Connor and the Wolves - 32. The Silence

Horses nickered as Khurtschono travelled down the line of stalls. The doors fell open, and she followed the horses as they wandered into the morning pen. Locking them inside, Khurtschono turned back to the stalls, grabbing a wheelbarrow as she went.
Horses didn’t understand the Silence. Chores still needed to be done, even if today was a sacred day for all nekos.
She shouldn’t be down here. Manure flew into the wheelbarrow, and Khurtschono shoved the plastic tines of the muckrake through sawdust. This should be John’s job, but no. He was too busy helping Catherine set up the morning ritual. That was supposed to be her job. But John’s faith was slipping. Both Khurtschono and Catherine knew he didn’t revere Tareth as strongly as they did. For whatever reason, Catherine thought talking to John alone might help him feel Tareth’s love again.
Which meant Khurtschono was stuck with the chores. Not that it surprised her — this was what she did every day. But the one day of the year she should have to devote to Tareth, John had to go and ruin everything.
“Stupid John, can’t even switch chores for one day to help me….”
She knew she should be more happy. This was John’s chance to get closer to Tareth. That was a good thing. But he’d had his chance. He was two years older than her. If he hadn’t found the joy of loving Tareth yet, Khurtschono doubted a single day would change that.
“Uh… hey Kurt….”
Her shoulders tensed. Khurtschono took a deep breath, shoving her rake back into the sawdust.
What was Soren doing here? She’d told him not to come today.
Deep breaths. Focus on shovelling manure. She didn’t exist. He was just talking to the air. Do not engage with him.
“Are… are you okay?”
Silence.
“I… um… I guess you’re… still kind of angry with me.”
The rake swept around, barely missing Soren as it dumped its load. Khurtschono turned back without comment, stabbing into the shavings again.
The silence dragged. Soren shuffled his feet awkwardly. It took all of Khurtschono’s willpower to ignore him.
“The door was locked,” Soren said suddenly, explaining his presence. “No one answered. Not even… um… not even Altanchono.”
Khurtschono fought back a shudder at that. It would be just like Altanchono to break taboo and engage with a non-neko during the Silence.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on. You told me I needed to be here today,” Soren said, a hint of anger in his voice.
Khurtschono strode toward the barn, locking the muckrake inside. She grabbed the wheelbarrow, pushing it out past the horse pen.
The walk to the pond felt especially long today. Soren’s eyes burned into her back with every step, and she fought to avoid his gaze on the walk back. Shoving the wheelbarrow back in its spot, Khurtschono turned toward the house, focusing on ignoring the man following her.
Opening the back door, she slipped inside and yanked the door closed before Soren could follow. Locking it was even harder — he stared in bewilderment through the panes of glass on the door. The lock clicked into place like a nail in the coffin of their friendship.
Hurrying into the kitchen, Khurtschono let out a shaky breath. She dropped into a chair as Khenbish stirred a pot on the stove. Across the kitchen, Skylar chopped fruits for a salad, while bread sat ready to be made into sandwiches.
“Come now, mucking the stalls can’t be that horrible,” Khenbish said, glancing at Khurtschono.
“I forgot to tell Soren not to come today.”
No, that wasn’t right. She’d specifically told him to come over today. Once again, her memory had screwed her over.
“Ah.” A wooden spoon scraped across the iron pot of boiling millet, filling the deafening silence. There wasn’t anything her father could say, and he seemed to realise that. The damage was done — she didn’t think she could repair this. “Tomorrow you will apologise.” Or maybe he did have something to say. “Invite Soren for dinner. Food mends many wounds.”
“But Altan-”
“Altanchono will keep his body to himself. Anything else would disrespect himself, Soren, and our family,” Khenbish said sternly. “Now go. Your mother is waiting upstairs.”
Khurtschono hurried toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. Doubts continued to nag her. What if Soren said no? What if he took this as a sign he wasn’t welcome here anymore? Despite her frustration with Soren over the incident with Connor, he was her best friend, at least outside of a computer screen. She couldn’t lose that.
“What happened?”
Khurtschono jumped, closing the door to the shrine a bit harder than she meant. Catherine stared at her, cleaning an offering bowl, while John sat by the altar to Tareth, nose buried in a book of prayers.
“Soren came by while I was mucking the stalls,” Khurtschono muttered.
Catherine sighed. She stepped forward, pulling Khurtschono into her arms.
“It’ll be okay,” she said. “He probably didn’t realise it was the Silence today. Someone will explain it to him, and I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“But I told him to come today. I forgot again!”
“Mistakes can be forgiven. Come on,” Catherine said, gently guiding Khurtschono to Tareth’s altar waiting in front of the north wall. “You must be at peace today, heart and mind.”
Khurtschono knelt, staring at a bowl of river water collected the night before. There was no shame approaching the gods with a troubled heart; they listened to problems as well as praise. But removing her concerns, letting the river wash them away, would leave Khurtschono open to Tareth, and more ready to hear him.
