Page 5

Sletran, age 35

The surprise war game was going well. Binmej’s soldiers were formidable, but Erybet’s were on their way to decisive victory. Sletran’s squads had “killed” or captured three enemy divisions. The Nobek couldn’t have been prouder of those under his command as they marched their angry prisoners to the holding pen.

Like any of his breed, a good fight had his blood up. He knew beneath their training armor, the warriors duking it out on the sim battlefield were aroused to a man. The barracks would resound with the sounds of fucking late into the night.

His thoughts, when there was a pause in the fighting and he wasn’t consumed by the obsessive determination to overcome Binmej’s men, went straight to Conyod. They’d had an amazing night, and he was primed for another.

Not only for sex. He was amazed at how the traumatized youth had grown to a self-assured man. It hinted at a strength that while not Nobek, was impressive on its own merit. A strength Sletran hadn’t witnessed when Conyod had been a teen. Then, he’d been a boy haunted by misplaced guilt. Conyod had been caught between loving and rejecting his parents, who’d been too damaged by loss to properly care for him.

Sletran had distanced himself to discourage Conyod’s infatuation when it had become obvious. However, they’d communicated enough since then for him to know the Imdiko’s relationship with his mother and fathers remained strained. Thanks to therapy, Dramok Tuher and Imdiko Sema had recognized their contributions to Conyod’s trauma. They’d done their utmost to relax their obsessive vigilance over their surviving son, and the relationship between the three was the healthiest it had been since Hoslek’s death.

Matara Lafec and Nobek Vel continued to push the limits Conyod had established for his independence. He was forced on occasion to remind them to back off when they overstepped the boundaries he’d set.

He was his own man now. Sletran was delighted on several levels to witness it, and he wanted to experience more of Conyod’s companionship. He wanted to know everything about the intelligent and stunning Imdiko he’d never seen coming.

As his primary squad reached base camp to the cheers of their side, a soldier jogged to Sletran. “Group Commander Erybet wishes me to inform you High Commander Zyrf has declared our group the winner of the games. Because your squad defeated the largest number of the enemy, Commander Erybet requests you join him and High Commander Zyrf at the observation post to offer their congratulations personally for a job well done.”

Sletran grinned. “It will be my pleasure.” After all the pomp and talk, he’d com Conyod to learn if they could meet for dinner…and later, maybe the kind of congratulations he’d enjoy best.

* * * *

Conyod knew little of the intricacies of fighting on the battlefield. He couldn’t have said he cared the least bit about the subject. However, Sletran was glowing after his successful day, and Conyod was happy for him. Though he couldn’t easily follow the description of the tactics his companion used to defeat the other squads he’d been set against, it was clear Sletran had exceeded expectations during the surprise war games. Being personally lauded by his superiors after having conquered key positions and defeating the most opponents was obviously a big deal. Conyod ate his order of broiled rizpah, drank his kloq, and listened carefully to every wonderful, if sometimes incomprehensible, word Sletran uttered.

As he did so, Conyod became aware of a new facet of his concept of Sletran: he was beginning to see the Nobek as a flesh-and-blood man. An actual person rather than the idealized idol he’d been for so many years.

He still regarded Sletran as his personal hero. He’d turned Conyod’s life around at a sensitive time, when hope had been its lowest. But now the Imdiko was finally learning the true person Sletran was.

Bringing the Nobek down to earth did nothing to detract from his appeal. Conyod found this relatable, real Sletran far more alluring than the untouchable icon he’d rendered him in his ridiculous fantasies. What had been childish devotion and perhaps obsession was transformed into a truer feeling. Teen Conyod had dreamed of following Sletran like a sycophant, endlessly offering adoration. Mature Conyod wondered if he and Sletran could have enough in common to walk into the future side by side as peers, friends, and lovers.

When Sletran reached across the small table and stroked fingertips on Conyod’s hand…such a small but profound gesture…the younger man thought his heart might burst. Compulsive craving for a symbol was transforming to love for the genuine article.

“Hey, I’ve been talking nonstop about myself,” Sletran suddenly said. “What’s going on in Conyod Land? I’ve been meaning to ask how your parents are.”

