CHAPTER ONE

“Do it again, Andy!”

Determination in his eyes and a confident grin gleaming between his lips, he braced his feet against the earth and swung the blade through the air. It made contact with the scarecrow; this time it clove the pumpkin head into two. The smaller chunk fell to the ground with a loud splat, while the rest of the pumpkin remained intact atop the skeletal body of the scarecrow.

He lowered the weapon to his side as the children clapped and cheered. “That was awesome!” Paco exclaimed as he clapped his hands together.

Tod, the youngest, was hopping up and down on his feet. “Wizard!”

“You should be a knight!” Anna cried.

“That was excellent,” Pini said, an apparent smitten look in her eyes.

John was the only one who didn’t seem impressed. “Anyone could have done that,” he snorted.

“Oh, what do you know?” Paco replied.

“More than you.”

“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to hit you.”

“Settle down,” Andrew said calmly. “There’s no reason to get into a fight.”

“But that was so cool, Andy! Can you do it again?”

As the children cheered him on, Andrew couldn’t help but feel a little pleased with himself, even though he was entertaining an audience of kids almost half his age. He was the youngest in the village who could use a sword, and naturally the village youth often came to watch him practice. Though personally he thought his skills could use some improvement, the children of course believed he was a master swordsman.

He picked the pumpkin seeds off of the sword slowly. It wasn’t a regular iron blade, it was a wooden one used for training. The five kids, with the exception of John, envied the toy weapon, and Andrew often found himself lending it to the kids for practicing against targets or chasing away wild animals.

It was early in the afternoon. The men of the village were tending to the cattle and the crops, while the women kept watch over the homes. This was the rural hamlet of Potos, a quiet town in the southern hemisphere. The weather was moderate, and the forests surrounding the village provided good protection and a nice habitat to live in. The village was kept alive through the selling and trading of livestock and harvested goods.

Andrew had grown up in Potos. His father left him when he was very little, and his mother died before he had turned ten years of age. He was left to fend for himself, the villagers providing whatever help they could for him. He had grown up to become a fine young lad as most people saw it. He was good at herding the animals, he was helpful around the farm, and he was also one of the few who knew how to use a weapon of war.

He didn’t think about that right now. After brushing off his finely crafted wooden sword, he held it back and then swung at the scarecrow again. The blade lodged itself within the pumpkin, not quite cutting all the way through.

“I’m gonna tell Mr. Yebb that you’re messing with his scarecrows,” John warned.

Tod stomped his feet on the ground. “Oh, don’t do that!”

“It’s alright,” Andrew explained. “I’ve already talked to him. He says it’s okay if I practice on this one. He said he was going to get rid of it anyway.”

John snorted. “Fine.”

“Andrew!” they heard a voice cry. “Andrew!” The figure of a portly woman appeared over the path into town. “There you are! Andrew, we need your help with some of the animals! Fargen’s having trouble with the sheep this time.”

“Alright,” Andrew said. He returned his sword to his belt and began to walk off.

“Andy?” Paco asked. “How long are you gonna be gone?”

He turned back towards the kids. “I don’t know. It could be a while.”

The children groaned in disappointment. “Aw, that’s not fair!”

John, seemingly unimpressed, turned and walked away. Ignoring him, Paco stepped forward. “Can I please borrow your sword? Please?”

Andrew opened his mouth to protest, but as the kids pleaded with him, he finally gave in, and handed the wooden sword to the boy. “Take care of it.”

“We will!” Excited, the boy turned back towards his home and ran, as the other kids followed him. They didn’t stop, except for Pini, who looked back at Andrew one last time and smiled, then turned back to her friends.

Andrew was glad he could entertain the children as well as he did. Many of them had to work on the weekdays in the fields or in the stables. It was only times like this when they’d get some time to play. He turned back towards the village and walked to Mrs. Venila. “What exactly is the problem?”

“The sheep won’t behave. That fool husband of mine can’t get them into the stables.”

“He’s got to learn that forcing them won’t make them move. You have to be easy with them, or they won’t listen.”

“Well, whatever. Come, use your sheep-magic on these wretched animals.” She patted him on the back and followed him up the path into town.

The village was a small, quiet commune nuzzled between the green walls of the Worshaw Forests. The buildings were crafted of brick and wood, with thatched roofs and bruming chimneystacks. There were almost a dozen houses in the village, most of them residences, with a few shops and one mayor’s office. The roads were paved with cobblestone, and trim, green grass grew from the wealthy earth.

Andrew felt at peace as he stepped through the town. Not far off were the small fields used for the raising and cultivation of crops. Nearby were the stables where the livestock was kept. Already he could hear the animals’ bored groans and smell their familiarly foul odor.

It wasn’t long before they finally reached the end of the cobblestone path, which led up to a small farmhouse. Outside the doors, a rawboned old man with a shepherd’s cane waited. “It’s about time you got here,” he shouted from beneath his matted beard.

“Fargen, you watch your tone!” Mrs. Venila turned to Andrew. “The sheep are out in the field.”

“What exactly is the problem?”

She spun around. “Fargen! Tell the boy!”

The old man stepped down the cobbled steps, waving his bony hand. “I can hear you just fine, woman. There’s no need to yell.” He coughed loudly as he approached the boy. “Andrew, the sheep ain’t getting into the stables. I’ve tried everything, but they won’t move an inch.”

Andrew scratched his chin. “Are you sure you need me for this?”

