Chapter Five: Burial

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Return to the earth and be free, for death is but another beginning. May Mother Anturia watch over you.”

It was early in the morning when Ein woke. He sat groggily for a while, listening to the quiet breathing of Evaine beside him, ignoring the stiffness creeping into the hollow of his neck where her head lay. It took a while longer for him to remember he wasn’t supposed to be asleep, and when he pulled his hand away from hers she let out a quiet groan and began to stir. He remained perfectly still as she shifted into a more comfortable position, and it wasn’t until her breathing evened that he dared move.

Ein rose to his feet and made a quick check on Evaine’s mother and father, noting the tinge of colour creeping back into their cheeks. Nodding to himself, he left the room on the balls of his feet. Hopefully he would make it back before Evaine woke, and she would be none the wiser.

After a modest breakfast from the innkeeper and a knowing wink which he ignored, he set out to the Tamelyn farmstead. Smoke rose from the chimneys of Felhaven as fireplaces burned to life and villagers woke up to tend to their daily chores. Some of them waved to Ein as he passed them by.

He reached the farm in what felt like no time at all. However, he wasn’t alone.

“Merrill,” he exclaimed. And then, with a more respectful tone, “Master Sanson.”

Merrill and his father Sanson stood in the middle of the pen, working away at the sheep corpses. They’d sheared the bloodstained fleece already and were hacking away at the bodies with an assortment of knives and cleavers. A wagon stood beside the fence on the road, laden with several sacks of what Ein assumed were tools and cuts of meat, and tethered to it stood a brown mare pawing idly at the ground.

“Ein,” Merrill nodded. His father ignored them. “How’s Evaine? I would visit, but we can’t leave these corpses out for much longer. It was hard enough finding the time to come today.”

“You left them out for the whole of yesterday?” Ein asked. He approached one of the sheep carcasses, fighting down the uneasiness in his stomach. Soon enough, part of that corpse would be on his plate. He hoped the flies hadn’t gotten around to laying their eggs yet.

“The whole village was in an uproar,” Merrill sighed. “We spent the entire day scouring the countryside for the attackers. Didn’t find anything, of course.”

Merrill stood up and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. He was a sandy-haired youth with a splattering of freckles across his red skin, just as tall and thin as his father. Ein remembered a time when young Merrill had been the shortest of the three and Evaine had towered a full head above them both. Back then their worries had consisted of getting home before dark, following rabbits to their holes and finding the tallest trees to climb in the woods. How times had changed.

“Evaine’s doing fine,” Ein answered. “The Master and Mistress look to be in better shape as well. Hopefully they’ll be awake later today.”

“That’s good to hear,” Merrill said. He turned to where his father was on the other side of the pen and furrowed his brow. “Of all the times for disaster to strike, it had to be now. I hope they’ll be able to enjoy the festival tomorrow.”

They fell into silence. Merrill clenched the cleaver so tightly it shook. He noticed Ein watching and smiled uneasily. “Makes you wonder, eh?” he asked. “If our little village in the Sleeping Twins isn’t safe, where in the world is?”

Evaine had spoken almost the exact same words the night before. Images of wolves and sheep lying in pieces rose to his mind and he pushed them away.

“Get back to work,” Sanson called out from across the field, startling them both. The tension left Merrill’s shoulders and he bent down to the corpse, cleaver raised. With a firm chop, he severed one of the hind legs and pulled it from the main body.

“Sorry,” Ein said. “Anyway, have you seen Einar around?”

Merrill nodded, cleaning off the tendons from the cut. “Yeah. He’s dead. I pulled his body to the side since I figured you’d probably want to bury him.” He pointed to the edge of the pen. “Didn’t touch him or anything. Evaine would kill me if I carved him up like the other animals.”

“Thank the gods.” Ein exhaled. She’d probably kill him too while she was at it.

“She doesn’t know he’s dead yet, does she?”

Ein shoved his hands into his pockets as Merrill wrapped the leg into a flap of leather. “I think she suspects it. But don’t tell her; just say we didn’t find his body. I’ll go and bury him now.”

“Got it.”

Ein left him then, trudging over to the remains of the hound with heavy steps. His breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes for a moment. Einar’s jaw was still locked into a snarl, eyes open in fierce determination, staring down whatever it was that had killed him. It had been dark and Ein had been tired the night before, but under the stark daylight the scene was exposed in all its savagery. He gently closed the hound’s eyes.

“Mother Anturia watch over you,” he murmured.

He bundled the body into his arms, careful not to let any of the insides spill out, and found a place beneath a pine well away from the edge of the farm. Merrill and his father were small dots in the distance, moving back and forth between the sheep carcasses and their wagon. Neither of them paid him any heed.

