Chapter 1 - The Master's House

Sunlight was coming in through a crack in the wall. The only reason he was aware of it was because he could feel its warmth cut a line across his fingertips. Renley's world was one perpetually smothered by darkness. All he knew was sound and touch and smell, and sometimes taste if the food was good enough to have any flavor at all.

That small slice of light was the first thing that stirred him out of dreams that were full of colors made of sound and visions made of scent. His fingers twitched, and so too did his eyelids. Despite the fact that the eyes underneath them were dead and white — a frosty bluish white as he had been told once — his eyelids were still compelled by instinctual reflex to slide open and greet the dawn.

Renley was only ten years old at this time, a small and scrawny boy who lived under the stairs in a dirty old cottage owned by a wizened old man he knew only as Master Dante. He only knew the man was old by the way he hobbled and wheezed when he walked, how he had a phlegmy cough, and by the way some of his visitors addressed him with reverence. At ten years of age he knew that many old men walked with a cane, and he knew the sound of one striking the floor as well as he did the feel of it against the backside of his thigh whenever he did something wrong.

Master Dante Aldo was not the boy's father, as he had told him many times before in his short life. It was a fact of life the old man had burned into his skull a thousand times over. Though, because the Master had given him a mat to sleep on under the stairs, a roof that kept the rain off of him when he slept, food to eat and clothes to wear, it was difficult to think ill of him, regardless of how often he was reprimanded.

At the even younger age of six he had been taught how to wake with the dawn. Master Dante liked to wake an hour after sunrise, and he liked to have a fresh, hot breakfast waiting for him. Renley had learned how to navigate his way around the kitchen, only thirteen paces away from the side of the stairs, his bed underneath it, by the memory of number of steps and by feel.

The stove was on the other side of the room, straight ahead and on his left hand side in the corner: thirteen steps, turn left, plus twelve more steps. Beside that, at ten steps, or two back from the stove, was a counter with a cabinet overhead and under. The top cabinet had spices in it. The bottom cabinet was where a bag of flour was stored. Beside that, on his right from the stove, another seven paces or five from the counter, there was a pile of firewood that Renley cut himself and kept neatly stacked and counted. There should be twenty-seven logs there this morning.

Before he did anything himself, he walked directly across from the side of the stairs, feet by the end of his mat, and took fourteen steps to the door leading out into the back yard. Twenty-one paces straight ahead was a well. Next to the door, on his left-hand side, was a wooden bucket. He picked that up first, counted those steps, and drew a full pail of water. Then he turned directly around, counted the steps back to the door, and went inside.

It was Renley's job to cook breakfast. This consisted of biscuits made from the bag of flour in the bottom cabinet. These were not the best biscuits money could buy, as Master Dante owned no livestock, therefore there were no cows in which to get milk from. Renley had to make them using water, which made them have less flavor than anyone might have liked, but they did the trick of filling one's belly.

Renley had learned how to make breakfast quickly and efficiently. He had the recipe memorized as well as he did the number of steps it took him to get from one point of the front room to another. He knew that behind him was a table with six chairs; sometimes Master Dante had guests. Past that, from the second chair closest to the wall, but not the head of the table, seven steps took him to the front door, which it was his job to answer any time anyone ever knocked. This did not happen very often.

In the top cabinet Master Aldo kept many different jars full of jams and jellies and spices. The Master had taught him how to tell the difference between each one by smell and by taste. This was by no means a reward. Renley only got to lick a taste off the end of Master Dante's finger during those lessons. If he dared to sneak any for himself at any time afterward, the backs of his thighs would have been made very sore, which in turn would have made it hurt to walk for days after that.

Regardless, Renley had spent some time, when he had a rare moment of free time, organizing the jars in a way that he would remember. Alphabetically, by their name, based on the smell and a smear of taste from the bottom of the lid: apple, blackberry, cherry, grape, lemon, orange and strawberry. Master Dante liked to have a different flavor every day of the week. Having such a fine memory, Renley knew always which day it was and which jam to put out with the Master's biscuits. Though this had taken many short years for him to learn perfectly.

Today was a Thursday. On Thursdays Master Dante liked to have grape jam with his biscuits. When they were baked, flat and dry, he took them out of the oven, put them on a plate, and set them at the head of the table. He took two smaller plates from the right side of the top cabinet and set them on the table as well: one at the head of the table just in front of the plate of biscuits and one across from him on the Master's right hand side. He then counted the row of jam jars by feel. Number four, from left to right, the jar in the middle, even from right to left, was grape. He took that down and set it at an angle between the two smaller plates, just next to the biscuit platter. Then he took two butter knives from the drawer and set one each on the right hand side of each smaller plate.

Master Dante also liked tea, a lot, for every meal of the day and every hour in between. Part of the water that Renley had brought in was used to fill the kettle, and that was set on the top of the stove to boil. He took down two teacups and saucers from the shelf above the plates in the cabinet. He set those above the butter knives just in time to hear the kettle whistle. This is probably what woke the Master in such a timely manner each morning.

An hour after dawn, Master Dante creaked and grunted his way out of bed. He scrubbed his face in the wash basin Renley had filled the night before, blew his nose into the bowl after he'd used the water, dressed in his finest, dustiest-smelling, clothes — trousers and a starchy-stiff button-up shirt, suspenders and belt, shined and polished shoes (which Renley was also in charge of), over which all he puled on a nappy old robe that Renley had stitched up more times than he could count.

Master Dante had two servants. One of them was Renley, whose job it was to care for the main house. It was a small house with a high ceiling and only half an upper floor. That was the master's private living space. There was another servant, a boy a couple of years older than him, a boy who could see and had spent every day of the ten years Renley could remember, making certain his fellow servant knew just how inferior he was because of his handicap. Renley only believed this in the later half of every day. In the mornings he knew better.

The stairs creaked under the Master's weight as he hobbled down the stairs, his gnarled cane thunking down hard on each one. One, two, eight. There were eight steps, but nine thuds, the last sounding when the Master reached floor level. He clunked and shuffled another ten steps across to his chair at the head of the table by the wall, grunted and groaned as he slowly descended onto his seat. Once he was settled, he coughed three times, sniffled back a large glob of snot, and grumbled, "Thank you, Renley. You did a fine job, my boy."

It was not Renley's place to speak unless spoken to. Master Dante was a man who firmly believed that children should be seen, not heard, and he had burned that into his boy servant's skull from a very young age as well. So he never said anything at all when the Master thanked him. He only smiled, perhaps a little pridefully, and bowed his head.

After slathering a large dollop of jam onto a biscuit and sampling a single bite, he heard the rustle of starchy cotton when the Master bobbed his head several times. "Mm," he grumbled ponderously. There was always the sound of excess phlegm bubbling in the old man's throat. "Mm. Mhm. This will do, boy. Well done. Now, run along and go fetch Heilyn from bed."

Renley bowed his head again, then turned and counted his steps to the back door. He liked to think that he had the most important jobs of all, but he really didn't, as the other servant boy liked to remind him constantly. From the back door, two steps out, turning to his left, and ten steps forward there was a cellar door. He was forbidden to go down to the lower level, and at times he was grateful for that. Whenever he got the chance, when the door was open and he happened to wander by at just the right moment, he could always detect a stale and nauseating aroma wafting up from below.

The cellar smelled like something had died down there. The other boy servant, named Ian, whose job it was to care for and tidy up the lower level of the house, always smelled like something had died on him too. In fact, so did Master Dante's apprentice, the boy named Heilyn, who he had been sent to fetch from bed.

Now, this command was not strictly literal. Renley was only allowed so far as those heavy and wide storm doors. He had heard Ian whispering about the cellar being the Master's laboratory, where he conduct important research, and how it was much bigger and much more difficult to take care of than the main house upstairs. Renley wouldn't know because he had never been down there. All he knew was that Heilyn lived down there with the stench of old, rotting meat and chemicals.

