following the stream and trying to avoid them. Nicci went after him, but Nathan put a hand on her shoulder and shook his head slightly.
She called after the young man. “Whatever it is, I would not judge you. I could spend months describing the people I’ve hurt. I once roasted one of my own generals alive in the middle of a village, just to show the villagers how ruthless I could be.”
Bannon turned to stare at her, looking both surprised and sickened.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You failed to prevent someone else from killing a sack of kittens. That may be true. But I don’t believe the Adjudicator would condemn you forever because of that.”
Bannon splashed cool water on his face, then left the stream and began climbing uphill through a patch of meadow lilies. “It’s a long story,” he sighed, without looking at her.
From behind, Nathan said, “Maybe it can wait until camp tonight, after we find some food.”
As Bannon moved through the brush, he startled a pair of grouse. The two plump birds clucked and waddled quickly for a few steps before they exploded into flight.
Nicci made an offhand gesture with her hand and released her magic. With barely a thought, she stopped the hearts of the two grouse, which dropped to the ground, dead. “There, now we have dinner, and this is as good a place to camp as any. Fresh water from the stream, wood for our fire—and time for a story.”
Bannon looked defeated. Without a word he began to gather dead branches, while Nathan dressed the birds and Nicci used her magic to ignite the fire. While the meal cooked, Nicci watched Bannon’s expression as he dredged through his memories like a miner shoveling loads of rock, sifting through the rubble and trying to decide what to keep.
At last, after he had picked part of the grouse carcass clean and wandered back to the stream to wash himself, Bannon returned. He lifted his chin and swallowed hard. Nicci could see he was ready.
“On Chiriya Island,” he began, and his voice cracked. He drew a deep breath, “Back home … I didn’t just run away because my life was too quiet and dull. It wasn’t a perfect life.”
“It rarely ever is, my boy,” Nathan said.
Nicci was more definitive. “It never is.”
“My parents weren’t as I’ve described them. Well, my mother was. I loved her, and she loved me, but my father … my father was—” His eyes darted back and forth as if searching for the right word and then daring to use it. “He was vile. He was reprehensible.” Bannon caught himself as if he feared the spirits might strike him down as he paced back and forth. Then that odd look came to his face again, as if he were trying to paint over the memories in his mind.
“My mother had a cat, a female tabby she loved very much. The cat would sleep on the hearth near a warm fire, but she preferred to curl up on my mother’s lap.” Bannon’s eyes narrowed. “My father was a drunken lout, a brutal man. If he had a miserable life, it was his own fault, and he made our lives miserable because he wanted us to bear the blame. He would beat me, sometimes with a stick, but usually with just his hands. I think he enjoyed the idea of hitting.
“I was always his second choice, though. I could outrun him, and my father never wanted to make much effort, so he hit my mother instead. He would corner her in our house. He would strike her whenever he lost a gambling game down at the tavern, or he would strike her when he ran out of money and couldn’t buy enough drink, or he would strike her because he didn’t like the food she cooked, or because she didn’t cook enough of it.
“He made my mother scream and then he punished her for screaming and for screaming so loudly that the neighbors might hear—although they had all known how he abused her for many years. But he liked it when she screamed too, and if she didn’t make enough sounds of pain, he would beat her some more. So she had to walk that narrow path of terror and hurt, just so she could survive—so we could both survive.”
Bannon lowered his head. “When I was young, I was too small to stand up to him. And when I grew older, when I might have defended myself against him, I simply couldn’t because that man had trained me to be terrified of him.” He sat so heavily on a fallen tree trunk that he seemed to collapse.
“The cat was my mother’s special treasure, her refuge. She would stroke the cat on her lap as she wept quietly when my father was gone. The cat seemed to absorb her pain and her sorrow. Somehow that restored her in a way that no one else could. It wasn’t magic,” Bannon said, “but it was its own kind of healing.”
Nathan finished eating his grouse and tossed the bones aside, then leaned forward, listening intently. Nicci hadn’t moved. She watched the young man’s expressions, his fidgeting movements, and she absorbed every word.
