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It took much longer to reach the village by walking than it had to ride there on Cull's back. Parton was a little worried on Cull's behalf, afraid of how the injuries would be doing, but he didn't seem to be in any pain, and he told Parton not to fuss when he inquired.
As they walked, Lucion talked about his betrothed, about the shy man he hadn't thought even liked him, until he'd found a scribbled draft of a love poem. Lucion described how Sheller was a man of few words when it came to spoken conversation, at which description Parton shared a small smile with Cull, but that he could craft the most beautiful phrases if given enough time with quill and ink.
“He would leave me notes,” Lucion said, seeming in such a daze with his recollections that Parton wouldn’t have been surprised if he walked into a tree. “Some were just a sentence or to, telling me that he missed me, or that he was thinking of me. Others were long passages talking about my smile and my hair, comparing my eyes to the ocean. The first time he showed me one, I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever read, and he apologised to me for the fact that it was unoriginal.” He gave a fond laugh. “He could never see the depth of his own talent.”
Lucion talked about their cautious courting, and how Sheller had accompanied him on his explorations of religious ceremonies.
“I don’t think he found it as interesting as I did, but he always said yes to coming with me, and he was a wonderful listener. I would ask questions and tell him my doubts and speculate about all the things they said in the lectures and all the things my father told me, and he would ask more questions, and somehow made it feel all right that neither of us had the answers. We were fumbling along in the dark, but I didn’t feel lost while we were together.”
He talked about the comfort he had offered, and the way he had encouraged Lucion to think of himself as more than the things his father had considered him. Parton knew how important that was too.
“I sometimes think about what your father said too,” Parton said. “It’s like I have his voice in the back of my mind whispering that everything I was is wrong, everything I’m doing is evil.”
Cull squeezed his hand a little tighter at that.
Lucion nodded. “Sheller made his voice a little louder.”
Parton glanced at Cull with a smile. “I know what you mean.”
With the short winter days, it was almost dark when they arrived at the village. This was another concern to add to Parton’s collection of fears. He gave Cull a worried look, but Cull looked determined and strode forward without a glance at the western horizon. That gave Parton the strength to keep going, despite the racing in his heart at the memory of the pain. Listening to Lucion’s stories, it had been almost easy to put thing out of his mind, but now they were here and all his anxiety was back.
They emerged from the trees together, and Parton kept his hand linked with Cull's, even though he knew people would stare, even though he knew people would comment. He wanted the comfort of knowing that someone was by his side, no matter what Corron might do or say. He could already picture Corron's reaction and, from Lucion's face, he was expecting something horrible too. His pace slowed as they drew closer to the big farm house on the outskirts of the village, with its spread of fields behind it testament to Corron's wealth and status in this village.
Eyes had watched them as they walked through the village and a few people had followed in a small train, waiting to see what might happen, whether out of concern or simply to have the best gossip, Parton couldn't be sure. He didn't trust any of these people to do the right thing on his behalf after all that had happened. Silent judgement was more likely than assistance if things went badly.
They didn't even make it to Corron's house. The man himself was waiting in the gateway, a walking stick he didn't need under his right hand. Either he'd seen them coming or someone had run ahead to warn him, but he stood there, blocking the way, glaring at Parton with undisguised rage. His gaze didn't soften when his eyes slid to Lucion.
Lucion slowed again, and Parton wondered if he would turn and run in the face of his father's glares, but Lucion squared his shoulders and stood tall, stepping a few paces ahead of the other two and planting himself in front of Corron.
"Hello, Father."
"You left your school."
"I learned everything that school had to teach me."
"You've learned nothing if you're still associating with deviants and blasphemers." Corron's glare shifted back to Parton. Cull squeezed his hand, that little gesture making the memories of his words louder than Corron’s voice in the here and now.
Parton stood firm, remembering the conversations he'd shared with Cull, remembering that the way he felt was as natural as the way anyone else felt, remembering Cull calmly pointing out that Corron wasn't someone worth listening to when it came to the subject of right and wrong. The words stung, but Parton wasn't going to let them wound him this time.
"Parton is my friend," Lucion said.
"Friend. Pah!" Corron looked like he wanted to spit.
"He's my friend, and I've asked him to be present at my wedding. I would like for you to be there as well."
The self-righteous fury on Corron's face shifted slightly into confusion. "Your wedding?"
"I have arranged to marry a man named Sheller. He's—"
Lucion didn't get to finish that sentence. Corron gave a yell of rage and raised his walking stick, bringing it round to strike it at Lucion's head. Lucion flinched away, but the stick never made contact. Cull was suddenly there, grabbing the stick and stopping the blow from landing. Cull yanked the stick out of Corron's hand, the action making Corron stumble.
"You've hit your son for the last time," Cull said.
"Who the hell are you?" Corron demanded.
"It's no wonder you don't recognise me," Cull said, in a voice loud enough to reach the small cluster of watchers who were observing the unfolding scene. "For all your time spent in religious posturing, you never once opened your heart to the truth."
Lucion shot a questioning look at Parton, who could only shrug, wondering what Cull could possibly be talking about.
"You light the candles and ring the bells," Cull said, "but you are no holy man. Your heart is full of hate."
"Who are you to insult me like this? To try and stop me beating the wickedness out of that abomination that pretends to be my son?"
"The only wickedness here is yours!" Cull yelled. "You cannot see the holiness in those who are able to look past the physical form to the spirit within. You call monster anything you cannot understand. You call anything you do not like wickedness while failing to see the wickedness of your own actions as you beat you son and sliced open an innocent man with your knife and left him to die. You utter your pronouncements of hate in the name of the spirits, but you do not recognise our work when it's in front of you, and we do not recognise you!"
The volume rose sharply at that last point, so that there could be no doubt that the farm hands and villagers would hear each word. Parton was still thoroughly confused, more so now that Cull was implying himself to be a spirit, but at the end of his speech, Cull threw his arms up and his head back. Fingers changed to claws, and there were gasps and cries of fear from the watchers.
Cull must have been able to feel the change coming, to have timed it so perfectly even with the grey clouds obscuring the sun. His body twitched and jerked as it had the morning, limbs lengthening and reshaping, fur springing from skin. Cloth ripped, and Parton watched yet another of their small supply of shirts get torn to useless shreds. The bandages were torn away too, but any injuries that remained were hidden in the fur, and soon Cull stood there before all of them, in his beast form, glowering at Corron with his glowing eyes.
"M-monster!" Corron managed to say. He'd lost his footing during the change and fallen on his rear in the gateway to his home. He raised a shaking hand towards Cull. "Begone, demon! I banish you in the name of the spirits!"
Cull didn't roll his eyes, though Parton was sure the temptation was there. Instead, Cull opened his mouth and with it picked up the walking stick Corron had meant to use against Lucion. With one chomp of massive jaws and razor teeth, wood splintered and snapped. Cull spat the two pieces of the stick at Corron's feet.
Taking his cue from Cull, Parton said, loudly enough that everyone around could hear, "You really can't recognise the work of the spirits when it's right in front of you, can you? I wonder why I ever listened to you about what the spirits wanted." He reached out to Lucion. "Come on."
He and Lucion left Corron's house together, with Cull walking behind them like an honour guard.
