Chapter 1 – Aron, 18th day of the 3rd passing of Noven
Aron hummed softly to himself as he closed the gate behind him. He walked lazily through the aspen and pine woods, leading his horse. The quarters of a cow elk were strapped to the animal. As he approached his family’s farmstead, the herd of goats ran up to him from the pasture. The does bleated at him incessantly, and he noticed they needed to be milked. “Hey little ones,” he smiled at them, “Follow me and we’ll see about you.” The horse snorted forlornly at the frantic company, holding its head high to let the goats know he was in no mood to have them underfoot. Many of them ran ahead of Aron, toward the barn.
Aron tethered his horse to a support beam on the house’s front porch, and began unloading the elk meat. He hung the quarters from hooks secured in the wooden awning, and then unloaded his hunting gear from the horse. He pulled an apple from his saddle bag, and fed it to the horse. “You did a fair bit of work today, Strapper. I promise a good rub down.”
Aron opened the front door, and gasped. The inside of the house was overturned. The table and chairs had been moved about. Feathers ghosted across the floor at the slight breeze his movement caused. The pillows and mattresses were all cut apart. Cupboards had been emptied onto the floor. Crockery was broken, sacks of oats were spilled.
Aron began moving through the house quickly, calling out for his family. He went room to room, noting that every room had been touched. Were they robbed? He asked himself. He came back to the main room, and spied the barn through the open front door. He ran toward the barn, snatching his long knife from its sheath on his saddle as he moved. He stepped into the straw strewn building, and saw a black-clad form lying still underneath the wagon. The family’s two mules were in their stalls, braying at him. He crouched down above the body’s head, his knife held before him. Whoever it was, he was dead. Fear rose in Aron’s chest. “Mom!” he called. “Irden? Dad?” He heard a muffled moan, and moved around the wagon, into the dark barn. Narrow shafts of dust-filled sunlight streamed in through gaps in the planks that made up the barn’s walls. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he saw the bodies of his older brother and father. Aron rushed to them and quickly noted the other two black-clad bodies lying next to them. His father had a sword caked in dark blood clenched in his cold hand. On the ground next to his brother was a similarly soiled hatchet. Both of them had multiple wounds on them. Aron heard the muffled sound again. “Mom!” he screamed. He rose to his feet, searching each of the stalls.