“CONNOR, IT’S for you,” Joyce MacKenzie called from the living room. “It’s Spencer.”
Connor had drifted off trying to read one of Spencer’s school novels. It was tough to get into because he’d never been out of Muckleford so of course he didn’t know what the Yorkshire moors smelled like, and if he couldn’t smell it, he couldn’t picture it. He wasn’t sure what Nan Mac had said except he heard her say Spencer’s name. He rolled off the bed and made his way down the stairs to be quickly overtaken by Emily and Bridie. By the time he stepped off the bottom step he could already hear Emily whining to speak to her brother.
“Here you are,” Nan Mac said, holding the phone high enough that Emily knew not to grab it.
Connor took the phone with a quiet thank-you and waited until Emily stomped after her nan. “Hello,” he said, pretending there weren’t one hundred butterflies tap dancing in his belly at the thought of hearing Spencer.
“Oh my God, I wish you’d come with me, even though I knew you couldn’t.” Spencer was breathless.
“Why?” Connor asked. He briefly wondered if they were going to have that conversation all over again, but there was something very new in Spencer’s tone.
“I met someone last night—his name is Duncan. He’s older than us—in his twenties maybe—but he’s….”
Connor waited to hear what this Duncan was like and why Spencer was so excited to talk about him. The butterflies suddenly wore heavy work boots and kicked with steel caps rather than dancing. He heard Spencer take a breath and held his own.
“He’s furborn,” Spencer whispered.
That wasn’t anything close to what Connor expected to hear. Spencer had found someone else, had kissed this Duncan guy… or anything else except, he’s furborn. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak.
“Did you hear me?” Spencer asked. “He’s furborn! And he said there were others.”
“Okay.” His voice sounded as numb as he felt.
“Okay? Is that all you’re going to say?”
“What did you tell him about us?” Connor didn’t want it said like an accusation, but fight or flight had always been his default. In that moment he wanted to be far away from the phone, and the farm, and even Spencer.
“I mean he could tell you are furborn—he could smell you on me, and he knew stuff about your family, especially your gran.”
“What kind of stuff?” Connor couldn’t stop the tense growl in his words.
“Um, just that his great-grandmother, I think, said she knew a May Coutts and she was, is a legend among the furborn.”
“How?” It was turning into a very one-sided conversation, but Connor struggled to process any of Spencer’s news.
“Something about her being fiercely protective of the furborn bloodline.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Connor said and his gut settled—only a little. “Does he know where we are?”
“No, of course not. He knows you’re up country, but that’s all. I made sure to be vague about that.”
“Good,” Connor said and exhaled a long breath. “I have to try and see Gran.” It was a voiced thought rather than a comment, but before Spencer could say anything he asked, “When are you coming back?”
“Not sure, end of the week maybe? Kelsey is still in hospital and my dad is organizing stuff for his work.”
“Your mum?”
“Dunno?”
Connor heard Spencer call his mum and was surprised when she took the phone. “Hi, Connor, is everything all right?”
“Yes. I was just worried about my foxes, and how I could get to them while Spencer is away.”
“The men are staying a little longer, but I should be home later tomorrow, and I can take you to them. I need to warn you it’s been a while since I’ve ridden anything other than a bicycle, so I’m not sure how I’ll go, but I’m sure we’ll manage.” She gave a light laugh and passed the phone back to Spencer.
“Your mum is going to take me to Gran when she gets home.”
“I heard. You okay?”
There was genuine concern in Spencer’s voice. Connor held the receiver to his forehead to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t okay. He couldn’t sort through the possibilities and perhaps threats of new furborn. Gran will know what to do.
“Yeah,” he eventually answered. “It’s just, I need to tell my family, and I wish you were here with me.”
“It’s okay, Mum’s cool and is happy to take you to them.”
“I know, but I still want you here. You’re my only friend. I can talk to you.”
There was a long pause before Spencer said, “I wish I was with you too.”
“Yeah well… I better go before Emily explodes.”