* * * *

Conyod, age 16

“I don’t want to go home. I’m not ready.” Conyod paced Dr. Hupsan’s office, wringing his hands. He knew it for the nervous gesture it was, but he was unable to stop.

“It’s normal to be anxious,” Hupsan said, his tone steady and calm. “It’s only for a day, Conyod. You won’t be there overnight, and an orderly will supervise the visit.”

“Maybe another month of them coming here for our visits would be better. Yeah, I’ll be ready to go to the ranch next month. Let’s do it then.”

“Conyod, sit down. You’re getting worked up again.”

The teen obeyed, taking the cushion across the low table from his therapist. His fingers drummed the table’s top, and he winced at the noise. He drummed his thigh instead.

Hupsan met his gaze. “Their therapist has assured me they’ve made great strides forward where misplaced grief and guilt are concerned. They’re ready for this. As are you, if you use the tools you’ve learned here.”

“Yeah. But what if they aren’t ready? My father Vel is crazy protective. What if he won’t let me leave? How’s an orderly going to stop him from making me stay?”

Hupsan didn’t remark on Conyod’s rising voice. “I don’t believe Nobek Vel will behave in such a way. Even if he does, your Dramok and Imdiko fathers won’t allow him to break the guidelines of the visitation contract. Nor will their family counselor, who’ll be on hand to help them while you’re there. He’s confident Tuher and Sema are fully on board where the stipulations are concerned.”

Conyod swallowed. “They say so now, but I hurt them. If they’re angry and hiding it—”

“Conyod.”

Again, there was no reprimand in Hupsan’s gentle tone. Merely caring.

Conyod drew a deep breath. The once-a-week visits his parents were allowed at the facility where he’d been remanded had gone well for the last four months. The first couple of attempts had been a nightmare, true, what with Lafec dissolving in hysterical tears when the time had come for the clan to leave. Vel had ended up raging, forcing Tuher and Sema to shove him through the exit. He’d left shouting the court and Dr. Hupsan were wrong to keep his son caged far from his parents.

Vel hadn’t noticed the irony of accusing Hupsan of keeping Conyod a virtual prisoner. It was as if he hadn’t recognized it was exactly what he’d done before the teen had managed to run off. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so horrible.

“Vel and your mother can’t override Dr. Onbal and Dramok Tuher, especially with Imdiko Sema backing them up. There are also emergency protocols local law enforcement will follow to extricate you from your home should the orderly request assistance or fail to check in at the appointed hour.” Hupsan gave him a level look. “Conyod, what are you really afraid of?”

How could he explain it? The fear he’d go home and find himself unable to leave was real, as was being smothered by his parents’ terror. However, his situation wasn’t much different at the institution. He wasn’t allowed to leave its grounds unsupervised. Orderlies and security kept tabs on him in the facility.

It was different, though. He was simply a job to the institution’s staff. They were friendly and kind, but Conyod was one of many patients they were paid to be responsible for.

“My existence isn’t the main focus here.” Conyod was dimly aware he continued his line of thinking rather than answering Hupsan’s question. “No one’s life depends on whether I’m present or if I disappear.”

“You’re important to us,” Hupsan said.

“I guess. But your world won’t end if I’m gone. My parents…I felt if I vanished like my brother, they’d simply…I don’t know. Cease to be.” He swallowed. “I wanted to run away ages before I did, but the fear I’d somehow cause them to die kept me from doing so until I couldn’t survive another moment. Is it stupid I felt not being there would kill them?”

“Not at all. You were made to feel responsible for their emotional well-being after Hoslek’s death. No child should be asked by his parents to shoulder such an obligation, even at your current age.”

Conyod nodded. “I think you’re right, at least in my head. But the idea of going home makes it hard to breathe. I’m afraid I’ll be crushed under their worry.”

“I understand. I doubt you’ll be rid of the fear until you actually do return home and experience them acting differently than you expect. This short visit could go a long way to easing your concerns, if your parents do as they’re supposed to.”