She took a deep breath.
“I am afraid,” she murmured, dipping a finger in the water. “I made a mistake, and now my friend might hate me.” She drew the stem of a rose over the centre of her chest, head bowed. “I am afraid. I do not want to lose my only friend in this new school.” Thorns traced over the stem, pricking her heart as she struggled with one last fear. This was a safe space; she’d always brought her concerns to Tareth. But her mother was watching now, and this last fear….
“I am afraid,” she breathed, adding another thorn. “I see my mate every day. A blessing from Tareth. But I don’t know how much longer I can deny my claim. Everyone around me is rushing toward love, but I must restrain myself.”
A shuddering breath wracked through her. Dipping her finger again, Khurtschono began the looping swirls of the rose’s petals.
“I know you watch over me. I place my fears in your hands. Let my heart be light. Let my fears wash down the river to trouble me no more.”
Taking another deep breath, Khurtschono rose to her feet.
“There,” Catherine said. “Feel better?”
“A bit,” Khurtschono said. “You’re not upset that I didn’t tell you about my mate?”
“No khongor. I trust you have your reasons.”
It was always strange hearing her mother speak Ythin. Catherine had never been against the cultural blend in their family, but she tended to stick to more Niwo mannerisms. Then again, today was a day of mourning for all nekos. Khurtschono supposed it was Catherine’s attempt to include their Ythin heritage.
“Hey Ma?” John’s voice startled Khurtschono; she’d almost forgotten he was in the room with them. “There’s a section in here about the duties of Tarethan temple cats.”
“And their duties as sacred prostitutes,” Catherine said evenly. “What about it?”
“I don’t know,” John shrugged. “It’s just the first time I heard anything about that.”
“Really?” Khurtschono asked. “I’ve heard plenty about them. Maybe if you didn’t skip Ma’s lessons all the time, you’d know that.”
“Khurtschono, no one can force another person to have faith,” Catherine scolded. “Not all calicos are cut out to be priests of the River. Just as not all priests are meant to be eingar.”
Khurtschono winced at her mother’s words — she’d forgotten her pills again.
“I need to take my medicine,” she said, rushing from the room.

The family gathered around the kitchen table. Khurtschono tried her best to avoid John. How could he have gone all these years without knowing their history as priests of Tareth? Khurtschono had learned about the old sacred prostitutes of Tareth when she was thirteen. It was an old tradition, and many calicos still practised it, even if they were quiet about their worship.
But it wasn’t a choice Khurtschono could see herself making. And John certainly would never go out and have sex in the name of Tareth.
“Today is one of the few days when we are all free.” Khenbish tore her from her thoughts, dropping a heavy backpack on the table. “I thought we could all take the time to visit the pond. We can spend some time having a nice lunch under the sun.”
Khurtschono stared at the bag suspiciously. Khenbish held to his traditions. They had never gone picnicking before — the Silence was a day for quiet reflection. This was something she would have expected from Catherine.
“Well? What are we waiting for?” Catherine beamed. “Everyone go get dressed for a walk. The pond’s… about half a kilometre away.”
Altanchono bolted from his seat, an orange blur racing through the house. Khurtschono followed more sedately, trying to puzzle out what was going on with her father. Sure, they often went outside — a rarity for most nekos during the Silence — but it was always to honour their ancestors from the Blue Lotus for their sacrifice.
This was just a picnic.
A blue shirt flew past her as she entered the bedroom. Scowling at Altanchono as he grabbed a fresh shirt, Khurtschono threw the old clothing into a hamper. She collected her own clothes silently, heading to the bathroom to change.

When Khurtschono had been a child, she’d wanted to be just like her mother. She dove into the world of horses, learning to groom them, walk them, ride them through obstacle courses.
Then she discovered the sound of the viola. And all love of horses was transferred to this majestic sound.
Tolin Khara was a relic of those days. Like most Ythin horses, his name was more description than traditional name. Black with a half moon across his forehead, he’d been a gift to Khurtschono from Khenbish.
And now he chased Altanchono’s mare across their land, carrying a determined neko on his back. There was no way Khurtschono was letting Altanchono reach the pond before her. Her horse days were ten years past, but she still knew what she was doing.
Behind them, their family rode at a much more sedate pace. She could still feel the fire in her father’s eyes, the desire to chase after them. But that was beyond his dignity.
It wasn’t beyond hers.
Her knees urged her horse faster, faster. If she reached out, she could almost touch the tail of Altanchono’s horse. The mare had a lighter load, but she’d never been a courser. Tolin Khara had been raised on racing, even if it had been a while since Khurtschono had really put him through his paces.
Altanchono rode out wide, dodging an outcropping in their path. He rode up a small slope while Khurtschono kept to the flat ground. Both nekos urged their horses on, determined not to lose this race.