Beside the cellar doors was a small shack just big enough for a boy to crawl into and curl up inside. It may have been best to call it a box. This was where Ian's bed was. It wasn't a bad place to hang one's hat. He had access to the heat of the stove just behind the back wall of his box. In fact, Ian thought his bed was in a better place, because Renley slept under the stairs so far away from the warmth of the stove.

Ian also woke with the dawn every morning. By this time the cellar doors were wide open and he had already begun his day sweeping the floors of the laboratory. It was not his job to wake the Master's apprentice. That was no one's job. For Master Aldo was still trying to teach his apprentice to wake on his own, in a timely fashion, and to be dressed and ready for breakfast an hour afterward.

To reassure himself that his memorized steps had brought him where he needed to be, Renley reached out to brush his fingers against the edge of the cellar doors. They were open to let in the morning air, just as Master Dante liked. He smiled pride at himself and then called down the stairs. "Ian!" His voice echoed hollowly against the stone walls, and he didn't wait for a reply because he didn't like talking to Ian. "It's time for Master Iden to wake up!"

He heard a heavy sigh echo back at him, and after that Ian's surly voice griping about having to do more work. When he heard the other boy knocking on a door downstairs and cautiously inquiring within, he turned and counted his steps back inside. After cooking and serving breakfast for the Master and his apprentice, it was then Renley's job to make Master Dante's bed.

Renley had a large list of chores to do every day. He cooked breakfast consisting of biscuits, lunch consisting of a thick onion and potato stew that boiled all morning while he swept the floor of the main room, and dinner consisting of salted fish. He went to the village once every week, to the market by the docks, and bought several different fish with the Master's money. He took them back to Master Dante's, packed them in salt, and cooked a different type every week. The Master liked to have a specific one on very specific days. Thursdays he liked snooks.

Overall, Renley's life was full of routine. On very rare occasions, maybe once a year, the Master left the house himself and walked to the village. It was extremely unheard of him to say, as he did this Thursday, "Renley, my boy, I'm going to town today, and I'd like you to come with me." Renley miscounted his third step up to the second level, on his way to make the Master's bed, and fell through the crack, smacking his chin on the fourth step.

"Oh dear," said Master Dante. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard the old man creak with his chair when he got up from breakfast. He heard the clink of his teacup set down on the saucer. Then he heard the grunting and wheezing accompanied by the Master's hobbling, thunking steps get closer. The old man had a laugh that sounded much like a strong wind passing through the cracks in the wall late at night. "Well, I did not mean to shock you, my boy."

A strong, gnarled hand took him by the arm and pulled him off the steps. Renley held his breath. The only time Master Dante ever touched him was when he meant to reprimand him. He used the same grip, grabbed him in the same spot, and hauled him around in the same way. Only this time, instead of thumping him with his cane, the Master lifted his chin and hummed ponderously while examining where Renley had struck himself on the stairs. "There is an ointment in the chest at the foot of my bed," he said. "A small, glass jar with a metal lid that twists on. It smells like peppermint. Go and fetch it."

But, Master, he thought while he stood there, gaping about the sudden change in daily routine. I have yet to make your bed. Master Dante harrumphed and spent a minute gurgling on a chunk of phlegm stuck in his throat. This was usually a sound that came just before a lecture or the strike of his cane. He could feel the air being pushed about while the Master swayed in front of him. Subtle currents that no sighted person would have ever picked up on.

"Hmm. Yes," said the Master. Renley heard the scratch of his thick, broken nails dragging across his chin. "I thought so." The boy's brows pulled down into a puzzled furrow, because he had no idea what the Master was talking about. "Well, go on. Fetch that jar out of my chest. You can wait to make my bed another day," he said, as if, or so it felt, he had heard Renley's thoughts.

Chapter 3 - Boy Meets Dog

Bertalind's house smelled like a thousand different scents that blended together into one singular, unnameable stink. Somewhere in the mix were aromas that he was only capable of picking apart for a second before they leaped away again into the chaos from whence they came. There were rose petals and ginger, lemon peels, peppermint, saffron, cinnamon, chili peppers, oregano, wet dog, fresh cut strawberries, buttermilk, manure, and a billion other things Renley had no time to name.

Every single floor board creaked, not just under the Master's feet but his as well, and Renley took great care always to step lightly so as not to disturb anyone or anything. It was a tremendous change from the house he was used to, and he immediately decided that he didn't like it. In fact, he thought for a minute that he would have preferred to wait outside. He thought this very quietly, of course, because he remembered the Master telling him strictly to mind them.

When they reached the door, Master Dante rapped three times upon it with the curve of his cane and quietly instructed the boy to mind his manners, not speak unless spoken to first, and if bothering to speak he should remember not to say much at all. Renley only nodded obediently and listened to the quaking thunder of giant's steps lumbering to the door. The hinges screamed in terror when the woman on the other side let them in.

"Aieee, Master Aldo!" Bertalind's voice somehow, in some way, made her sound fat. He could hear the rolls under her chin warbling on her own when she squealed her delight at seeing the old man. "Come in, come in." She took two rolling steps aside. He could also hear her thighs slap together under the rustle of her skirt. Renley was very glad at times like this that he was incapable of seeing, but if only he could temporarily make himself deaf so he couldn't see in other ways at all.

"Bertalind," Master Dante said cheerfully. He heard the wet smack of them kissing each others' cheeks. One side, then the other. One of them more slurped than smacked, and he imagined that had to be the woman. "It is wonderful to see you, my lady," he said, as if talking to a noble.

The woman of the house tittered, which only made the rolls under her chin warble a bit more. "Master Aldo, you're too kind. I'm hardly a lady. Stopped ever being near enough to one aaages ago. And who's this y'got with you?"

"Ah. Hm," said the Master. "This is my servant boy Renley." The boy felt the curve of the master's cane catch against his back. With a less than gentle tug, the Master pulled him inside.

Renley stumbled over the threshold and caught himself against the Master's leg. If it were proper, he would have preferred to cling to him. He didn't like the feel of this house much at all. It was much too ....cheerful. "Hullo, ma'am," he mumbled. Master Dante thumped him harder on the back than he might have liked, which reminded him perfectly of having forgot his instructions. Oops. He had spoken before being spoken to first. His cheeks felt hot, and for some reason Bertalind tittered again.

"Oi, what an adorable boy. Lookit him blush." What was that' He had little time to think on this, however, because next he felt something fleshy and sharp squeeze his cheek and shake it around. "Oh dear," said Bertalind, with a tone of sudden realization. "What's wrong with his eyes, eh?"

"I'm afraid dear Renley is blind, Madame."

This leaked information made his cheeks flush hotter, but it was less to do with embarrassment this time around than it was anger. "Oooh the poor thing," said Bertalind. That was why he felt angry. He hated it when people pitied him for his handicap. "Well, don't you worry none, dear. Come along this way." Before he could even think to protest, the woman slapped her meaty hands on his shoulders and steered him about her stinky living room. She pushed him down onto a seat made of something soft but sunken in. "Best seat in the house," she told him, and he figured this was probably the chair she sat in a lot herself, which explained why he practically got swallowed up by the cushion.

"You are too kind to him," said Master Dante, with the faintest but unmistakable tone of disapproval that Renley knew too well.

"Can't be leaving him to roam about, Dante." The nerve of this woman to call the Master by his first name! "He's liable to trip over something. Maybe even Sally." He heard a noise that sounded like a groaning whine. Whatever that was, perhaps it could have been the Sally she spoke of.

A few moments later he hard something shuffling against the floor. Then a click, click, sweep, click sound that he could not identify. Then something cold and wet stuck itself in the palm of his hand. Renley gasped and sank back down further into the chair.

Bertalind warbled again. "Oi now, Sally. Behave yourself. You be nice to that boy, you hear me? That's a good dog." The woman said everything in one long sentence that had no room for pause, or even an indication she was fully aware that the dog was being good or not. But that's what it was, he realized: a dog.