“If they don’t—”

“Then we reassess and begin building anew.” Hupsan’s smile was comforting. “I’m not saying there won’t be setbacks in the future, but you need to give them a chance to do better.”

“Okay.” Doubt loaded the word.

“I gave you a project to work on. Have you considered what will give you a definite signal home is becoming a safe place for you to live again?”

Conyod had. “Nothing that would be proof for this visit.”

“No, I sincerely doubt you’d find it for a while yet. Your assignment was for a sign you could look for in the future, maybe after a more extended visit of a couple of days.”

“Being allowed to leave the house on my own. Even just being outdoors near the house when it’s dark. Maybe if they’d let me stay out all night so I can watch for the ghost.”

“Ah, the phantom boy so many of your family’s ranch hands reported in the months prior to you running off.” Hupsan watched him sharply. “Do you believe in paranormal phenomena, Conyod?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never seen anything supernatural, but I trust some of the guys who mentioned it.”

“Your parents were adamant the witnesses had been drinking.”

“Not all of them. Mother was convinced the ghost was real. I caught Vel watching for it before I ran away.”

“You did?”

“I sometimes woke up at night feeling jumpy.” When Hupsan’s brows rose, Conyod rushed to add, “I’d had a bad dream and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I decided a little walk to the stables to visit the kestarsh might help.”

“I thought you weren’t allowed to leave the house when it was dark?”

“I wasn’t. I tried to sneak out, but no matter how late it was, I ran into my father. He was always careful when it happened, like he was…well, Vel isn’t afraid of me, but he seemed anxious. He’d call, ‘Conyod?’ as if he wasn’t sure it was me until I answered.”

“You believe he was investigating the ghost reports?”

“Why else would he be roaming outside in the middle of the night? I doubt he believed in the ghost, but he might have been concerned someone was prowling around the ranch. The kestarsh are valuable.”

“Indeed. I can well understand his concerns. I’m more interested in why you’re wishing to encounter this so-called spirit.”

“I can be worried about the kestarsh too, can’t I? They’re the best part of home.”

“I wonder if you’re fantasizing the ghost boy is Hoslek.”

Hupsan’s comment told Conyod he’d deduced the fascination, and there was no use denying it. The therapist’s direct gaze hinted at nothing. No derision. No judgment.

Conyod swallowed. “What if it is?”

He’d expected some form of rebuke. Because it was Hupsan, it would be mild and couched in kind terms. It would be a rebuke, nonetheless.

The doctor surprised him. “If it’s the restless spirit of your brother and you have the opportunity to encounter him, you should be prepared. Have you considered what you’d say to him if given the chance?”

Conyod blinked. “Um. Well, I’d apologize.”

“For what?”

“For being such a shit when I last saw him.”

“You mean for being a little brother who wanted to follow him?”

“I threatened to tattle. I was angry because he left me behind.”

“A perfectly normal reaction, shared by younger siblings since time immemorial.”

“I hate it was the last thing he heard from me.” Conyod stared at his hands twisting restlessly on his lap.

“That is a hard final exchange to have had, no matter how inconsequential it would have been if Hoslek had returned. If he’d come home safe and sound, it would have been meaningless.”

“At the same time, I wish I’d been a bigger brat and found a better threat that would have kept him home.” His eyes stung, and he blinked hard to make them stop.

“This is the heart of your difficulty over the loss, Conyod. This is the guilt you carry.”

The teen regarded Hupsan in surprise. “Isn’t my biggest problem being smothered by my parents?”

“It’s the most acute issue. It’s the reason you ran from home, which is why the court got involved. Underlying it is a deeper pain, which hasn’t been addressed. It’s why your parents became so overwhelmingly protective over you…guilt for having failed Hoslek.”

Conyod considered it. It had been his greatest wish to have somehow stopped his brother from chasing the roaming mares. No thought of Hoslek occurred unless it began with if only I’d...

“Conyod, have your parents ever accused you of being at fault for your brother’s death?”

“No! They’ve never said anything like that.”

“Perhaps they didn’t have to. Maybe it was in some look you were given or in the tone of their voices when they spoke to you?”