The first spadeful was the easiest. The soft snow quickly gave way to packed ice and then firm, frozen soil, and it soon became a strenuous task. He fell into a steady rhythm—stepping, levering, lifting, tossing, stepping, levering, lifting, tossing. He’d worked up a sweat before long. It was a mindless exercise, one he didn’t dislike at all. He didn’t want to think. The past few days had given him enough to think about.

When he was done, he took a moment to admire his handiwork before gently lowering Einar’s body into the grave. A knot of sadness grew in his stomach, followed by anger and frustration. Things wouldn’t quite be the same without the wolfhound.

The screeching of a crow startled Ein out of his thoughts. He quickly began packing the earth back into the hole. Evaine would be up soon, and it was as safe a bet as any that she’d come back to her farm—if not to look for him, then to salvage what little she could. He wanted the job to be finished by then. Hopefully, a light sprinkling of snow would have covered the patch of dirt he’d dug up.

Merrill and his father had just about finished when Ein returned to the farm and left the spade in the shed. Merrill was panting with exertion, even more red-faced than usual. Sanson was securing their wares at the back of the wagon. He fed the old mare a turnip.

“All finished?” Merrill asked.

Ein nodded.

“Just in time too, it looks like.” Merrill nodded in the direction of the road. “We’ve got some visitors.”

Ein followed his gaze down the road to where two figures slogged towards them; the tall, broad figure of his father and the smaller, waif-like figure of Evaine. Alend dragged an empty sled behind them.

“Evaine,” Ein exclaimed, as she came to a halt. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” she snapped. “This is my home. I don’t need a reason to be here.”

She nodded curtly at Merrill and then stormed off towards the battered entrance to the house, braid swaying behind her. Ein and Merrill looked towards Alend.

“She’s a bit angry,” he explained. “I told her she’d have to move elsewhere until either her parents woke or the house was repaired. It’s too dangerous for a girl to be living alone so far out from the village, especially with dangerous beasts roaming about. Not to mention, she needs a new door as well.”

“Where’s she going to stay?” Ein asked. He watched Merrill carefully out of the corner of his eye.

“She’ll be staying with us, at least until her mother or father wakes up. They can decide what to do after.”

“I’m not sure I approve of that.” Sanson Sutherland was suddenly there, a stormy shadow standing behind his son. His sleeves were rolled up and there were frozen bloodstains on his apron. “I do wish to remind you that the young Mistress is betrothed to my son.” He scowled at Ein, who looked away.

“Of course,” Alend said, meeting his gaze. “It was her decision. She needed a place to store her belongings and she didn’t think the Sutherland residence would be big enough.” Sanson scowled. “Besides, she didn’t feel it was right to be sleeping under the same roof as Merrill yet. He’s not of age for another few weeks, after all.”

Merrill’s father said nothing, but Ein could have sworn he heard the grinding of teeth.

“Rest assured,” Alend continued. “It’ll only be for the next few days. The troupers are due in tonight, and once they’re gone, Koth has kindly offered one of his rooms at the inn to the young Mistress.”

“And she decided all this without consulting me?” Sanson seemed to have finally found his tongue.

“You’re not her father,” Alend said. “Not yet, at least. I don’t see why she has to.”

“Neither are you.”

“I could stand here arguing with you all day, but Evaine is old enough to decide things for herself. That includes who she confides in.”

Sanson gave Alend a murderous look before turning on his heel, yanking Merrill behind him. Merrill offered an apologetic look over his shoulder as he was dragged away.

“What are you trying to do?” Ein asked. “Master Sanson already looks like he wants to kill me. I’m surprised enough as it is that Merrill doesn’t want to do the same.”

“I’ve nothing against young Merrill,” Alend said, “but his father is a real piece of work. All he wants is the Tamelyn farm. I can see it in his eyes.”

Before he could enquire further, Evaine emerged from the broken door carrying an armful of clothes. She stalked past Alend and Ein to the sled, dumping them in an unruly heap.

“I’m going to see if I can salvage anything else from those sheep corpses,” Alend said, unpacking a toolbox from his bag. “We might need to replace those arrows we dumped during the trip. Bone makes for decent arrowheads.”

Ein nodded as his father made his way across the field to where Merrill and Sanson were working, taking deliberate care not to enter speaking range with either of them. Evaine passed by again, this time with a large trunk in her arms. She stopped halfway to the sled and glared at Ein.

“Aren’t you going to help me?”

There was no sign of the vulnerable girl from the night before. Evaine was normally quite overbearing, but Ein had never seen her so irritable before. It was probably her way of dealing with the events of yesterday, so he kept quiet and made the wiser decision.