Forsaken: The Chosen Trilogy - Book One

Chapter Eight

Zyten - the first month of the year; middle of winter

KYLEE

I am writing this under protest. I didn't want to tell this part of the story. I remember the darkness and the abuse just as well as the others, but I don't like to focus on it. But since apparently I have to write something about that time, then I will tell you about Renic. He's the only thing worth remembering, after all.

The Rose Farm, Northwestern Valory

4 Zyten 574A.F. - 21 Emberes 574A.F.

"Can't you even clean yourself properly?" Apple asked, his whiskers twitching as he watched me brush Renic's coat. The elderly plowhorse stood, patient and amused, as the cat insulted him. "It must be so inconvenient to be a horse."

"That's what he has humans for," I told the plump tabby, my voice echoing in the nearly empty barn. "To take care of him."

"Humans." Apple sniffed, his tail arching in disdain; cats, I had learned quickly, were always disdainful of humans. "You can't even clean yourselves properly."

"I'm clean," I retorted, indignant. "I take baths."

"Baths." He shuddered, as if the word were some great horror. "So unsanitary. So much wet."

"So you've said. But humans like wet." I grinned when he shivered again before stalking away, muttering.

"You shouldn't tease him so much," Renic chided me gently. He turned his head to stare at me with one soulful brown eye. "Cats know many things, and you might need their help one day."

"Apple can barely help himself out of a tree." I made a face. "I doubt he knows much of anything."

"Never underestimate others for their appearance, Skylily." He nudged me with his nose, and snuffled at my stomach until I giggled. "Such judgment is beneath you."

I sighed, and wrapped my arms around his neck. "I'll try."

From the corner of my eye, I saw my twin slowly withdraw his head from the barn. I knew that he, and the others, thought I was crazy- it wasn't the first time I had been caught talking to the animals. I didn't care. Renic was my friend, tender-hearted and gentle, and he listened to me. I told him my fears and held his neck when I cried; he endured it all with unfailing compassion.

I don't know when I developed my aptitude for animals, but I understood them long before I heard the thoughts of my siblings. I loved them, in a way I was never able to imitate with people. Animals were simple: they kept no secrets, told no lies, and did no harm except in their own defense. I admired them, and often wished I was one of them. Sometimes I still do.

That's not to say I liked all the animals. I didn't care much for chickens; their inane chatter was mostly about food and fear, and their constant clucking ground at my nerves. I didn't like the pigs either- they spoke only of food, and they would stare at me greedily, as if wondering how I tasted. Thankfully, my gift ends at animals. I have no desire to understand insects, or spiders.

But I loved the birds, who sang of freedom and love and the glorious fight to survive. I loved the goats, who told me stories of the joy of climbing and leaping and the feeling of cold mountain air around them. I even loved the cats, prickly and sarcastic though they were, and named them all, though that was pointless since they ignored me no matter what I called them.

Most of all, I loved Renic.

Renic made me want to be better, to be worthy of his unconditional love and loyalty, though my cynicism often undermined these intentions. His friendship was my only comfort in the early years of my life, and I thought we would be together forever, our future stretching out endlessly before us.

But Renic was old when I was young, and finally there came a day, shortly after Alyxen's arm had healed, when I walked out to the barn  and found him collapsed on his side in his stall, his eyes wide and staring. My screams brought the others at a run.

We buried Renic near the apple trees he had once loved, though digging a hole large enough took more than half a day from our chores. It took all six of us to drag Renic's body from the barn to the grave; it would have been simpler to cut him into pieces, but the others thankfully did not suggest that.

I carved his marker myself, carrying the largest stone I could manage to the head of his grave, and spent the rest of the afternoon with hammer and chisel, carefully spelling his name into eternal stone. 

When I had finished, I curled onto the soft dirt above him and cried myself to sleep.