He shook his head. “Never. In fact, when I said I should have done better a few days following the memorial service, after everyone had given up on finding him, they made a big deal about it having nothing to do with me.”

It had been quite a scene. Conyod had come into the home’s common room one evening to find his parent clan sitting on the lounger and seating cushions surrounding the unlit firepit. The entertainment vid system was turned off, yet no one had spoken. They’d stared into space, their expressions horrible in loss.

Conyod had blurted an apology for failing to keep Hoslek at home. In an instant, his fathers and mother had sprung from their seats to surround him. They’d clutched at him, talking over each other as they vied to reassure him he wasn’t responsible, that none of the blame was his. They’d gone on and on about how much they loved him…including Vel, who’d never uttered those words in Conyod’s hearing.

“If they don’t blame you, why do you blame yourself?” Hupsan’s voice recalled him to the present.

“I was there. I was the only person who was around to stop Hoslek, and I failed.”

“You were a little boy, Conyod. What could you have done?”

“I don’t know. There should have been something.” He hunched helplessly.

“There wasn’t. There was absolutely nothing you could have done to change the result of what happened. Hoslek had made his decision, and he was going to carry it out no matter what you did. It was a tragedy in which no one was truly at fault. Not Hoslek, who was doing what he thought was right. Not your parents, to whom it had been proven he was responsible enough to retrieve the kestarsh when they escaped their corral, especially since ranch hands were nearby to offer help had Hoslek asked for it. Certainly not you, a mere child who was under no obligation to supervise his older brother’s actions.”

Conyod raised his eyes at the firm tone. The conviction Hupsan wore was ironclad.

Could it be true? Had it been no one’s fault Hoslek had died due to what was no doubt a chance encounter with a zibger?

He wanted to believe it, but his brother wasn’t coming home. It seemed wrong somehow to hold no one to account for the loss.

* * * *

“Arms up, body curled, Conyod. Block, block, block.”

The young Imdiko peered between his forearms at Sletran, who circled him while throwing soft punches. The warrior’s fists were enclosed in foam gloves, which gentled already mild blows. Conyod’s forearms kept his head and upper body shielded. He protected his belly by hunching low while searching for an opening to strike.

It was no use. Sletran had no weaknesses. He gave Conyod no opportunity to launch an offense.

“Question,” he called.

Sletran halted the barrage at once. He straightened and eyed his pupil. “What’s up?”

“What am I supposed to do when my enemy offers no chance for me to fight back? That’s what’s happening here unless I’m missing something.”

“You aren’t.” Sletran grinned. “I usually leave a gap for you to try the moves I’ve taught you, to see if you’ve been paying attention. Which you usually do, I’m glad to say.”

His praise warmed Conyod, who returned the smile. “So, you didn’t want me to go on offense this time? Then what’s the point?”

“The point is, my young friend, often you won’t get an opening to take advantage of. At least, not right away. You may end up against an opponent who’s too good to offer you a lucky break.”

“What do I do if it happens?”

“What you just did. Keep protecting yourself and hope your enemy tires himself enough to make a mistake. By concentrating on defense, you won’t get exhausted as fast, though you might be plenty bruised before he either overcomes you or you can seize your opportunity to fight or run.”

“Or have a big, brave Nobek save my ass.”

Sletran chuckled. “Naturally. Sometimes victory is in merely surviving. Failing to win a fight or destroy your foes but living to see another day with your honor intact can be reward enough.”

“Has such a situation happened to you?”

“In simulated battles as part of the ground troops, yes. It isn’t pleasant. Nobeks hate to lose.”

“But it’s sort of pretend, isn’t it? What about for real?”

“I haven’t been challenged yet, which means it’s always on my mind. If I face an opponent I can’t win against but come out alive, will I be content simply to have endured? I hope so, because as a soldier, it’s a very real risk.”

Conyod was quiet as he considered. Finally, he said, “Hold on until you can’t any longer. That’s the lesson?”