Renley had never met a dog before. It may even be safe to say that up until this moment of his life, in ten short years, he had no idea what a dog even was at all. Mystified, he let his hands explore the dry and brittle fur of the animal that had very patiently set its head in his lap. The nose was cold and wet, and put on a narrow, long face, back to a sloped, wedge-shaped head. The animal had curved, floppy but short ears, with softer fur than the face, a bit longer too. Further back, along the neck, the fur only got longer, and he could sift his fingers through it.

Gliding his hands back up across the muzzle, he stuck his fingertips in the animal's mouth. There were dozens of dull, pointy teeth. All of them must have been sharp at one point. Not a single flat tooth like he could feel in his own mouth. It must have been very smart as far as animals go, because he couldn't imagine any single person who would have tolerated him putting his fingers in their mouth.

The dog licked his hand and left a thin line of slobber behind, more than a person's tongue might have but certainly less than a glob of slime dropping on his head. Not that he had ever experienced a glob of slime dropping on his head, but even a blind boy can imagine. Something rough and dry, not as rough as sandpaper, something softer, landed heavily on his hand.

He turned over his hand and explored this new object by feel. His fingers told him that it was something uncertainly shaped, a little round but with more curves, that felt like very dry skin. There were four smaller lumps that felt just like that. Then something hooked and extremely solid that ended in a point. It felt just like a fingernail, but was thicker and stuck out on its own; there were four of those as well.

This was topped off by more soft fur, not as thick or long as what he had felt on the animal's neck. The further up he slid his fingers, curved them around a long, furry, solid, bone-thick appendage, the clearer the picture in his head became. This was an arm. Not as wide as a human arm, and certainly more hairy, but it was just by the chest where he could put his hand and feel both armpits on either side, feel the animal's heart beat a dozen times swifter than his own.

Bertalind and Master Dante were talking. He was so awed by this new and wonderful creature that he hardly heard them. However, he heard the woman titter again. "That's a girl, Sally. Such a good girl," she crooned at the animal from across the room.

Renley frowned and paused his investigations. For some reason the woman's commentary made the dog much less interesting. But she clearly was a good girl. A smarter animal than he might have imagined had he known dogs existed before now. When he heard Master Dante hum thoughtfully, it was the first time he wondered what he was thinking about this time. The two of them went back to talking, and after a few minutes, when he was sure they weren't watching him anymore, or so he felt, he went back to exploring the dog by feel.

Reaching further back he understood just how small a creature it was. Dogs, he figured, were less than half the size of a person. And, he realized, they walked on four legs instead of two. Those weren't arms he had felt, but front legs. When he reached the bushy tail, he smiled. Even blind boys could find themselves fascinated about puppy dog tails. After all, that's one third of what all boys are made of.

Chapter 5 - The Schoolhouse

All Renley knew about Mistress Luvelle was that her hands were creamy-smooth, had sharp nails, and that she spoke in a lofty whisper that made her sound as if she were constantly lost dreaming. That was the impression that he got when he first met her, in any case. During the year in which he trained under her tutelage, he learned little else about her that changed his initial assessment.

Saturdays, however, replaced Thursdays as his favorite day of the week. At the end of every week he was filled with a feeling of sadistic joy whenever Ian would sneer at him audibly. The Master's other servant went to great lengths to make it known just how angry he was that half of Renley's workload got dumped on him.

Ian was stuck with extra sweeping of the floors upstairs as well as down. He had to make Master Dante's bed on Saturdays. He had to scrub the floors as well. It was his job to put logs in the stove to keep the cabin warm. At least Renley had been kind enough to chop extra logs during the week so that Ian didn't have to worry about that. To be honest, though, he only did so because he had no confidence in Ian's ability to chop wood.

On the first Saturday, Renley made breakfast as usual, at a much quicker pace than he ever had before. He even woke up that morning before the first sliver of sunlight cut across his fingers. Though, Heilyn must not have been quite as excited with his task of having to escort the blind boy to the school house, because he still had to wake the Master's apprentice as usual.

There were three long stairs leading up to a set of double doors in the side of the school house. The first room was longer than it was wide. By the echo of rustling coats hanging on pegs to his left he could determine it was about ten feet wide by twenty feet long ahead of him. On the right was another set of double doors that Heilyn lead him to before taking his leave.

Headmistress Luvelle was awaiting him just on the other side of those doors, in what he later learned to be the main classroom. "You must be Renley," he heard her say from across the room. Her voice rebounded off of three rows of desks to greet him.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, feeling less intimidated by her dreamy-sounding intonations than he was of Master Dante's more usual gruff and phlegm-grumbling tone.

He heard the whisper of cloth on wood. This woman was clearly a polar opposite of Bertalind. The chair did not creak at all when she rose from it. She walked on slippered feet and had a soft, rustling gait that was more because of the swish of her skirts than the fall of her step. She moved slowly and deliberately, as if she were a part of the dusty atmosphere of the school house instead of fighting against the currents of life.

Beyond her he could hear the muffled laughter of other children bleeding through the walls. He turned his head and aimed one ear in that direction, straining both to hear her and listen to the Headmistress approach. There was light pouring into the room through a window that he could feel. Hers was a shadow that seemed to blend with that light, when she passed through the rays, instead of blotting it out. But he could tell she was tall. Her voice loomed high over his head and was turned to carry itself across the room, toward the back.

"The children attend classes five days a week," she said apathetically. "Some of them come to play on the weekends, however. We have a large training yard that Pyrina uses to teach swordplay and defense. Would you like to meet them?"

Renley lifted his head and turned it to the light. He felt his brows lift high on his head and heard his own thoughts quell themselves before turning too loud. The only children he had ever known besides himself were Ian and Heilyn. Until this moment in his life, he had not even ever stepped foot in a classroom. On the days he went to market he could hear them laughing, kicking around balls in the street, essentially ignoring his existence as the rest of Haliend Village did as he passed them by.

"M-maybe next week," he said quietly, then added, "ma'am," quickly.

Mistress Luvelle shared a trait with Master Dante. She had a way of humming her thoughts, keeping the actual words well-restrained, a mystery to a boy who could not see her face for any clues. That's when he felt her hand. She clutched his jaw between her fingers and lifted his chin up higher so she could look at him. She had soft but strong fingers. Her nails dug into his cheeks, but did not hurt. And she smelled like ink and old paper, with the faintest undercurrent of lilac oil that she must have dabbed sparingly on her wrists.

Whatever she might have gleaned by examining his face this thoroughly, she did not say. After a moment, she hummed thoughtfully once more, and then she released him. "There are fifteen desks in this room, each with fifteen stools. The floor is kept tidy, the seats pushed in after lessons every day. These desks are arranged in front of you in three rows and five columns. At the head of the room is my desk."

She started walking forward, but took no extra effort in walking any differently. This made him smile. He thought he could like this woman. She did not treat him like an invalid. She only spoke matter-of-factly and skipped ahead so he wouldn't waste any time feeling his way around.

When she reached the front of the room, she turned and clicked her nails on the edge of the desk, her desk, so that he would know where it was. "If you come forward and stop just here," she said, "there are two shelves aligned in either corner. Beside the shelf on the right there is a door. That door leads to the back yard, where you heard the children playing."

Renley bowed his head and tried to hide his smirk. So she had noticed. Yes, he thought quietly, I could like this woman. She's not a simpleton. But on the other hand...

"To the left is another door that leads to the younger grade classroom. Children who are not yet old enough to read and perform arithmetic are taught simpler lessons in there. Through that room is yet another set of doors that lead to the lower library and a flight of stairs. Those stairs lead to my private dwelling, where there are more books, and where I will be teaching you." She turned and walked to the door leading to the second classroom and said, "Come along."

With the visual map she had helped him draw up in his head, both through her oratory description and the sounds of her movements, Renley navigated through the main classroom without mishap. He dragged his fingers along the edge of three desks as he walked between them. They were made of polished wood, sloped at a slight angle down toward the seats for some reason. He counted three paces from the last desk to the teacher's desk, and turned to his left when he touched the edge.

