Page 62 of The Puppeteer and the Poisoned Pawn

I walk with Kane through the trees, watching him follow a set of massive paw prints in the soil. He jogs as they stretch out to longer strides. And it isn’t until we reach the end of the forest line that Kane stops abruptly, his entire body stiffening at a sight in the weeds.

I look on, searching the moss and too-long grass for whatever has him frozen.

Oh, no.

“Is that…?” I ask no one in particular. We gaze down at a few grown RottWeilen corpses. Their fur and some skin melted off.

Chemical warfare.

Kane pinches the bridge of his nose. Sighs.

I remember Dessin telling me this story.Kane found him just after he was born. His small pack was one of the last hunted down over a decade ago. His mother dug a hole for him to hide in until his pack was killed off.

Chills ricochet down my spine. Dread knots in my chest. DaiSzek, just like Kane and me, is an orphan. I don’t know why it’s taken seeing his dead pack to let that sad fact click in place.

“What am I going to tell her?” Kane asks the unoccupied forest.

I consider answering. Selfishly, for my need to talk to him again.

“No, it’ll break her heart, Dessin.”

I flinch. Is he… talking to Dessin aloud? I know he’s always spoken to him in his mind. They would go back and forth, judging by the way he would get lost in a silent argument.

He seems to settle on a decision on how to break the news to little Skylenna. But first, he buries each fallen beast. Eyes glossy and red rimmed. I sit by their graves as he prays over them.

“Father God, please take care of this RottWeilen pack. They left behind their baby. And I know you wanted me to find him for a reason. If it’s your path for me, I will always take care of him.” Kane looks down at each filled hole. “I’ll take care of him for you. On my word.”

I rub the back of my neck. This sweet boy was honorable from the day he was born, wasn’t he? He was kind from the beginning. And I hardly had any time with him as an adult.

We rise and walk back to young Skylenna. The sun has started to set, and Kane is dirty and exhausted from digging and burying the pack. He plops down, watching DaiSzek nap in her arms.

“Well?” she asks.

“We can keep him.”

Six-year-old Skylenna does a little shimmy.

“You can name him,” Kane adds, lying on his back, stretching one arm up to pet the small animal. She doesn’t seem to notice the despair creasing his brow.

Skylenna thinks on this. “Remember that story about the warrior fae and elf?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What was the boy’s name? The fae warrior?”

Kane grins, wiping his hand across his sweaty brow. “DaiSzek.”

“DaiSzek,” Skylenna repeats. “We’re family now, baby DaiSzek.”

I watch our childhood unfold with sore eyes and a throbbing heart. I can’t seem to look away from the fun we had. The laughter. The bickering. The summer days swimming in the lagoon. The winter mornings with hot apple cider and a warm outdoor fire.

It numbs every inch of me, hardening my soul into solid stone.

Why couldn’t Dessin tell me any of this? I would have believed him. I was aware of the spotty amnesia. Why the obscene secrecy? The worst part is I can’t even ask him about it now. He was my best friend. The man I could tell all of my secrets.

Now, all I have are the broken memories that kept me sane. Ironically, they’re now the hallucinations that are driving me to madness.

The kids are now sitting on the massive red oak by the lagoon, legs dangling from a thick branch supporting their weight. Young DaiSzek stands guard at the edge of the cliff, keeping a close eye on the perimeter.

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