“Pretty much. I had an instructor who retired as a Global Security officer. He told us of having to battle two men hand-to-hand for an entire hour. He was jumped by these guys he was investigating while he was off duty, so he didn’t have his blaster on him. Just blades against blades, then fists against fists.”

Conyod was awed. “Wow. Intense. An hour-long fight? I’m beat after fifteen minutes, and you aren’t trying to kill me.”

“Don’t ignore basic fitness, my friend. Endurance training is as important as learning to defend yourself.” Sletran eyed him for a moment. “It can be said the same for preparing to face emotional and mental challenges too. You’re visiting your parents soon.”

Conyod’s stomach instantly knotted. “Yeah. I don’t think I’m ready.”

“It’s tough because you’re fighting your battles, your parents are fighting theirs, then you end up fighting each other though you don’t mean to.”

“Dr. Hupsan says they’re doing better. My Dramok and Imdiko fathers are, anyway. I’m…” His voice died out, unable to admit the worst to Sletran.

“Scared?” The Nobek squeezed his shoulder. “It isn’t anything to be ashamed of, you know. Returning to the ranch is a big step, even for a few hours.”

“I wish you could come with me.” It was the closest Conyod had dared to admitting his adoration for the Nobek.

“You can do this, Conyod. The small Imdiko kid who stood up to a bunch of bigger, battle-trained Nobeks can handle anything. You don’t need me to defend you from your parents.”

It wasn’t fear making Conyod want his hero at his side. Protection had nothing to do when it came to why he wanted Sletran there. However, he hadn’t missed his hero had referred to him as a “kid.”

He’d laugh at me if I admitted I’m in love with him. Maybe when I’m eighteen he won’t see me as a child. Especially if I stop whining how scared I am.

Two years seemed forever to wait, though.

“I’m good.” He gave Sletran what he hoped was a self-assured smile. “Don’t worry about me. I can do this.”

“Damned right you can.” Sletran assumed an offensive stance. “Okay, this time I’ll give you an opening. It could be soon, or it could be minutes from now, so stay alert and keep your head down.”

* * * *

Conyod left Dr. Onbal’s shuttle. His parents’ court-appointed therapist had volunteered to bring him home to the ranch, since he was to be on hand for the visit. An orderly from the psychiatric facility where Conyod currently lived, Dramok Cotra, followed behind him as he stepped through the hatch.

Conyod’s parents waited in various stages of anxious anticipation a few steps from the home’s front door. Only the front wall was visible, as the rest of the abode was nestled in a small hill. Much of it was underground.

His heart lurched to see his mother Lafec looking somehow shrunken next to her taller and bulkier clanmates. She’d cut her midnight black hair shorter since he’d last seen her. Her braid reached to her waist instead of mid-thigh. Though she wore the usual work pants and blouse suited for mucking stalls and training kestarsh, her clothes were scrupulously clean. Her brown boots appeared new.

His fathers were also dressed for duty, also impressively clean for mid-morning as if they hadn’t been up before sunrise. He knew it was for show. He wondered if their spotless state was for his benefit or Dr. Onbal.

Tuher stepped forward first, Lafec on his heels. Though they’d visited Conyod regularly at the mental health facility, they appeared hesitant. Did they think he’d try to run off at the slightest wrong move? It seemed they did.

Conyod convinced his feet to carry him toward them. When Tuher held his arms to him, his smile hopeful, the youth felt a weight slide free. He stepped in the enveloping hug and rested his cheek against his Dramok father’s chest. His eyes shut to hold in the tears as Tuher pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Thank you for coming, my son. It’s wonderful to have you here.”

“I’m glad to be home.” For a precious moment, Conyod was.

“Conyod.” Lafec sobbed his name, and Tuher released him so he could turn to accept her embrace.

He was surprised to find he was an inch taller than his mother. He was still smaller than the average sixteen-year-old, but he was eating better than he had in a long time. Lafec noticed too as she released the crushing hug she’d given him. “You’re growing up, my son. Look at him! He’s getting so tall!”

Conyod heard the note of reproach in her tone, as if he’d done something wrong by maturing beyond her presence. He also caught the warning glance Sema and Tuher exchanged. The Imdiko tugged their son close, forcing Lafec to reluctantly step aside.