Mistress Luvelle was waiting for him twenty-four paces away. The door she opened pulled the dusty air out of the main classroom and swirled it about in a smaller one that smelled of wet paint, wax, and stale cookies. She stepped into the room in front of him, to his left, and clicked her nails against the wall so that he would know where it is. No. It wasn't that. She was silently telling him something. Follow the wall.

From the door he walked twenty feet along the wall. At his age and small stature, that was about thirty paces, especially with how slowly Mistress Luvelle moved along. How she seemed to be drifting through the room, as if sleep walking. The wall ended at another ahead of him, turned him to the right, and that wall brought them to the set of double doors the Headmistress had mentioned previously.

She walked through those doors and directly across. The number of her steps told him she was waiting for him about fifteen feet away. "There are thirteen steps," she told him. There were always thirteen steps. She told him only that, though, and did not wait for him. This made him smile a bit more. She had no intention of leading him up the stairs. Instead, she went ahead of him. He lingered a little longer to listen to the whisper of her skirts, to a creak of floorboards that never came. She really did have a soft step.

The scent of aged paper and binding glue got stronger and stronger with each step he took. There were definitely more books up there. He heard hinges creak this time, a door that opened only five short feet from the top of the stairs ahead of him. When he stepped over the threshold he was greeted by air currents that swirled about more of that lilac scent as well. Mistress Luvelle's private upstairs dwelling was well-circulated, warmly lit, and much more inviting a place, full of simple comforts, than Master Dante's cottage or Bertalind's stink-smothering farmhouse.

"There is a sofa just ahead of you," he heard the Headmistress say from his left. "Have a seat. From now on I will expect you to find your way to this very spot every Saturday in the future. I will not wait for you." Her voice still gave away no emotion, except perhaps something that made her seem bored.

"Yes, ma'am," said Renley. He crept along the fearful expanse of mysterious things awaiting him directly ahead and was very glad to have not tripped over anything. He bumped into the side of the sofa, dragged his fingers along its velvet plush arm, and stepped around to settle slowly onto the seat. It was a much softer seat than the chair Bertalind had placed him in two days ago. In fact, it felt as if nobody before him had ever sat in it at all.

He heard a whisper of cloth across from him, and when Mistress Luvelle spoke again she was much closer, likely sitting on another sofa, or maybe a chair. "Braille, which I will be teaching you, is writing system which enables blind and partially sighted people to read and write through touch. It consists of patterns of raised dots, on a page, arranged in cells of up to six dots in a three by two configuration. Each cell represents a letter, numeral or punctuation mark. A book written in Braille will feel something like this."

The Headmistress leaned forward and slipped an open book into his lap. Renley tipped down his chin and held his hands hovering over the page. "Go ahead," she told him, and hesitantly he lowered his hands to glide his fingers over these new, mysterious, and magical raised bumps on paper. While he investigated this treasure, she continued to explain.

"There are three different grades, or levels, of Braille. We will begin with the first, and if you display enough aptitude and intelligence, we will continue forward through the second, and perhaps some day the third." Renley smiled softly. "The first grade consists of the twenty-six standard letters of the alphabet and punctuation. Once you have mastered these, we will combine them into whole words and teach you how to read basic texts.

"Since, up until this point, you have never received any formal schooling, I suspect these lessons will not be easy. Children half your age have already learned to recite their alphabet and identify visual letters." Mistress Luvelle still spoke matter-of-factly. He did not detect the slightest hint of disdain or superiority, but she still sounded bored.

"I'm a fast learner, Headmistress," Renley said quietly. He set his hands down on the open, bumpy pages, not wanting to give up this wondrous new tool too soon or too easily.

"Yes," said Mistress Luvelle. "So Master Dante has told me. He speaks very highly of you, Renley."

Master Dante speaks very highly of me" Renley's brows lifted high and his mouth hung open a little. When did the Master take the time to speak to anybody, let alone about him and highly? Even more awe-inspiring was the fact that the Headmistress called him by his name instead of simply calling him boy.

"Well," said the Headmistress. "He speaks very highly of you in writing, in any case."

Oh, right. He had sent a letter.

Mistress Luvelle was very silent for a very long moment. Renley spent the time brushing his fingers over ridges he hadn't yet the knowledge to decipher. This Braille made him smile. It seemed like a secret language to him; something he would know and Ian wouldn't. Something more to hold against the only boy he really knew, the one who hated him and made it abundantly clear that he did every chance he had.

"Hmm," said the Headmistress after that time. "Well, Renley. Let us begin."

Chapter 7 - The Shoreline Tavern

Most people wandering through Haliend's fish market would have been dazzled by the glittering assortment of freshly caught shining scales hanging from dozens of racks lining the plaza. A large variety of the product caught daily from the roaring Lorcan Aorta River only forty short feet from the main road were so exotic that even the locals hadn't thought of a proper name for them. At least half of the population of the village worked as fishermen and fishmongers, and the other half of the population spent long days shopping for just the right slice of seafood to add to their evening meals.

Families worked together as fully functional business partners. There was no segregation between who was out on the water, men or women, girls or boys. All that matter was who was the better at handling the nets and controlling the tethers. Fishing on the Lorcan Aorta wasn't easily done. The rapids were vicious and unforgiving, and while the villagers had developed a sophisticated ferrying system that allowed them to work from one side of the mile wide river to the other and back, there were still risks involved that required more than simply outrageous courage.

Renley had never ventured far enough into the market to chance falling over the breakwater walls to his current-tossing doom. Whenever he had accompanied Ian on his errands he had always loitered against the wall of the last house on the block. He knew the suffocating hustle and bustle sounds from the sidelines well enough, but he had never been hauled straight through the center of everything until the day that Lowe Pruitt dragged him off to something called the Shoreline.

Being a child of limited imagination and sensory input, his first thought when having been asked if he'd ever been to the Shoreline was a question of whether he'd ever been to the edge of the river. His immediate answer, though he hadn't a chance to voice it, was of course a no. Either way that was truthful enough.

"I know the owner," Lowe was shouting. Half of what the other boy was trying to tell him was unfortunately drowned out by half a hundred other voices. The roar of the river was so loud this near to it that everybody, vendors and buyers alike, were forced to shout.

It didn't help at all that every step Renley took had him colliding with a body. Some were fat and some were thin. Some he could bounce off of and the others speared him with the sharp jut of their hips. "What?" he shouted back.

"I said I know the owner!" He only barely managed to hear the other boy that time, directly before someone else squawked, "I'll take that ten pounder there!"

"The owner of what?" Renley thought it very strange that anyone could claim to own the whole of the shoreline. The whole thing seemed preposterous.

"The Shoreline," Lowe shouted back at him, and tugged harder on his arm. He was starting to develop a bruise, or so he guessed by the way his muscles were aching fiercely. He was only vaguely aware of the fact that his new friend had just saved him from a near fatal trampling encounter. Something very wide trundled past that made the ground quake under his feet.

Renley found it impossible to count his steps here. He was lost the second they stepped away from the last house on the block and dove headlong into the market. Oh sure. He had tried counting, but everything happened too rapidly for him to calculate. Two steps forward turned into half a step back, then a spin and curvature of three steps around somebody in the way, which then turned into four steps in a forty-five degree angle from where he put down his foot last, and well ....he couldn't keep up with it. There didn't seem to be any pattern at all to this mode of travel. Much as he didn't like it, his life was in Lowe's hands now.

Besides, with the other boy talking to him at the same time he just couldn't concentrate on any numbers at all. Not even the seconds of time it took for them to traverse their way through the whole mess. "His name's Franz," Lowe said loudly. "He's a friend of my uncle's friend." Fabulous. A friend of a friend of a family member's friend. In later years Renley would be capable of thinking something quite as sarcastic as that, and perhaps even think aloud.

Right now all he was capable of shouting back was, "Who?" He was still stuck on the absurdity of someone owning a riverbank. It wasn't until he heard the thump of a hand on wood and the creaking of rusted hinges that the pieces of this great big confusing puzzle started to fall into place.

