Yet something about Parko's wild manner was attractive as well. And Parko hated Rashed's rules that they sleep inside and only feed when absolutely necessary. He rebelled at every opportunity.
One day on the road, they were forced to sleep in an abandoned church. Parko had slipped out of the wagon unseen. Once his absence was discovered, Rashed halted the wagon immediately. He stepped out and glared through the dark, turning slowly, searching. He stopped with his focus directly down the road.
Usually only a master such as Corische could do this to locate a created minion. Perhaps because they had been siblings in life, Rashed could sense Parko's whereabouts. Apparently, his brother had traveled out ahead of them. They would stop at the next village, down the road, to see if he was there.
When they arrived, the village was in a state of hysteria. A small cluster of people was gathered around the open front door of the inn, a few armed men holding them back. Voices were loud and angry, and it was easy enough to overhear that the innkeeper and his wife had been found dead in their beds. Ratboy watched as a guard came running out of the inn and began vomiting in the gutter of the street.
There would be no welcome for strangers in this village, and Rashed did not even slow the wagon. Once out of sight of the village, he whipped the horses into speed. Daylight was coming.
Although the roadside shrine they found down a side road looked ancient, as if untended and unvisited for years, Rashed clearly did not like the tenuous state of their situation. He raged over the idea of Teesha sleeping somewhere so insecure. When Parko caught up with them just before sunrise, his face and hands were covered in blood, and he no longer cackled and smiled as usual.
Rashed was furious at his brother and actually shouted at him. Parko merely backed into a corner with his pouch of soil, his eyes unblinking as he glared at Rashed. Ratboy suspected Parko had acted from spite, sick of being restrained and forced to continually repress his natural drives and instincts. And Ratboy, as well, wondered what it would be like to let go, to revel in a kill as Parko had done. Parko was still glaring at his brother when Ratboy finally closed his eyes much later and tried to rest.
Teesha kept her own council where Rashed's brother was concerned, but Ratboy could feel tension building in the group. He himself felt torn. At times, he did feel Parko was too wild, but Teesha and Rashed were certainly too tame. Three nights after the inn incident, Rashed stopped the wagon at midnight near a small village so they could hunt. Teesha sat in the wagon for a little while, gazing at trails of smoke rising over the trees from the little huts, her expression wistful.
"Rashed, how far is it to the ocean?" she asked. "I'm so tired. Will we find our own home soon?"
Rashed was standing on the ground, strapping on his sword. He quickly climbed back in the wagon and sat beside her.
"We have a long way to travel yet, but we have the maps I took from the keep. Before we sleep in the morning, I'll show you where we are and where the ocean is." His voice was concerned and tender.
Suddenly Parko howled in rage.
"Home! Ocean!" he shouted. His black eyes turned toward Teesha. "You!" White flesh seemed stretched over his thin face, and his uncombed hair stood out in several directions. "No home," he said. "Hunt!"
Pain registered on Rashed's face. And it was not lost on Parko, who turned and ran into the forest.
Rashed looked at Ratboy. "Will you go with him? Make sure he doesn't do anything to endanger the rest of us?"
Their leader rarely asked Ratboy for anything. So, Ratboy nodded and slipped into the trees after Parko. Actually, it was a relief to be running through the woods after Parko, leaving Rashed and Teesha in their own private world.
Ratboy reached out with his mind and tried to locate Parko as Rashed had done, but he could sense nothing. Instead, he resorted to mundane methods of tracking. Parko was in such a fit he'd left a trail that was easy to follow. It wasn't long before Ratboy caught up with his charge behind a patch of small trees on the far side of the village. He crouched down beside Parko.
"You see something?" he asked.
"Blood," Parko answered.
Even at this late hour, a small band of teenage boys was sitting outside what appeared to be a stable. They were laughing and passing a jug among themselves. They had probably stolen some ale or whiskey and were feeling quite rebellious. The sight of them actually brought back memories of the "life" Ratboy had left far behind, long ago. He'd done the same thing in his youth often enough.
"No, Parko," he said. "There are too many, and they're out in the open. One of them would raise an alarm. We'll look elsewhere."
Parko turned to him.
"You are not Rashed," he said with surprising clarity. "We kill. We hunt. We fear no calls to alarm. We fear no boys. No men." He looked back at the drinking band of teenagers. "You should not be like Rashed. Drink with me."
Without another word, he darted from the treeline. Startled, Ratboy watched him move silently and swiftly along the stable's side. Uncertain, Ratboy followed him, until they stopped at the corner.
The boys were almost close enough to touch now. Ratboy could hear every word they were saying, mainly complaints about their fathers, interspersed with laughter and gulps of liquid. He could smell the contents of the jug-whiskey.
In a flash, Parko was gone, and then Ratboy heard laughter silenced as it turned to screams.
Hungry, excited, Ratboy stepped out from the corner of the stable to see three boys lying dead on the ground, their necks broken, and Parko drinking from the throat of a boy with dirty-blond hair. The boy was still alive and flailing his arms in terror.
A short, slightly pudgy boy with dark hair stood screaming. Why didn't he run? Ratboy felt free. He wasn't like Rashed. He was like Parko, and he grabbed the screaming boy and drove both fangs straight into his neck, closing his teeth over the plump throat until the boy was choked into silence. Fear and blood from his victim seeped into him in equal measures, and he felt euphoric, so alive.
Shouts from deeper voices began sounding down the street. Ratboy drank his fill and then dropped the body to the ground with a thud. He knew he should run. Common sense told him he should run, but he didn't.
Parko finished with the blond boy and laughed.
Instead of dropping the carcass, he began dancing, capering with it. Covered in blood, his black eyes wide, he looked completely mad, but Ratboy didn't care. He laughed as well.
Two grown men with wooden pitchforks came around the corner and halted in shock, then one jabbed his pronged tool at Ratboy. The man looked more frightened than fierce. Ratboy simply feinted around the pitchfork, and tore the man's throat open with his fingernails.
He watched with pleasure as realization, and then horror, dawned on the mortal's face and the pitchfork tumbled from the man's hand as he clutched his gaping wound. Ratboy heard a crack behind him and turned to see Parko dropping the second man's body to the ground.
Parko seemed to be in the mood for breaking necks.
Ratboy wanted to laugh aloud again. They were invincible, free. Why had they ever feared discovery from these mortals?