“Boy, I’ve been herding animals since I was your age. I wouldn’t come to you for help unless I really needed it.”

“Alright, Mr. Venila.” Andrew shrugged. “Let’s take a look.”

The old man nodded, coughing loudly again. He turned around and walked back up the steps, Andrew following closely behind. He pushed open the door and led the boy through the dark barn, stepping over scattered hay and animal droppings. When they got to the far end of the barn, Fargen pushed open another large door and walked out into the light. Andrew looked out into the grazing field. The sheep were strewn sporadically, browsing on the short grasses.

“You can see them out there,” the old man coughed as he pointed out into the field, “just eating like they usually do. On a normal day I’d just round up the stock at noon, but this time they won’t move at all.”

Andrew nodded. “What exactly have you tried?”

“Oh, everything, my boy. I’ve tried pushing them, scaring them, they just won’t move. I would have Domo help me, but he’s such an old dog, he couldn’t make it. I’m guessing they just aren’t afraid of me anymore.”

“Well, after you lost use of Domo, you have been having troubles getting the sheep in. Maybe you should consider getting a new dog.”

“Never!” Fargen interjected almost before Andrew had finished his sentence. “The relationship between an man and his dog is sacred. I can’t get a new dog until Domo passes on. It wouldn’t be just.”

Andrew sighed. He knew the old man couldn’t be reasoned with. “Well, then I guess you’ll be needing my help until then.”

“Perhaps I will,” he said with a cough. “Now, are you going to help me out or leave this poor old man to do the work by himself?”

“Alright. Come on, show me.” He walked out into the field, sandals clopping against the dry dirt. They moved to the nearest assembly of sheep and stopped. Andrew turned to the shepherd. “Show me what you’ve been trying to do.”

Fargen grumbled, stepping over to one of the rams. He stared down at the woolly animal, which looked back with dull brown eyes. The old man raised both hands into the air, shouting, “To the stables with you!” No sooner had he done that than he reeled forward, coughing loudly. The ram did not move.

Irritated, the old man glanced back at the boy. “Is that all you did?” Andrew asked.

“Of course not.” He walked up to the ram and grabbed ahold of it, his bony hands digging deep into the white wool. “Move, you arrogant beast!” He pushed, trying to get the ram to move, but he did nothing other than irritate the animal.

Andrew couldn’t help but smile. The sight of the old man trying fruitlessly to budge the ram was strange, almost comical. “That isn’t how you do it.”

Fargen growled, clearly agitated. He raised his wooden staff into the air and swung it hard against the animal’s rump. The ram screeched, spinning around and charging into him. The old man was knocked to the earth and trampled, as the ram doubled back, snorting in rage.

Suppressing his laughter, Andrew rushed to the old shepherd and lifted him to his feet. He coughed, wiping the dirty hoofprints from his tunic. “Maybe I’m getting too old for shepherding.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Venila. You’re the oldest living resident of Potos, and the best shepherd we have.”

The old man wheezed loudly. “If I really was the best shepherd in Potos, would I be asking for your help?” He stepped over to his cane and picked it up, resting his weight on it. “Alright, Andrew. Let’s watch you herd these sheep.”

Confident, Andrew pulled a small stockwhip from his belt, cracking it into the air lightly. The nearby sheep quickly raised their heads from the grass, ears perked and alert. Fargen watched in interest.

The boy walked to the agitated ram, who stared at him fiercely. He ran the gristly whip through his hands as the ram snorted, stomping its foot against the ground. Andrew slowly raised the stockwhip into the air, and then snapped it forward, cracking the air like a bone being shattered.

Immediately, the ram roared and charged at Andrew. The boy did not move, but instead held his place, and as the animal burst towards him he raised his hands in front of him. The ram smashed into him, both blazing horns caught in the boy’s hands. The ram, surprised, was caught off balance, and Andrew quickly threw it to the ground. The animal stumbled and fell to the side.

Andrew rubbed his hands as the ram picked itself up from the earth. It snorted again, fearsome anger gleaming in its eyes. Andrew raised the stockwhip, and snapped it once more. The ram remained still, glaring at the boy. He cracked the whip again, and the ram turned, head hung, walking back. The other sheep, watching their leader leave, followed.

As Fargen scratched his balding head Andrew chuckled lightly. “That’s how you do it. You just have to show them who’s boss. You don’t be mean, you don’t get angry. Just hold your position and put them in their place.”

The old man sighed. “Back when I was young, shepherding was as simple as chasing the stock into the stables. Now, they don’t even listen to me.” He coughed hoarsely. “I’m getting too old and too weak for this.”

“Maybe it’s about time you got a hand with the work here.” Realizing the old man’s expecting stare at him, he quickly added, “Besides me.”

Fargen coughed. “I don’t know. All of the men in the village have their own farms to attend to.”

“There’s John. He’s always loved working on the farm.”

“The Corrin boy? He’s only thirteen years.”

“Not too young to learn how to herd.”

The old man scratched his beard. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll ask his mother if I can take him under my wing.” He coughed huskily. “I still might need your help, boy.

“I understand.” He yawned. “Well, I guess I’ll go round up the rest of the stock for you.”

“Much appreciated, Andrew.” The old man watched the boy walk off, going towards the furthest flock of sheep to bring them in with the others. Fargen stood alone, his hands shakily grasping his shepherd’s cane, as he felt a sense of pride for the boy. He knew that Andrew could very well be the lifeline for this dying village.