The stifling stink of tightly packed together bodies, that they had just dodged and rolled around, were swallowed away when the door swung shut behind them. A great big vacuum sucked all that air out and left them standing in a blessedly quieter place. The walls must have been very thick to muffle all that noise, and the door too. Heavy enough to thunk solidly into place.

"Franz," the other boy said again, and from across the room someone else responded.

"Hey there, Lowe! Bit early in the day t'see you here. Where's the girls?"

Lowe continued to pull him along by the arm. Here he caught a break and Renley was actually able to count his steps. Though he knew his calculation wouldn't be in any way perfectly accurate considering the way he was leaning forward and stumbling while he walked. For a boy his size the number would have been doubled, but because of the rush Lowe was in that cut it down by half. There were thirty steps; thirty feet from the door to what after a moment of feeling after he was tossed against it he realized was a stool.

"Arguing over who's the better fighter," said Lowe, as if it were the most exciting thing in the world instead of the most irritating as he had indicated by his tone several minutes before their change of scene.

"At it again are they?" Franz did not sound surprised. At least the other boy had been honest when he'd told Renley the two girls did that sort of thing all the time. "That means they'll be around within the hour. Usual for you, and who's your friend?"

Lowe clapped him so hard on the shoulder that he ended up laying chest flat over the seat of the stool in an instant. The other boy sounded so chipper that suddenly Renley wanted to return the favor from earlier and try punching him in the face. It wouldn't be too terribly difficult. By the constant chattering sound of his voice he knew precisely where his face was. "This's Renley," said his new friend.

"Haven't seen you about before, Renley," said Franz, friendly as could be. At only eleven years old he learned that bartenders were usually like this. "You one of the farmer's boys?"

Haliend was such a remote and unheard of village that visitors weren't even a concept on the local's minds. Nobody ever came to Haliend for a visit. No strangers passed through. No wandering adventurers stopped by to purchase supplies before moving off to continue their epic journey. It was a peaceful place off on its own, secluded from the world, and nothing every happened there.

There were two types of people in Haliend village: fishermen and farmers. Except for the rare few who engaged in other occupations such as the school master, the bartender, and the bankers. Not to mention the village elder, an elf by the name of Marsilius, and because elves lived so much longer than humans everybody knew him by name. Haliend was self-sustaining and never had a want or need for anything the people couldn't find already in abundance around them.

The only certain oddity that its citizens couldn't make any sense of at all, and hardly anyone could consider respecting, was the one lone man who lived in the forest just north of everything civilized. So when Renley said, "Uh, no. I'm Master Dante's servant," it shouldn't have been so very surprising that Franz's attitude toward him turned a complete one hundred eighty degrees around.

"Oh," said the barkeeper dully, and that was that. In as little as three seconds he had nothing further to say to the boy at all. If it weren't for Lowe, the silence that suddenly arose between them would have been insufferable.

"Renley's been studying with Mistress Luvelle," said Lowe cheerfully. Renley listened to the shuffle and squeak of the older boy climbing up onto the stool next to him. Then he heard the thump of a heavy mug being placed on the counter. "Thanks!"

He couldn't see the bartender nod and smile. All he was aware of was the return of his cordial tone, at least when he spoke to Lowe. "Has he now" Luvelle's a fine lady. Does wonders teaching you kids. What've you learned new these days?"

There wasn't a question of when Mistress Luvelle had started tutoring Renley. Not even a single curiosity of wonder on when he had joined the class. Of course, Renley hadn't joined the regular classes, but that was besides the point. Franz, even he could tell, had written him off as nonexistent. Suddenly he felt an extreme emotion that he hadn't felt before. He felt hatred for this man, this simple-minded bartender who hadn't responded to the knowledge of Renley being Master Dante's servant with the same sort of admiration and respect that the blind boy thought was deserving.

He also realized that the tavern stank. There was a heavy, filthy, fish-stained film hanging in the air that stuck to everything. He could smell it as well as he could feel it. Hell, he could very nearly taste it, and he wasn't crazed enough to lick the furniture to know for sure. Under all that was smoke, the tobacco rich sort of stink that told him many of the patrons of this bar indulged of that nasty habit frequently. Then, of course, there was the stink of fermented brews; beers and ales and wines. How many mugs and glasses had been tipped over, contents spilling and staining up the hardwood floors.

Oooh the floors. They creaked and swayed under his feet. He could feel and very faintly hear the flow of the river below. The tavern — oh, it made sense now. Master Dante likely would have called this man a simpleton, if he had been the one to name the tavern. The Shoreline Tavern wasn't a very creative name at all.

Eventually, while Lowe chatted away with the bartender about all the not so very exciting things he learned in school, Renley found his way up onto the stool high enough to sit properly. The counter felt sticky under his roving fingers when he found it in front of him. He wondered if it was ever washed. Wondered then further if anything in this stink-thick establishment was clean at all.

They weren't alone, he and Lowe and Franz. There were other people milling about in the background. He could hear the murmurs behind him. A few scattered bodies here and there. The crackle of flames in a fireplace much larger than the wood burning stove he knew better at home, if Master Dante's house could be called home.

For the next hour he listened to those hushed noises around him. Listened to the way they traveled through the room. Strained to hear them echoing back against the undercurrent of the river below the floorboards. The conversation his new friend and the bartender wasn't interesting enough for him to concentrate on. What was far more important was trying to paint a picture of the room in his head so that he could better navigate it in the future. If there was a future. Why would he ever want to come back to this place so far away from everything he knew"

The answer to that was simpler than Renley was capable of coming up with at eleven years of age. He didn't quite understand the concept of having a thirst for knowledge, which was something he had in abundance. Despite the fact that this tavern was new, and in some small way a little frightening because of it, he was more curious than he could ever be afraid. The tavern was new and he wanted to learn everything he could about it. Lowe had taught him something very important that day. Something he hadn't realized six months ago as clearly as he did now.

Master Dante had taken him beyond the boundaries of his comfortable zone when they had gone to Bertalind's house for an armload of herbs. Back then he had been too excited about the fact that he was in the Master's company. It didn't matter where they were going, only that they had gone together. With Lowe it was different. He didn't know Lowe, had only just met Lowe. The boy wasn't as important or as worthy of reverence as Master Dante was. But through Lowe he learned that there was more out there worth discovering. He discovered a desire for exploration.

Renley turned toward the sound of his new friend's voice and interrupted him. "What're you drinking?" he asked.

"Huh' Oh. Almond milk," said Lowe. "You want some?" The other boy really didn't make a good friend, considering he hadn't thought to ask if Renley wanted anything until now. Though, the bartender hadn't asked either, but on the plus side he stopped ignoring the blind boy's existence.

"My wife makes it," Franz said proudly. "The Gardens are full of trees, and she trades fabrics for the nuts." He could hear liquid being poured into a mug and soon after the container being placed in front of him. "Say....What's wrong with your eyes?" Clearly this was the first time Franz had actually looked at him.

Renley frowned and ducked his head down. "Nothing's wrong with my eyes," he mumbled irritably and felt around for the drink.

"He's blind," Lowe said. Thanks, pal.

"Oh," said Franz, as dull as when he had learned that Renley was Master Dante's servant. He had to give the man some credit, though. At least he hadn't called him a poor dear or expressed overwhelming pity as Bertalind had. He did, however, push the cold mug up against Renley's palm.

Lowe then went into a retelling of the events earlier in the day, and he talked with such vigor and excitement that Renley thought he could actually like this other boy. He wasn't upset at all about having been tripped. In fact, he made it sound as if it were the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him.

The more his new friend talked, the less Franz ignored him. He slowly began to ask him questions, such as what he was learning from Mistress Luvelle and how long he'd been blind. Though he never asked him anything directly about Master Dante. For some reason that subject felt terribly taboo, and for the first time in his short life he began to question...

