Years ago, when Jak and Brand had been children and their parents had still lived, the Silures had tried to take Rabing Isle from them with an ancient writ of inheritance. The writ, supposedly discovered among the effects of old man Tad Silure, had turned out to be a forgery. The entire Silure clan, and the Hoots, who counted the Silures as close kinsfolk due to excessive intermarriage between the two clans, had never forgotten the loss of Rabing Isle, which they still regarded as rightfully theirs. Brand looked at the others on the driver's board, and noted that they had a determined cast to their postures. They leaned forward, hunching over without glancing from side to side. He could only imagine the grim look of distaste on their faces. No one in the Rabing clan would give a Silure or a Hoot the time of day. Only the Fobs were on good terms with them, as they disliked both the others.
“I can only imagine the offering that this lot has come up with for the Feast,” muttered Jak back over his shoulder to Brand. “Probably a barrel of last month's salmon garnished with old man Tad Silure's shoelaces.”
Corbin and Brand said nothing in return, but they did exchange a glance. Jak had never forgiven the Silures or the Hoots, and persisted in the claim that they had had a hand in the queer boating accident that had left his parents missing and presumably eaten by merlings.
Slightly higher up the hill they passed the tannery and the slaughterhouse. Brand turned a wistful eye to the rambling old house that stood near the tannery. A single candle burned in an upstairs window. Brand wondered if it was Telyn's room.
Jak nudged Corbin, and it was a moment before Brand noticed that they were both eyeing him and grinning. “You sure are sweet on that Fob girl, aren't you Brand?” chuckled Jak.
Corbin laughed and slapped the reins lightly on Tator's back, as the horse had begun to slow, having sensed their distraction. Brand felt his cheeks flush and grimaced at the melons.
“Scraper, isn't that what they call her?” asked Jak.
Brand frowned at him. “Her name's Telyn.”
Jak nodded, saying nothing more. Corbin began humming a little tavern song about the lord who loved the pig farmer's daughter. Brand sighed, and they both grinned at him.
“I think she's a fine girl, Brand,” said Jak quietly.
Corbin cleared his throat; a mannerism that Brand knew was his mild form of apology. Nothing more was said of it, but Brand continued to watch the lonely candle in the window until they had left it beyond a bend in the road.
After a time the rutted road left the docks and the shacks behind and Riverton proper began. Here the houses were larger and more pleasantly lit up. Sounds of merry-making came from beneath several of the thatched roofs. Smoke curled into the night sky and the scent of burning pine and frying trout filled the streets. Brand and Jak both found their mouths watering. It had been many hours since lunch.
Corbin, never one to travel far between meals himself, sensed their mood. “The Harvest Moon won't come for two nights. We needn't take the offering all the way to the faerie mound tonight. Let's go by Froghollow and see if my mother has some of her stew and cornbread left over.”
Brand perked up visibly. His eyes pleaded with Jak.
“Well,” said Jak after a moment of thoughtful chin rubbing. “If you think we can get to the common by first light tomorrow…”
“There isn't a doubt of it!” said Brand.
Jak nodded. “I would certainly hate to miss out on any of Aunt Suzenna's corn muffins.”
“Nor her stew, either,” added Brand, delighted. At his age, skipping a meal, especially supper, seemed an almost criminal act. And for a fact, there was no better cook in the clan than Aunt Suzenna. Even old Gram Rabing's legendary cooking had been surpassed years ago.
“Good then, it's decided,” Corbin said. He made a comfortable readjustment of his bulk on the sagging driver's board. “Quite possibly, I could do with a bite myself.”
Jak laughed out loud at this, poking Corbin in his thick ribs. “Thin as a rail you are, boy. Famished!”
Corbin took all this good-naturedly. When they came to the fork that led to Froghollow, Corbin let Tator turn toward home. Knowing he was headed for fresh straw and a good brushing, the colt picked up the pace, almost trotting as they left Riverton and entered the forest.
Chapter Four
Sometime later they reached Froghollow, where true to its name the frogs and bog-yelpers were singing their nightly serenade. Corbin's father Tylag and his older brothers had already gone to bed, but fortunately Aunt Suzenna was still up. She did indeed have several fine helpings of her stew and more than a dozen corn muffins left over. She ladled each of them a fresh glass of chilled milk to wash the meal down. The three young men made quick work of the lot of it, leaving behind only crumbs and grease spots on the checkered tablecloth.
“Can we camp in your yard tonight, Aunt Suzenna?” asked Jak humbly. Brand and everyone else could see the sparkle in his brown eyes. “It's an awfully long trip back up to the common, and since we brought all our own gear we won't be any problem.”
Aunt Suzenna would hear nothing of it. They were marched first into the washroom and then up the steps to the guest bedroom where they stripped off their clothes and sank into the softest feather beds that either of them could recall having touched.
“Now you boys go right to sleep, you hear?” Aunt Suzenna told them. “I know you've been taking care of yourselves out there on the Isle, but you're under my roof now. I don't want to hear that you kept Corbin up all night playing Jiggers and Swap-Cards. We arise early for chores in Froghollow. There's no place for lay-abouts.”
They assured her that they would be up with the sun to help with the chores. She bade them goodnight and bustled out of the room, dousing the candles as she went. As soon as the door was shut, Jak groaned aloud in ecstasy. “Isn't this grand? I've forgotten what a proper down bed feels like… Just the smell of it is heaven!”
Brand frowned a bit in the darkness. He rubbed the clean sheets and deeply inhaled the aroma of the bed. It reminded him of his mother and father. He even felt a bit homesick.
“Aren't we taking a bit too freely from our clansmen?” he felt compelled to ask his brother. “It seems like none of the family come out to Rabing Isle to visit us anymore. I remember the summer barbecues out on the verandah. Fresh melons and toasted mussels, dad served them every year.”
Jak scoffed, but fell silent. Brand knew that their increasing isolation from the rest of the clan bothered him too. He had yet to take a wife, being too wrapped up in keeping Rabing Isle going to be out courting. The Isle had been family land for many generations back. He wasn't about to be the one who let it wither and die.
Sometime later Brand awoke with a start. He blinked, having just been on the edge of sleep. It took him a moment to figure out why he had awoken, and then he heard it again. A flapping, fluttering sound. He rose up on one elbow, looking around the room. Pale moonlight poured into the room, as the moon was nearly full. Jak was asleep, looking younger with his face relaxed and the cares of the day forgotten.
Brand was on the verge of laying back down when he heard the sound again. He turned to the window. There, silhouetted partially by the moon, was a very large horned owl. It's huge yellow eyes were luminous orbs that radiated an eldritch light. It was staring directly at him, directly into his eyes. While he watched in surprise, it dipped its head and tore at the window sash with its powerful beak. The motion forced the bird to flap its wings to stay in place. Brand was shocked to see that it had already managed to pry up the window an inch or two from the sill.