“Indeed, he is growing up. I’m glad you look so healthy, my son. Is the food that good?” Sema chuckled as he claimed a hug.

“Nothing beats Mother’s cooking, but I’ve started an intense exercise regimen, so I eat like a ronka. I can’t shovel enough food in my face lately.”

Conyod didn’t mention his increased appetite had largely resulted because the anti-anxiety medication he took kept his stomach from the upset he’d suffered at home. It was easy to eat well when food wasn’t forced to move past the knots tied in his gut.

“Taller and filling out. I’m glad.” Vel looked him over as he pulled Conyod in his arms. Vel’s embraces were rare, which made them special…but the youth experienced a note of fear his Nobek father wouldn’t let him leave later. Lafec was the clingiest, but Vel was a close second…and he was willing and able to fight physically for what he wanted.

Conyod managed to refrain from sighing in relief when Vel released him after a couple of beats. He looked at his parents. They looked at him. Awkward seconds passed.

Distinctive animal rumbles sounded behind Conyod, and he swiveled toward the huge corral several yards distant. An uninhibited smile burst forth as he noted over half a dozen kestarsh standing at the rails looking at him. He recognized each of the mares and the stallion Guhof, his curly black fur and mane gleaming in the sunlight.

“It looks as if they’re glad to see you. Say hello, or they might kick the paddock’s posts down,” Tuher chuckled.

Conyod didn’t need to be invited twice. Laughing, he ran to the corral and its six-legged inhabitants.

“Hello, Guhof. How are you, old friend?” He curled his arms around the muscular neck of Clan Tuher’s prized stud and rubbed his cheek along the beast’s face. Guhof droned a reply, then he pulled his head back. His intelligent eyes inspected Conyod.

Kestarsh were among the rare animals Kalquorians had domesticated. The sure-footed mounts were required to search treacherous mountain slopes for missing climbers and explorers. They were capable of going places men and their shuttles couldn’t reach. They had many other uses as well, and the species was as prized as an able ranch hand…and often, family members. A local kestarsh’s passing was included in obituary notices alongside their Kalquorian neighbors.

Apparently, Guhof approved of the changes Conyod’s parents had noted. His tapered muzzle lit on the teen’s forehead where Tuher had kissed him.

“It’s great to see you too. And you, ladies.” Conyod grinned at the mares attempting to jostle Guhof for a turn to say hello. Elbmur, his favorite, was the most insistent. As white as Guhof was black, she shimmered in the sweet-scented air. It was for her the stallion moved aside to allow a reunion.

“Even after so many months, you still have the touch,” Lafec sighed. “They know a caring heart and rider on sight.”

“Thank you, Mother.” It was easy to ignore the jab of accusation in her reminder he’d left home when Elbmur leaned her face against his. She fairly purred her joy.

“We’ve been thinking when you come back for good, you should have your own kestarsh to keep. Perhaps a colt from Guhof and Elbmur would make an appropriate mount.”

Conyod gaped at Tuher. “Really?” The pair’s past offspring had commanded the greatest income for the ranch.

As a rule, the kestarsh belonged to the ranch, not individual members of the family. Being offered one to call his own was unheard of.

“You’ll have to train him as we do the rest. But yes…you’ll be the owner.” Tuher smiled.

“Thank you. Thank you all!” Elation filled Conyod, though he recognized the gift for what it was…bait for him to hasten his recovery and return home. Nonetheless, to have one of the beasts he adored for a lifelong companion was a treasure beyond compare. Only Sletran pledging himself as a clanmate could have topped such a gesture.

“Did you have breakfast?” Lafec prompted. “We waited in case you hadn’t.”

He hadn’t. Even his medication hadn’t been enough to calm him to eat prior to leaving the mental facility. Now that the future included a kestarsh of his own, Conyod was ravenous. “I don’t suppose swala and ronka pastries might be on the menu?”

She laughed. For a bright, shining moment she was the mother Conyod had known before Hoslek’s disappearance. The strain disappeared, and she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “Already prepared and waiting to go in the cooker.”