Chapter 9 - The Surname

Several months passed by before Renley ever got around to figuring out what it was precisely that Master Dante Aldo did for a living. Through a lot of hours practicing meditation wasted on thinking of other things, he was able to make some obvious deductions. He could figure out what his master didn't do, but he never could quite imagine clearly what he did do.

Master Dante Aldo was not a fisherman. He owned no boat. He always bought fish instead of catching his own. To the best of Renley's knowledge, the master didn't even own a rod or any nets. Plus, he was always home all the time, except for the very few rare occasions he went into town on business. Whatever that was.

The master was also not a farmer. He lived in the woods. His cottage was surrounded by trees, not open, airy, fertilizer drenched farmland. There was no room on his property, short of cutting down some of the surrounding shade, for a barn. The only animals Renley ever heard were squirrels and birds. He never heard a cow nor a horse nearby, not even a barking dog.

According to the rumors he picked up on by eavesdropping on the villagers on his half a holiday Saturdays, the master was a crackpot who did a lot of crazy experiments. Nobody ever suggested what those experiments might be, however, but that testimony also held some small amount of truth to it. Master Dante himself had mentioned doing experiments before.

To be honest, hardly anyone ever mentioned Master Dante Aldo by name at all. He was always just 'that crackpot' or 'the loon who lives in the woods' or any other variety of less than respectful definition. Adding onto matters, people hardly even mentioned him that way either. The only time he ever heard anyone make a comment is whenever he walked by or sat amongst them in the tavern. As time went by, people in Haliend Village started to know who Renley was.

Much to his annoyance, Renley received the same unkind definitions used by those who came to know who he was. Renley was always referred to as 'that crackpot's servant boy' or 'the loony's blind brat.' There was one common adjective he heard more than any other, and at times he imagined that's the name that people started giving him instead of his real one: Useless.

Regardless of the less than friendly attitudes people presented him with, Renley felt some small sense of pride simply knowing that they knew who he was. Nobody knew Ian. They didn't even know him well enough to mention him rudely. He was more of a ghost to the people of Haliend Village than the useless blind boy was, and that was something he could hold over his coworker's head. Something he did hold over his head as frequently as possible. It was his small retribution for all the teasing Ian had dished out at him during the first half of his life.

Time went by and Renley turned twelve. The closer he got to puberty, the less his thoughts swirled and the more he started to develop a personality. He became quieter, more closed-off, known as the thinker in his small group of friends. Whenever the other three started hashing out a plan of something adventurous to do, they'd all stop talking as one and turn their attention on Renley to ask what he thought.

And boy did Renley ever think. He spent hours thinking. He absorbed every little sliver of information that came in around him. He carefully weighed every option and scenario down to the tiniest details. He calculated in ways that neither Lowe, Nara nor Matilda were quite capable of. Not being distracted by visual stimuli had its advantages.

At only twelve years of age, even simple-minded Franz the bartender was beginning to see just how exceptionally intelligent young Renley was. When spring passed through summer and crept into fall, and the air got colder the closer it came to winter, the more time the children spent indoors. The best place to hang out was the Shoreline Tavern. Franz had begun to express less pity and disrespect for the boy himself, but he still had yet to display any sign of revering Master Dante Aldo.

Franz liked to put puzzles before the boy. He came up with the craziest contraptions: wooden puzzles he'd carved himself, hooked together rings, word puzzles he got out of books, also known as riddles. You name it and Franz came up with it to put before Renley. There wasn't one the bartender presented that the blind boy hadn't been able to solve in those long months either.

So it was only a matter of time before he'd figure out the answer to the ultimate question. This wasn't one so much as the meaning of life, but to the people of Haliend Village it was just as important. What, exactly, did Master Dante Aldo do"

In a short series of strange and unusual circumstances, not only did Renley find the answer to that question, but he also acquired something for himself that he had never had before. No, he still remained blind. What he earned wasn't half as miraculous as suddenly being able to see, but to Renley it was something better.

November became December and it started to snow. Bare feet or soft shoes were traded in for thick, fur-lined boots and heavy insulated coats. The Lorcan Aorta River was running freezing cold, but this did not stop the fishermen from doing their jobs. Fish were a vital component of daily life in Haliend Village. Even if men and women had to chip ice off of their nets, they never stopped working.

The forests north of Haliend Village had a kinder time of it. Trees grew so densely packed together that in some places the snow missed patches of ground to land on. Master Dante's house was not designed well enough to be spared, but the people living in it were better off than those right on the river's edge.

Renley never ceased doing his work. At this age he had his routine so well memorized that he could engage in his other favorite past time while doing his daily tasks. He pulled water from the well wearing thick mittens patched up in several places. He made biscuits in the usual way. There was little to no thought at all involved in his duty anymore. Not only did this give him extra time to mentally work through puzzles, but it also gave his greatest rival an opportunity to sneak up on him.

He had just pulled the bucket up from the well and turned around when Ian leaped out of nowhere to surprise him. Usually he was more attentive to his surroundings and would have heard the crunch of boots through snow. Usually, Ian didn't come up from the cellar this early in the morning. "Watch where you're walking," Ian said mere inches from his face. Renley jumped and dropped the bucket.

"Keee-rikes!" What had started as an unintelligible noise of surprise turned into a newly designed word that the blind boy started using more and more later in life. "Damn it, Ian. You made me drop it." He was more angry than he was intimidated. He also had the usual tavern-folk to thank for picking up some colorful new words. Sighing and frowning, he knelt down to pick the bucket back up. It was tipped on its side. The water in it had spilled everywhere, hopefully even on Ian's boots, and now he had something more to be annoyed about. He'd have to fill it back up again.

"Ooh, that's right." Ian kept on talking as if he hadn't heard the blind boy grumble at him mere seconds before. "You can't watch where you're walking."

"You know, that got old after the first couple thousand times you said it to me."

Ian snorted and kicked the bucket out of his hand just as he had started to rise up. "Oops. Maybe you should tie a rope 'round it so it don't get away next time." Frowning severely, Renley listened to the bucket skiff across the snow in the back yard.

"What do you want, Ian?" There had to be a reason the other boy was up here harassing him. He tried to remain as civil as possible, even if he couldn't restrain the growling anger in his tone. Either the young master Heilyn had sent him up for something or Master Dante had given him instructions to do something early. Renley hadn't even made it inside to start the tea water boiling, so he knew the master wasn't awake yet.

"Who says I want anything?" Ian's thoughts betrayed him. Should I stuff him down the well" Could blame it on his stupid blindness. Everybody expects him to kick the bucket 'cause of it anyway. Ian had a laugh that was one part series of piggish snorts, and he let it slip then. "I was just coming up to wash my face. Got up early. And you're in my way." The other boy unpredictably shoved him.

Now, while Renley was in tune to the older boy's twisted thoughts, had started picking up on them when he learned to practice months ago, there was something about the way that Ian thought that didn't quite match any other. It was as if there was an essential connection missing somewhere. That same connection that Lowe's train of thought had the day he'd tried to punch the blind boy in the face. Ian never seemed to think about ever doing anything. He just acted, without impulse.

So when he was shoved, Renley did fall back against the side of the well. Though Ian might have hoped he would have fallen over, the blind boy was still possessed of the same amazing dexterity as before, and he managed to catch himself on the edge just in time to avoid a fatal tumble. "What's wrong with you?"

"Oh I'm sorry," Ian said sarcastically. "Did I hurt you, widdle Wenley?" The older boy stepped up as close as possible, feet touching either side of Renley's, and blocked him against the well. "Man, I'm so sick of doing your chores for you. What makes you so special?" He gathered up a fistful of Renley's coat to hold him still while he inspected him more closely.

Clearly, Ian was jealous. Master Dante had sent him to school, to be tutored by Mistress Luvelle, not Ian. Master Dante allotted some of Renley's chores to Ian. Master Dante talked more about Renley than he did about Ian. People knew that Renley existed. When they went to the market together people said hello to him, but not to Ian.

All of these facts filled Renley's little heart with the blackest of fiery warm joys, and he smiled in a way that some people might later define as wicked.

