Two and a half before midnight, Keo opened the door to a small windowless room; his candle shed weak light on an empty bed to the right. As quietly as he could, he slipped into the room, not wanting to disturb the boy already sleeping in the bed opposite. He set the candle on a small table beside the head of the bed, wide enough to fill the small space between the two. An extinguished candle on the far edge sat next to a tinderbox and striker. The sleeping boy faced the wall. Covered to his neck by a blanket Keo saw only the ghostly glow of white blonde hair, cut short and standing straight up like the down of a dandy lion.
Keo slipped off his boots, tunic and hose and climbed into bed.
Three men already occupied the way-hut. In the light of a single lantern sitting on the stone oven, one of the men was clearly dead. Blood oozed from a slice across his neck and his sightless eyes stared up at shadows dancing on the ceiling as the other two dug through his pockets.
Keo had entered the hut first and consequently stood between the murderer and his knife. Moorden crowding into the room behind, pushed him toward the two men. Fortunately, the thieves were as surprised as were the two boys.
Keo watched from the corner of his eye. Moordan seemed unaffected by his jab and only scowled at his bowl, wiping it with the hem of his sleeve.
Fierra introduced the two new boys who took to Keo quickly when they could see he was cut closer to their own weave of material than to Moordan's. Soon all at the table but Moordan were laughing as they each shared antics or adventures from their homes.
Ardle, the taller of the two new boys, said to Keo, "Moordan said you think you're going to be a creature handler."
There was challenge in the boy's voice, though there was also an edge of wistfulness that said, he wished he would, too.
The Southern Highway brought Keo no new challenges in the first few days of his journey. Paved with square, kiln-fired bricks, the road undulated slowly downhill toward the Capital more than two-hundred miles to the west. The only traffic sharing the road were the occasional coal wagons rumbling to the east. From short conversations with the drivers he learned they headed to the Southern Draw, hoping to find it free of snow, trying to be first to collect coal mined during the snowbound month’s winter.
"Keo,” his mother shouted from the kitchen. “Shelby Lacoore brought something by for you."
On the back porch, Keo stood above a large wool blanket spread across the boards of the veranda and examined his work from above.
On it lay three linen under tunics, three dark green pairs of woolen hose, a black wool tunic, a wool cloak and a waxed linen over-cloak with hood. Beside the clothes were few objects; a candle stub, flint and tinder box, a dozen sheets of writing paper in a thin leather folio, a pen with three nibs and two small bottles; one empty, the other corked and filled with ink powder.
The Kingdom of The Midlands has a natural resource unlike any other in the known world. Other kingdoms would kill to control it. Far out on the high plain which comprises most of the kingdom the great Midland's Swamp produces eggs of unusual hybrid creatures. Eggs which only specially empathic youths will be able to find.
Since a small child, Keo Noshahne has known he will be one of the exclusive creature handlers with abilities the world has never seen before.
Follow 15 year old Keo as he leaves the security of the Swamp Hills and enters the wider world of power and intrigue, on the path which will lead him to eventually become, "The Pariah".