They said their goodbyes, and Connor handed the phone to Emily, who’d escaped her grandmother and was bouncing at his side.
RAIN HEAVY clouds hung low over the farm and forest. There was no breeze to cool the sweat on Connor’s brow. He dragged a chair across the old wooden floor of the veranda—the muffled scrape was quickly smothered by the humidity. Silence blanketed the farm. The sheep in the front paddock huddled together with their lambs lying low in the grass at their feet. Even the chooks sought shelter in their shed. The approaching storm pressed cruelly on Connor’s already confused thoughts.
The fly-screen door creaked open and slammed shut.
“It’s going to be a right storm,” Pa said. The thump of his cane on the decking produced no echo. “Looks like a downpour, and there’s electricity in the air.”
Connor felt the prickle and crackle on his skin like the night Mab’s kits were born.
Pa leaned heavily against the railing and stared out over the farm. “The animals know it.”
“They do,” Connor muttered.
“I hope you don’t plan on climbing any trees this time.”
It sounded like a joke, but Connor knew the old man had turned and was watching him. He leaned forward to rest his arms on the rail and his chin on his arms. “The storm did what I couldn’t,” he said without a sideways glance.
“The old fox tree,” Pa mused. “It served its purpose over the years.”
“How?” Connor snapped and stared at him. “Barbaric! That’s what my gran called it, and she was right!”
“Barbaric?” Pa slurred the word. “Yes, it was that. But it reminded all who saw it that this is sheep country.”
Connor shifted in the chair and a trickle of sweat ran down his spine. He bit his tongue. Respect for elders had been drummed into him—even if they were human.
“Old May and I fell out over that tree. What was it she said to me? Why must one animal be slaughtered for the sake of another, then to add insult to injury, displayed with no dignity?”
“She was right,” Connor said. “Your sheep are important to you, but they were brought here the same as the foxes.”
Pa straightened his back with a groan. “The cheviots are an old breed—a heritage breed.”
Connor didn’t reply—what could he say? The furborn are even older and there are fewer of us?
A crack of thunder sparked nervous bleats from the lambs.
Joyce joined them on the veranda. “That old ewe is likely to lamb in this,” she said. “You want me to bring her in?”
Pa shook his head. “She’s a good old girl, and she’ll know what to do.”
“Just the same, I think I’ll open the top gate.”
Connor watched Joyce and the farm dogs make their way along the track to the gate. By the time she’d unhooked the chain she was joined by Emily and Bridie.
“See that?” Pa said. “One word from me, and they do what they want.”
Led by a very wide ewe, the sheep made their way to the sheltered yard next to the house. Emily held her gran’s hand, but Connor could sense no fear from the little girl. Will you run the farm one day and kill any threat to your heritage sheep?
Emily ran up the steps and stood with her grandfather to watch the bright forks of lightning streak through the dark clouds.
The MacKenzies watched the light show for a good half hour before the first plops of rain raised circles of dust on the driveway. Then the heavens opened. The farm dogs crept back from the edge of the veranda and settled next to Pa. Bridie joined them.
Potholes became pools and the forest vanished behind a veil of water. The farmhouse sat isolated in the landscape with only a few outbuildings for company. Isolation wasn’t new to Connor. It was safety—safety for him and his kin, but it was also a death sentence for his kind. Perhaps the city furborn…? Just as the rain eased to reveal the adjoining farms, one phone call had obliterated Connor’s long-held worldview and replaced it with something frighteningly new.
“Can I call Spencer, please?” he asked.
“Not in this storm, lad,” Pa said gruffly, as if it was the stupidest thing he’d heard that day. “Lightning and landlines don’t mix.”
Connor nodded but didn’t really understand. Thunder crashed directly above them as if to prove Pa’s point, but it was another sound that caught their attention. Gunshots. The dogs barked and looked to Pa.
“Bastards,” he muttered and got up to walk slowly into the house.
More shots sounded. They were in the forest, and there wasn’t a damn thing Connor could do about it.