"Ugh," growled Ian, shoving his fist hard into the blind boy's chest. This caused Renley to tip back further into the danger zone. I could kill you. He was sure that Ian really meant to, and by reflex he slapped a hand around the other boy's wrist to help hold himself up. "I hate you so much."

"Yeah, well I've never liked you much either." Not only had Renley developed exceptional intelligence, but he had grown a pretty damn smart mouth too. At least when he wasn't speaking with his elders.

Ian pushed back harder. Renley was having a hard time feeling a solid surface underneath him by this point. His free hand slipped off the edge of the well and tipped a stone off. He listened to the distant plop of it falling in the water several heart beats after. "You think you're better than me?" Ian shook him. For a second he thought he was going to let go. "You think just because you're blind that you deserve to be treated better?"

"No. I don't think I should be treated any different, Ian." Though, he did think he was better than him. Now simply wasn't the time to be saying as much, especially with his life on the line.

"Yeah you do." Unlike Lowe, there was no thought pattern to warn him. There wasn't even any space left between them in which he could have dodged around it if he had heard the mental preparations at all. Ian's fist and Renley's jaw both cracked together when one struck the other. Thankfully the angle sent him sprawling to the side instead of directly backward, and Renley landed hands and knees first in hard water-spilled frozen snow beside the well.

As soon as he hit the ground, Ian kicked him in the stomach. "What good are you, huh?" This knocked the wind out of him as well as tipping him against the base of the well. Ian kicked him again, and as a bonus caught his hand as well as gut. "How'd you get to be his favorite?"

Ian asked all these questions as if he expected Renley to answer. This was incredibly difficult to do considering he was constantly being kicked, again and again, and couldn't catch a breath enough to spare for a retort. His mind, on the other hand, was full of things to say. What the hell" For one. That got mixed in there somewhere. But most of all he was trying his damnedest to say: Stop! Ian! Please!

He couldn't say that he didn't deserve this. For all the years before that Ian had picked on him, he had returned the favor these past several months. Renley had friends now, people to talk about. Ian had no friends at all. All he knew was the master's laboratory cellar and his box at the back of the house. Nobody liked him. Master Dante called him a simpleton and any other manner of impolite derogatory things, to his face, and even Heilyn turned his nose up at the other boy. Renley rubbed his nose in those facts as often as he was able. It was his fault that the lit fuse had finally reached the bundle of black powder and exploded.

A year and a half ago, Master Dante had said something to him about projecting rather loudly. Though he had been studying the instructional manuals that neither the master nor his apprentice fully understood, even Renley didn't quite now precisely what that could possibly mean until this day. The barrage of kicks and furiously jealous inquiries was constant. Blood was trickling out of the side of his mouth. His knuckles were sore from guarding his stomach as much as he could with one hand. Every breath he could suck in was desperately held onto because he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to get another. The only one thing that did stop Ian from pounding on him was a thought so loud that even the Lorcan Aorta River stopped roaring.

STOP!

And by his will alone, Renley made everything stop. Everything. Ian stopped kicking him. Snow stopped falling. Air stopped circulating. The river stopped flowing. Master Dante stopped sleeping; so did young master Heilyn. The world stood still for six extremely long seconds.

Then, something warm and wet splashed on his face. The world started moving again when Ian slumped on top of him. Well, at least he wasn't kicking him anymore, but something was wrong. Ian fell and didn't move. Ian lay on top of him. Ian ....wasn't breathing.

"Ian?" Renley winced and groaned when he rolled over. A hundred some odd pounds of unmoving boy sprawled over his very recently bruised, kicked-in stomach was not the most comfortable thing in the world. But that was hardly much to worry over considering the other boy was completely unresponsive. Once he got an arm out from under him, found his shoulder, he gave him a shake. "Ian?" There was still no answer, at least not from him.

"Good gods," exclaimed Master Dante. Renley had never heard him move so fast across the yard. Snow kicked up in his face when the old man came to a halt beside him. He had also never known the master was quite as strong as his seemingly feeble hobble and step made him sound. He was the one to haul the other boy off of the blind one. "Renley, what happened?"

What happened" Well, that wasn't something that Renley was capable of thinking about. "Master, is he—?"

"Dead. Hmm. Holy ghosts. Miraculously. Unbelievably." Master Dante hummed and grumbled about these facts as he might when trying to work out a complicated math problem. Renley listened to two bodies, one alive and old, the other young and confirmed very much dead, shuffle about in the snow. "Renley, did you do this" Did you kill Ian?"

Now we're reminded of days ago when Renley realized he had never been to any funerals. Nobody he knew had ever died. He remembered that much more clearly now, and this entire situation came as quite the shock. Something slumped into the snow and he felt the master's rough and gnarled old hand grab his shoulder before shaking him fiercely. "Renley! What happened" Speak, boy!"

A command shook him out of his stupor easily enough. Though, he was plagued with a sudden stammer. "I-I....M-Master Dante." His face felt very hot and his dead eyes welled up with tears that spilled all over his blood-splattered face. It was blood, he realized, without really knowing the full extent of the injuries he had allegedly inflicted here. Ian's blood. All over his face. "He was.....He wanted to....Was gonna....Push. Well." He had never quite been this upset in all his life.

"Push you down the well, hm?" Master Dante hummed and hm'd a bit more. "Nasty boy. Always had it out for you. Hm, hm, hm." The old crackpot — he was starting to understand why people referred to him as one now — leaned off of the blind boy and turned his examinations back on Ian. "No lacerations. No bruises. Nothing out of the ordinary, except the blood trickling out his nose. Hmm."

"Master?" By now, Heilyn had scurried up out of the cellar laboratory to see what was going on. He shuffled through the snow and over to the well at a much slower pace than the old man had from the house.

"Oh, Heilyn. Perfect! Just in time. Help me get this specimen up and down to the lab."

"Specimen" Master, is that—?"

"Mm' Mhm. Unfortunate accident. Fortuitous turn of events. Let's get him downstairs before he turns—"

"Are those his brains leaking out his nose?"

"What?" Master Dante had just risen up to his feet. He sounded much higher than he had been before. Renley was still stuck on the ground, absolutely dumbstruck. "Oh!" What he was overhearing made things even more mind-boggling, because Master Dante sounded altogether inappropriately chipper. "By Jove, I think you're right! Remarkable!"

Renley was speechless. Master Dante was ecstatic. Heilyn sounded as dull as ever. "How did he—?"

The master had either developed a bit of telepathy of his own, or he was just that good at predicting what his apprentice was going to say. "Had a scuffle with Renley this morning. Fool of a boy severely underestimated his potential. Wound up dead. Hell of a thing to wake up to. Glad I wasn't conscious at the time. Woo!" The master's voice kept getting further and further away with each jaunty, hobbling step he took toward the cellar.

Heilyn loitered behind. "Renley....Did you—?"

"Kill Ian?" He found his voice, then. Though even he couldn't believe much of anything at all right now. "Yeah," he said, "I think I did."

"Huh," said Heilyn, a little surprised but hardly upset. "Kill Ian. Hmm. Killian." Maybe they really were a couple of crackpots. Renley had never known anyone to be this unconcerned about somebody close to them dying. Never mind the fact that the master's apprentice liked the other boy just as well as the blind boy did. "Renley Killian."

The master's apprentice mulled that over, repeated it quietly, all the way back to the cellar laboratory himself. He and Master Dante left him to pick himself up out of the snow and tend to his own bruises. Renley wasn't dead. Renley wasn't interesting. Renley wasn't worth troubling over. But that day Renley earned a surname.

Chapter 11 - Snips and Snails

"Well?" Nearly a year had gone by and his friends were starting to get impatient. Not a single one of the three had forgotten the biggest and most important question of their entirely short lives. All this time he had been hoping that they would have forgotten. They hadn't, and it was Lowe, of course, who asked, "Did you ever find out what your master does?"