Khurtschono steadily drew ahead of her brother, whooping as the wind thundered through her fur. Maybe she needed to ride more often. She’d just squeeze it between viola practice, track, her prayers to Tarith, school, SoA….
Tolin Khara slowed as Khurtschono sighed. Right, there was no time to fit riding in.
They came to a stop by the pond. Sunlight glinted off the surface, a crystalline mirror that reflected the trees that marked the edge of their property. Khurtschono could almost imagine a cinnamon wolf staring at her from the woods, but if Soren was watching, Altanchono certainly would have noticed.
The orange neko scowled at his sister as he dropped from his horse.
“No fair!” he complained.
“Completely fair,” Khurtschono interrupted. “I did nothing to slow you or your horse down. You just took a horrible path here.”
Sliding off Tolin Khara’s back, she wrapped the reins in his saddle and patted his neck. Altanchono wasted no time charging into the pond and disturbing the mirror. Khurtschono held back — the one thing she hated worse than being naked was wet clothes. Even during her shifts at home, she always hid first, despite her family’s openness about their bodies.
She really should have dressed for the water, but it was cool enough, swimming probably wasn’t a good idea. Altanchono’s teeth were already chattering by the time the rest of the family arrived.
“Oh this is gorgeous,” Catherine said, sliding off her horse. She reached to help Khenbish off his horse, but the Ythin waved her off before dismounting easily. “Altanaa, out of the water! You’ll catch a cold!”
“You can’t catch a cold from cold water!” Altanchono denied, splashing through the shallows. He clambered out of the water, silt clinging to his pants. “Hey, what kind of snake is that?”
Khurtschono stiffened, turning to follow Altanchono’s finger. A grey snake sat coiled in the sunlight, blending in with the shadowy dirt. It stared at the family silently.
“It’s a viper,” John said, staring back at the snake. “It has that pit behind its nose.”
“Just leave it be and it will leave us alone,” Khenbish said, pushing Altanchono away from the snake. “Help your mother with the blanket.”
Khurtschono grabbed the blanket from the bag, shoving it at Altanchono. Together, they stretched it out, setting it as flat as they could on the ground. A dry rustle filled Khurtschono’s ears as they finished, and she closed her eyes, smiling at the wind spirits that always seemed to lift her up when she was down.
“FUCK!”
“John!” Catherine snapped, whirling on her eldest son. “Do not use that lan-” Her words died on her lips. John cradled his arm, a branch held limply in his hand. Nearby, the snake was coiling again, head rearing back for another strike. “John!”
Khenbish stepped between the two, shoving a phone at Catherine.
“Take a picture of the snake. John, sit down.” He pulled the neko back, pushing him carefully to the ground away from the snake. “Let me see your arm. Here, hold it up like this.”
Lifting John’s arm over his chest, Khenbish revealed two angry puncture marks.
“Skylar, ride to the house and call for help. Altanchono, fold up the blanket again.”
The two took off in a flurry of energy. Skylar untied her horse from a tree, lifting easily into the saddle. She was gone in a moment of frantic riding, cantering back to the house. Altanchono balled the blanket up before shoving it back into the bag.
Khurtschono stared at the snake, a growl low in her throat. How dare it attack her family?! A black hand held her back, a warning in Khenbish’s eyes.
“Leave it be. One bite is bad enough.”
Even as he talked, the snake slithered into the brush around the pond, vanishing before Khurtschono had a chance to strike.
“Keep your arm steady. Just breathe for me. In… out… in… out….”
John did as he was told, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Is… is this good enough?” Catherine asked, thrusting the phone back at Khenbish.
The Ythin glanced at the picture, nodding.
“It’s clear enough.”
“What in the god’s name were you thinking?” Catherine demanded, whirling on John. “I would have expected a stunt like that from Altanchono, but you-”
“Catherine, shut up,” Khenbish snapped. He took a moment to calm himself, sucking in a deep breath. “You’re not helping things. We need to keep everyone sedated. Altanchono, go get the horses back in their stalls. Take the bag with you.”
“Okay, Aav.”
Whistling sharply, Altanchono grabbed his horse as she came running. He hoisted himself into the saddle, growling at the slower speed of his parents’ horses. A minute later, he was out of sight, nearly dragging the horses behind him.
“Khurtschono, see if you can find a straighter branch,” Khenbish added, pulling off his belt.
Scurrying into the brush, Khurtschono scanned the ground warily. Her ears swivelled, listening for any sound of the snake as she searched.
They had to go to the hospital. But nekos weren’t supposed to be seen during the Silence. Yet John was hurt. What was more important, tradition or health?
It wasn’t even a question. Khurtschono felt a rush of guilt for even thinking it.
“Forgive us, Tareth,” she breathed, grabbing a stiff branch from the water.
Rushing back to her family, she dropped the stick next to Khenbish. The Ythin grabbed the branch, tying it securely to John’s arm with his belt.
“And now we wait for help to arrive."