The Wings Of The Kestrel Trilogy Book 1: The Journey To The Mountains

Section Two

The flurry of panicked screams from the village hits me like a hailstorm as I emerge from the woods and I realise that there must be several more of the creatures, here to terrorise the people for Shirragh knows what reason. A more heroic person might have run to their aid, but I turn right up the track towards my house, not because I think it's safe, but because I know that's the place that Sparrow is most likely to have fled to. The decrepit, one-room shack that my father, Sparrow and I call home is in fact the opposite of safe: the crumbling walls are only still standing because they have been patched up countless times with mud and bits of wood, the wooden roof is draughty and the door is warped so that it barely fits into its frame, but the fireplace is well sheltered and in winter, we have plenty of blankets and deerskins to wrap ourselves in to keep warm. However, even if the shelter it provides is just about adequate, our house wouldn't withstand an attack from a group of children, let alone a demonic creature of unknown strength and power. I'm going to need to be quick.

My father is standing by the table when I enter the house with a packed deerskin bag open in front of him. I cast around and see Sparrow curled up under my bed, still terrified. He wags his tail and whimpers when he sees me, happy that I'm here, but too frightened to leave his safe spot.
"Father," I begin, the words coming out much faster than I intend them to. "There was this thing in the woods–"
"I know, Brielle, I know," my father says, trying to calm me, and for a moment I want to collapse into his arms and have him hold me like he used to when I was five, but I don't.
"What are they?" I whisper, trying to sound brave but failing miserably.
"I don't know exactly," my father says. "But Brielle..." He pauses, and I predict what he's about to say a moment before he says it. "I think they're here for you."

I don't know how to react. Could it be that I, without even knowing it, am causing this much harm to the entire village? I stand frozen to the spot, momentarily unable to move, think or feel. Then my father places a hand on my arm and I collapse to the ground. My father crouches in front of me and takes my shaking hands in his own large, warm ones, rough with scars from tears of hunting.
"Brielle, it isn't your fault," he soothes. "There's a power in your family, on your mother's side. I don't really know what it is, but it was in your mother when she was your age, and now it must be in you as well."
I leap to my feet, tearing my hands from his grasp. "And you were going to tell me this when, exactly?"
My father takes a while to answer. When he does, his voice sounds suddenly tired and old. "I hoped I wouldn't have to."