Renley had a birthday that came and went without pomp and circumstance. In thirteen years he had never celebrated the event, because as Master Dante had told him once: I don't know when you were born. The master had only calculated based on what he knew, as a necromancer, about death and dying. About the aging process. About the children he had seen born and raised. November was a fair estimate.

His friends had insisted some time ago that he have a birthday. They even got him gifts this time around. So did a few other people in town such as Mistress Luvelle and Franz the bartender. Neither the master nor his apprentice got him anything. There was one that stood out above all the rest and it was sitting in his lap just now.

Bertalind had heard it from the rest of the gang who had heard it from Renley when he finally caved and told them, "I think it's November some time." The woman was a sucker for gossip and drank in rumors like wine. Or maybe pure and liquefied lard, he wasn't sure. What was important was the fact that she found them sitting in the yard behind the school house that day and promptly dropped her gift of choice in his arms with the utmost glee.

Matilda and Nara had positively squealed with delight at the sight of him. They had taken turns wrestling him out of Renley's grip and cooing at his fluffy little face. Yes, that's right. Bertalind had given him a puppy, and at this point in the late November afternoon, Renley didn't know what at all to do with it.

"Master Dante's not going to be happy," he lamented, for probably the five hundredth time.

Sitting cross-legged beside him was Matilda. She couldn't keep her hands off the puppy for very long. Whenever he was brought up, as now, she crooned and sweet-talked the little bundle of slurping joy. He sure did like to lick, a lot. "Aww," Matilda said in her sweetest and most adoring tone, "how can he not like this adorable ittle widdle puppy wuppy?"

Renley thought he was going to be sick, just from the sound of her. He twitched every time he felt her arm brush his elbow, then locked up his spine every time he felt the puppy getting jostled in his lap. The reaction his body was having from that kind of movement just wasn't at all appropriate. If it had just been Matilda's hand alone that was one thing, but....He felt his cheeks get hot just thinking about it and may have looked paranoid to his friends.

"It's just a dog," said Lowe.

"J-just a dog that's going to make a mess and noise all over Master Dante's house and get me—"

"This little cuddly wuddly-kins wouldn't dream of making a mess," said Matilda, interrupting. Her hair skittered across Renley's cheek when she leaned in to rub her face all into the puppy's fur. "Would you, boy' No you wouldn't. Of course not. You're a sweet, good little boy, ain't you?"

She sounded disturbingly like Bertalind, Renley thought, except with less flabby warbling.

"Oh he's house trained already. No need to worry about that." Bertalind was unfortunately still in their company. She hadn't quite finished telling them the spectacular story of her dear Sally's sordid love affair with the neighbor's dog Rusty, which is where the puppies had come from. Of an entire litter of seven, this little bundle of fluff in Renley's lap was the only one who survived. Bertalind could think of nobody better to adopt him out to than Renley Killian.

"And I'm sure you can train him to do all sorts of other things," insisted Nara. She sighed dramatically about the entire issue. One part of her emotions were because of adoration for the puppy. The other part was dismay at discovering her gift to him wasn't quite as brilliant as Bertalind's had been. She had given him a walking stick with a globe on top. To help him feel his way around better, she had said.

"Oh certainly! Could train 'im t'be a keen seein' eye dog I'm sure!" Bertalind wasn't going to take no for an answer. She also insisted he take the mutt home.

The puppy was small and warm and had a silky feel to his abundance of fur. Renley considered the notion of how nice it would be to curl up with something small and fuzzy and warm at night. He also considered the notion of how irritating the sound of his yipping was going to be. If he were the yipping sort. Sally hadn't once barked at him during his visit. This little guy hadn't made a peep either. All he did was lick and squirm and wag his bushy tail gleefully. The attention Matilda was giving him probably surpassed any and all that Bertalind had ever given him. That was an amazing thought.

"You're dodging the question," Lowe pointed out. He sounded bored with the puppy already. Maybe it was a boy thing, because Renley wasn't half as interested as his hands were. He couldn't keep his fingers from pulling through all that cozy fur.

Bertalind huffed impatiently behind him. He could hear her ankles creaking in the grass as she swayed, could hear the rustle of her skirts when she put her hands on her hips. "Dante's a doctor, Mister Pruitt," she said sternly. "Why you so curious" It's obvious! He comes by my house every other week to collect herbs from m'garden. What else is 'e gonna do with herbs?"

Wisely, none of the children voiced a guess on the matter.

Renley didn't even bother to listen. He wasn't as curious about their thoughts as he was about the scent of Matilda's hair. She smelled nicer than Bertalind did too. The fat woman behind him reeked of garlic for the most part. Matilda had a more earthy scent, something dipped in flowers. Her hair continued to tickle his chin while she lavished affection on the dog.

"What're you gonna name him, Renley?"

The question caught him entirely off guard. He was so wrapped up in the girl's smell that her voice coming from inches below his face made him jump. "Wh-what?"

"Name him. What're you gonna name him' He needs a name y'know."

"Uh." No, he didn't know. This wasn't a matter Renley had been at all inclined to think about. He was still too worried with what Master Dante was going to do to him for bringing home a puppy. That fear lurked under the shadow of other more sinister thoughts that had never attacked him until this most recent year. Until now.

After a long silence, Matilda said, "You can't name him 'Uh.'" Nara stifled a giggle as best she could, but Bertalind didn't at all contain her tittering cackle. Lowe chuckled across from him too.

Having no ideas of his own, Renley asked, "Well, what should I name him?"

"Hmm." The silence that followed told him that this was probably the longest Matilda had ever put thought into anything. She ruffled up the puppy's fur and continued to dote on him while thinking. None of the rest of their company had any ideas forthcoming either. Nara was too busy sighing about how adorable the animal was, and Lowe may have been picking his nose.

On the other hand, Bertalind was getting tired of standing around. "Well, children, I'm sure you'll come up with a great name for the boy. Something extra special and so much better'n Uh." Tittering again, she turned away from the small group with a "Toodle-oo." Then he listened to her stomp and rustle her way through the tall autumn grasses and out of the school yard.

"Extra," mused Matilda. "Special. Ehhhhks. Ehhhhs. Uh. Ezra!" Then the puppy yipped. "There we go," Matilda said gleefully, giggling. She ruffled up the puppy's ears and leaned in close to let him lick her face. "You like that name, boy' Ezra is it' Ezra it is!"

"Ezra," Renley repeated. The puppy licked his hand. "Sure."

Matilda could not have been any happier about her success. The word that hissed out of her mouth suspiciously sounded like, "Hee!" Sitting up so suddenly, she flung her arms around Renley's shoulders from the side and promptly put a kiss on his cheek. Renley stiffened and his entire face felt fifty degrees hotter than it had been a second before. He held his breath. "C'mon," Matilda cheered, rolling quickly and obliviously to her feet. "We'll help you home. I'm sure you can't carry him and count your steps back at the same time."

"Uh," said Renley stupidly. He was stunned for several reasons. First and foremost, Matilda had kissed him. She had also said something intelligent and without trying to be sarcastic and mean. He felt her hand touch his shoulder and he reached up to take her hand without thinking himself.

"Can I carry him part of the way?"

"Sure." The puppy was dangling in the crook of his one other arm. He handed the fluffy mongrel over to the girl without argument. Matilda took him with a chipper squeal.

"May I carry him the second part of the way?" asked Nara.

"Yeah okay," said Renley. A majority of his conscious awareness centers had shut down and taken a break for the rest of the day by that point. He was vaguely aware of the sound of Lowe scoffing behind him. He also thought he heard him snort the word, "Girls."

This same time a year ago, Renley would have been in perfect agreement with Lowe Pruitt. Girls were strange and alien creatures, but there was something inexplicably nice about them that Renley Killian simply could not yet put his finger on. All he knew was that when Nara took his arm he was idiotically compelled to go wherever she and Matilda wanted him to go, without question. Regardless of the fact that where they wanted him to go was somewhere potentially dangerous. Home was going to be the death of him, and he didn't care.