Sema slung an arm across Conyod’s shoulders. “Lead on, my Matara. I could eat a tray full.”

She chuckled and allowed Tuher to take her arm and playfully tug her to the home in pretended impatience. Vel joined in the fun, jogging ahead to trigger the door to open and gestured frantically for them to hurry.

Conyod grinned and wrapped his arm around his laughing Imdiko father’s waist. They turned to go into the home.

The breath left his body as the landscape swept across his gaze. The mountains loomed over the plain, jagged, broken teeth of a monster. His eyes instantly went to the Pinnacle, a needle-like protuberance of rock in the lower reaches of Mount Evar. It was where Hoslek’s injured kestarsh Ges had been found, the last place he might have been alive.

Conyod’s stomach dropped to his shoes. He suddenly wasn’t hungry.

Sema must have felt him pause, though it was only for an instant. He glanced at Conyod, then where the teen gazed. His arm tightened on Conyod’s shoulders.

“Me too, my son. Look away and forward instead. There’s only hurt there and a past we can’t rewrite.”

The silent Dr. Onbal, who’d hung back with the orderly to observe, must have overheard. Conyod noted him nodding approvingly as father and son walked past.

“Forward,” Conyod echoed. “Where kestarsh and especially swala pastries wait.”

And a certain Nobek, if he’d wait long enough for Conyod to grow up. Conyod kept his gaze on the home, ignoring the looming mountain he hated to his very soul.

* * * *

It was nearly a year before Conyod and his parents were deemed emotionally ready for him to return home for good. Therapy was ongoing, and biannual home visits by independent psychiatrists were scheduled. Otherwise, life was to become a new normal.

Conyod’s parents had achieved varying degrees of well-being. Tuher and Sema were at far better ease. They assigned independent chores to their son, which took him on solo rides to the nearby town or the plains. At first, Vel ventured to offer to accompany Conyod on those forays. Lafec insisted many of the errands required two people to accomplish them. They were firmly overruled by Tuher. When Conyod returned from wherever he’d been, he didn’t miss Lafec and Vel were working where they could anxiously watch for him.

He did ask a parent to join him when he was to train a yearling or colt on the riskier tasks of mountain work. He wasn’t so much afraid of Hoslek’s fate befalling him as the dark thoughts that filled his head when he had no choice but to confront the crags he continued to despise. In every cranny, he imagined coming across his brother’s remains. Sometimes he thought he saw the round dome of a skull or a rack of ribs, but it always resolved to stones or sun-bleached branches dropped from trees.

He refused to go anywhere near the Pinnacle or the foothills of Mount Evar.

The chance of finding Hoslek, however unlikely to happen, was more than Conyod could bear the thought of. Since he found he was actually happy to be home again, he decided he wouldn’t tell Dr. Hupsan about these terrible fantasies and visions, or his inability to go where the injured Ges had been discovered. Perhaps Lafec and Vel continued to be overprotective, but Tuher and Sema kept them in check so Conyod wouldn’t feel suffocated.

He missed having Sletran close enough to visit, however. He commed the Nobek as often as he thought he could without being branded a pest. Sletran’s usual cheerful greeting of, “Hey kid, how are you?” was as much a blow to his young heart as a joy. Conyod was nearly seventeen, but it was obvious his crush continued to see him as a child rather than a man. The fact Sletran didn’t always pick up or return his coms also made it clear Conyod hadn’t made the sort of impression he wanted.

Sletran did answer the com for one memorable occasion Conyod was eager to share shortly after he’d celebrated his eighteenth birthday. “Guess who this is?” the young Imdiko said as he pointed his com’s vid lens at a tiny kestarsh foal snuggled against Elbmur’s snowy side in her stall.

“It looks as if you have a rodent problem,” Sletran teased. “Call an exterminator or it might attack your mare.”

“Hey!”

“No, I’m kidding. It’s the kestarsh your parents promised you, isn’t it? He’s a beauty. Quite the combination, the black coat and white mane.”

