The Piper King

Chapter 1

"Kane, I don't want your blood money,'' my mother snapped for what would have to be the thousandth time.

The sun has not yet crested the horizon, so the only light that bathed my mother's face is from the fire. The shadows contort her face, turning it wicked and almost cruel. Her eyes burned coal bright.

"Money is money, Mother. It puts food in your belly."

"I'd rather starve," she shot back, her frail arms crossing over her chest, her pointed nose sticking straight in the air. Her black eyes glare at me through a halo of fiery-red tangles.

A sigh escapes my lips as I slip my wool socked-feet into the subtle leather of my boots. They mold around my feet. My fingers work quickly as I lace them up. It was the same conversation we had every morning as I got around for work.

Our cabin, though small, is nothing short of beautiful. The cherry wood glistens on the walls, thick fur rugs litter the floor and drape over thick engraved chairs, and a roaring fire sits cradled in a large stone fireplace carved from a dark grey limestone. It heats the small space and the couch in front of it that Mother uses as her bed. The red cushions have a slight indent from where her small frame sits cradled nearly every hour of the day. It's hard for her to walk, and considering I don't come home until after dark or when the sun crests the horizon, it's easier for my sister to care for her when she's close.

My younger sister, Kale, hobbles to me, holding out my black cloak embroidered with red silk thread throughout the hems and cuffs. My eyes linger on her mangled leg - twisted since birth. She offers me a small smile as my fingers grip the cloak and I stand.

Her hair is a fiery-red, like our mother's, while I was blessed with dark brown-black locks gifted to me by our father. Her freckled nose wrinkles as she whispers "Don't mind her. She knows that without you, there would be no food in our bellies." She stares at me with violet eyes passed down from our father. I often catch myself staring into her eyes, remembering a time that wasn't so hard. A time full of laughter and mud; of kisses and barley.

I reach down and grab her head, pressing a kiss to her brow. She smells of thyme and rosemary and soft rose-scented powders from our washroom. I squeeze three gold coins in her palm so Mother won't see. "Buy a roast at the market for you and Mother. I will be home after dark," I whisper into her ear.

She pulls back a little so her eyes meet mine and she smirks. "Like always?"

I smile back, the thick weight of my cloak settling around my shoulders. It swishes around my ankles like a friendly cat playing with my laces, and I throw the hood up, bathing my face in darkness. "Like always."

* * * * * * *

The air is bitter and cruel when I emerge, and the world is silent. Wintry and barren trees stand around like elegent dancers. Poised, proud, showing the universe their grace though their branches are broken and snarled. Even with their leaves stripped, they loom tall and strong against Winter's gusty winds- as if their brown-silvery skin was their biggest triumph all along.

It had snowed the night before, and the world is blanketed in thick white and my boots crunch as I walk, much to my displeasure. I take caution and walk lighter, lessening the sound.

I travel the path I had for years - known by heart at this point. Through the woods to a bridge that stretches over a small river that I and Kale and spent many summers fishing and digging for roots. When I come to the bridge, the river's water below appears to be still and calm. But it rages below a thin layer of ice that looks like polished glass, butI am not fooled as to test the thickness.