The Hound in the Heather

By C.J. Heckman

Eamon has not slept since the day his little brother died. Wracked by guilt and crippled in his right leg, he spends his youth caring for his ailing father in their decrepit family home. When a sorceress suddenly appears claiming to serve a mysterious deity, he is called forth on a journey to lay his brother's soul to rest. Eamon sets off with her, hopeful for redemption, but quickly finds the world has only grown darker and stranger since he last left the comfort of home. If Eamon is to succeed in his quest, he will have to come to terms with the guilt that has haunted him all these long years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC
• Release date: May 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781619503526

C.J. Heckman

C.J. Heckman is an author and programmer. He and his fiancée live in Davenport, Florida with their beautiful baby bird Faryd. Connor loves Seinfeld references, complicated boardgames, and good coffee. Faryd loves sitting on Connor’s shoulder and nibbling on his ear while he writes.

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Contents

Copyright Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

About the Author

The Hound in the Heather

by

Connor Heckman

All rights reserved

Copyright © March 29, 2019, Connor Heckman

Cover Art Copyright © 2019, Rian Sayre

[e-mail]

Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

Lockhart, TX

www.gypsyshadow.com

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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ISBN: 978-1-61950-352-6

Published in the United States of America

First eBook Edition: May 17, 2019

Chapter One

The Barrow Witch came in the darkness of early morning. It was an hour at which most decent folk were asleep, but Eamon was awake.

He sat before the fireplace, making tea out of habit. A late autumn chill was creeping into the shanty, and the cold pained his bad leg. For one so young, Eamon knew a great deal about the aches of early winter.

Opposite him at the far wall of the shanty, the gaunt form of his father sat motionless in a chair of leather and horn. The old man’s mind had long since passed from the world, but his body lingered behind to dwell on the young shame of his house.

He hated Eamon and had good reason to, as any man in the Sleeping Wood may attest. Eamon didn’t mind the fact of his father’s hate. He only missed his brothers, his older brother Muir most of all. After little Niall’s death, Muir went to walk among the woods and never returned. It had been years since then, but Eamon always thought of Muir when the days turned cold.

The water in the tea kettle was coming to a boil. Eamon was stooping to lift it from the coals when his father spoke.

Hark!

Eamon started. The teapot struck the stone floor with a clang he felt in his bones. His father laughed at this, an awful whistling sound that ended in a cough.

Strangers on the road, said the old man.

It was always nonsense when he spoke. Yet his voice had something of the old and weary in it that was impossible to ignore. Eamon walked cautiously over to the round window by the front door.

In the distance, two figures approached. Beneath them was the old stone road, and on this day it led straight to Eamon’s doorstep.

The witch was young, but her locks were long and white, the mark of one touched with the Knack. She wore a tattered brown dress with a necklace of knucklebones and raven beaks that clattered with her every step. On first seeing her, Eamon thought she was a wight come to take his father’s soul at last.

By her side walked the man called Murtagh. The people of the Sleeping Wood fancied him the Witch’s Bear. He was nearly twice Eamon’s own height with arms like willow branches and a tangled beard of brown hair. He kept his locks unbraided and his chest bare. In place of a walking stick, he carried a felling ax with a head of black iron.

The pair stopped a dozen paces from the shanty door. The girl cupped her hands and called to Eamon.

Come forth, Eamon! Your mother summons you! Her voice was piercing and bright as the shatter of glass.

Eamon stepped back from the window. The girl was no wight. He had seen her before, on the day he brought his mother’s body to the Barrow. He pressed his back against the front door and slid downward into the cover of darkness, hoping they hadn’t seen him.

It was then that his old man cackled again.

Come now, child! Aette called in answer.

No thank you! Eamon yelled back, keeping his back fast against the door. Please go away!

Eamon had a careful way of speaking, he was careful with a great many things.

And my mother is dead! he added, You really shouldn’t go round claiming to be people’s mothers.

All men have two mothers! That of birth and of death! Now don’t make your only mother angry. Come here, or I will hex you so that worms fill your gut and spiders crawl from your ears!

Eamon thought this was a bluff, but it didn’t matter, he wasn’t one to take chances with the Knack.

The door let out a pained creak as he opened it. He staggered out to meet the two strangers, his older brother’s walking stick in hand to balance out the lame leg on his right side. The ground before the door was uneven and his first few steps were difficult, it had been some time since he last left the shanty. By the time he reached the two of them, he was breathless and lightheaded.

Still a boy and yet you walk with all the years of your father, said the little witch. She might have meant it a slight calling him boy, but Eamon didn’t mind, he had never been called anything else.

His attention was drawn instead to the giant by her