“It’s a rare combination. He’s perfect,” Conyod gushed, his gaze moving constantly between the foal and Sletran’s admiring vid image.

“Did you name him yet?”

“Dresk. It means joy.”

“An appropriate name, given how much joy I hear in your voice. Congratulations, Conyod.”

“Thanks. You should come and see him. Are you getting time off soon?” He did his best to keep his tone casual.

“I am, but I’m visiting my parent clan. Send me vids of Dresk. My mother would enjoy them.”

“Sure.” He swallowed disappointment. He hadn’t seen Sletran in person since their last defensive session at the mental health facility. Try as he might, he couldn’t conjure a plausible reason for them to get together. He’d hoped Dresk’s arrival would do the trick.

* * * *

After returning home, Conyod still had occasional bouts of the insomnia that had plagued him before he’d run away from home. He’d been unable to sleep the night following his conversation with Sletran and his latest invitation to come to the ranch had been gently refused. Plots swirled in his head on how to get the Nobek to stop considering him a mere child. They all bordered on ridiculous and Conyod knew it, but he couldn’t stop concocting them.

After tossing for hours, he quit trying to fall asleep. It was two hours until daylight, but he got up, dressed, and went to the stables.

He sat cross-legged on the ground outside Elbmur and Dresk’s stall, watching the foal sleep in the long curve of his mother’s neck. Trading fantasies of happily-ever-after with Sletran for the more realistic plans of training his kestarsh brought calm, as did the pre-dawn quiet of the slumbering world. Conyod had snagged a blanket smelling of the musky kestarsh to snuggle in against the chill. Its warmth and a sense of contentment pervaded his senses. He finally began to feel sleepy.

He was just about to lie on the straw-covered ground when he saw movement at the corner of his eye. He looked in that direction and saw nothing but the shadowed entrance of the wooden stable. No sound. None of the kestarsh reacted, as they would should a stranger enter.

Nonetheless, Conyod’s instincts were alert, as if he hadn’t been on the verge of slumber seconds ago. His first thought was for the ghost known for haunting the area before he’d been placed in the psychiatric facility, but it hadn’t been glimpsed in years.

He summoned his courage despite his pounding heart. “Who’s there?”

A familiar figure glided from the shadows. “You have the senses of a Nobek, my son,” Vel said.

The old feeling of crowding prickled his skin. He couldn’t mask the accusation from his tone. “Are you up early? Or following me?”

“I heard you get up. I only wanted to check on you and make sure you’re all right.” Vel came closer and crouched next to him. “I’m doing my best not to smother you, my son. I’m…I’m struggling though.”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you.” Conyod forced himself to relax. Next to Lafec, Vel had the hardest time controlling his need to know where the youth was at any given moment.

“I can’t help worrying about you. I lost your brother. It would destroy me if anything happened to you too.”

It was as close as speaking the words “I love you” as a Nobek could come to another grown, or nearly grown, man. Moreover, Conyod had never heard Vel admit to anything he could construe as a weakness. Saying he might be unable to keep his child from harm and how it would affect him if it came to pass was the sort of soul-bearing Conyod would have doubted Vel was capable of.

His father was trying. It came to Conyod suddenly that Vel was perhaps doing as well as he was able when it came to letting him grow up normally. It simultaneously filled and broke the teen’s heart.

This may be as hands-off as it’ll get where Vel’s concerned. Same for Mother.

He’d have to accept it if he were to manage a decent relationship with his parents.

Conyod offered Vel a tight smile. “What do you think of Dresk? You haven’t said much, at least around me.”

Vel appeared relieved he’d switched subjects. “You can’t argue against good heritage where his sire and dam are concerned. As far as Dresk himself is concerned, he has excellent physical lines early. He used all six legs for walking, right out of the gate, rather than depending on the middle set for mere stability as most foals do.”

“I noticed it also. It’s a rare trait, isn’t it?”

They spent the next half hour discussing the newborn kestarsh before starting the day’s tasks. Though Conyod guessed the future would continue to see him bristling at Vel’s overprotectiveness, he at least felt he’d been given enough of a glimpse into his Nobek father’s heart to bear it.