“The cat had a litter of five kittens, all mewling and helpless, all so cute. But the mama cat died giving birth. My mother and I found the kittens in a corner the next morning, trying to suckle on the cat’s cold, stiff carcass, trying to get warmth from their mama’s fur. They were so plaintive when they mewed.” He squeezed his fists together, and his gaze was directed deep into his memories. “When my mother picked up the dead tabby, she looked as if something had broken inside her.”
“How old were you then, my boy?”
Bannon looked up at the old wizard, as if trying to formulate an answer to the question. “That was less than a year ago.”
Nicci was surprised.
“I wanted to save the kittens, for my mother’s sake. They were all so tiny, with the softest fur—and needle-sharp claws. They squirmed when I held them. We had to give them milk from a thimble to take care of them. My mother and I both drew comfort from those kittens … but we didn’t have a chance to name them—not a single one—before my father found them.
“One night, he came home in a rage. I have no idea what had angered him. The reasons never really mattered anyway—my mother and I didn’t need to know, but in some dark corner of his alcohol-soured mind we were to blame. He knew how to hurt us—oh, he knew how to hurt us.
“My father stormed into the house, grabbed a sack full of onions hanging on the wall. He dumped the onions across the floor. Even though we tried to keep him away from the kittens, my father grabbed them and stuffed them into the empty sack one at a time. They mewed and mewed, crying out for help, but we couldn’t help. He wouldn’t let us.” Bannon’s face darkened, but he didn’t look at his listeners.
“I tried to hit my father, but he backhanded me. My mother begged him, but he just wanted the kittens. He knew that would be a far more painful blow to her than his fist. ‘Their mother’s dead,’ he growled, ‘and I won’t have you wasting any more milk.’” As he spoke, Bannon made a disgusted sound. “The idea of ‘wasting’ a few thimbles of milk was such an absurd comment that I could find no answer for it. And then he slammed open the door and stormed out into the night.
“My mother wailed and sobbed. I wanted to run after him and fight him, but I stayed to comfort her instead. She wrapped her arms around me and we rocked back and forth. She sobbed into my shoulder. My father had taken away the last thing my mother lov
ed, the last memory of her beloved cat.” He swallowed hard.
“But I decided to do something, right away. I knew where he was going. There was a deep stream nearby, and he would throw the sack there. The kittens would drown, wet and cold and helpless—unless I saved them.
“No matter what I did, I knew I’d get a beating, but I had suffered beatings before, and I had never had a chance to save something I loved, to save something my mother loved. So I ran out into the night, following my father. I wanted to chase after him, shouting and cursing, to call him a lout and a monster. But I was smart enough to remain silent. I didn’t dare let him know I was coming.
“The cloudy night was dark, but he was drunk enough that he didn’t notice anything else around him. He wouldn’t dream that I might stand up to him. I had never done it before.
“He reached the streamside, and I saw the sack squirm and sway in his grip. He didn’t gloat, didn’t even seem to think about what he was doing. Without any apparent remorse, he simply tossed the knotted onion sack into the swift water. He had weighted it with rocks, and after bobbing a few times as it flowed along in the current, the sack dunked beneath the water. I thought sure I could hear the kittens crying. Sweet Sea Mother…” His voice hitched.
“I did not have much time. The kittens would drown in a minute or two. I didn’t dare let my father catch me, and if I went too close he would reach out and grab me with those awful hands. He would seize my shirt or my arm, and he would slap me until I collapsed. He might even break a bone or two—and worse, he would prevent me from saving the kittens! I hid in the dark for an agonized minute. My heart was pounding.
“He didn’t even pause to savor his murderous handiwork. He stood at the streamside for a dozen breaths, then lurched away into the night, back in the direction he had come.
“I bounded as fast as I could run along the stream, stumbling and tripping on the rocks and low willows. I followed the cold current and tried to see in the dim moonlight, searching for any sign of the bobbing sack. I scrabbled along the banks of the stream, splashing and stumbling, but I had to hurry.