Free The Execution by Sharon Cramer

her hand for just a moment on his arm or his
shoulder, and a smile would tug at her rosy lips. It gave him a
happy and warm feeling when this happened, and his heart was more
at peace than it had been for a long time.
    It was true he provided the game that
the Inn required. He brought goose, quail, duck and venison. Some
days he brought rabbit, or delicious steelhead. His bounty became
the method to her art for the masterpieces she would create. Most
of all, he provided an unwavering and sincere friendship to her
that was without judgment. At first he thought she seemed surprised
by this, but then seemed to accept it for the gift it
was.
    His young and growing body consumed
the nourishment as fast as it was received, his appetite recently a
roaring furnace. He removed the copper ring from his middle finger,
as it had become increasingly too tight, and wedged it onto his
pinky. She mentioned that she noticed this, as one might notice
such things about someone they have grown to love.
    One late afternoon, the Fat Wife very
matter-of-factly handed him a wrapped up piece of faded blue satin.
In the same manner she might pass the heavy ladle to him to stir
the stew, she shoved the small package into his hands without
looking at him.
    He took her gently by the arm, turning
her back towards him so he could see into her small, puffy eyes,
and then he carefully unwrapped the satin. It slipped softly in his
hands, uncoiling by itself, and he nearly dropped from it the
lovely, thick silver chain.
    His eyes widened with astonishment and
he looked at her in dismay. Ravan shook his head and started to
refuse the gift but she chided him firmly, “Put that ring of yours
on it and be wearing it about your neck, under your shirt-clothes.
And don’t be boasting of it. It’s our little secret, ya’ hear? Now
off with you and bring in some kindling.”
    The smooth silver chain slid against
his skin as he sorted the candles in the upstairs linen room,
gently filling a pillowcase with the fragile, elegant tapers. They
clinked gently against each other, a strangely appealing sound
which made him want to snap them in half just for the fun of it. He
reached up and touched the dimple the copper ring created beneath
his shirt and his heart warmed.
    The boy ventured into the main dining
room seldom because his quiet presence was an odd contrast to the
merriment of the guests. For the most part, he was invisible to the
travelers. Sometimes the patrons got too boisterous and he could
hear the raucous fights coming from downstairs. Monsieur LaFoote
was skilled at breaking up such disturbances. One night, Ravan
watched the big man effortlessly toss two rowdy patrons, one in
each hand, out the front door.
    He avoided crossing paths with the
guests in the halls as well, taking the outside stairs down to the
kitchen instead. He was like a child ghost when the Inn was busy,
and seldom seen. He preferred the quiet steadfastness of the
Innkeeper’s Wife, and her presence in the warm kitchen kindled his
soul as well as his body.
    True to his promise, the Innkeeper
allowed Ravan time to wander the forests behind the house, an
opportunity the boy seemed to take increasing advantage of as the
days went by. It settled him, to wander deep into the woods, to
smell the wild earth and learn the lay of the land. But,
increasingly, it gratified him more—to hunt.
    The Fat Wife also seemed to watch him,
as the Old One had, as Ravan disappeared into the woods for hours
on end—to kill.
    Monsieur LaFoote looked surprised when
one evening, shortly after his arrival, Ravan carried a wild pig
through the back door of the kitchen, dropping the gutted carcass
onto the stone floor. The animal was enormous, a dangerous and
tasty prize.
    LaFoote nodded in odd approval, not so
much for the meat, but perhaps for something else
altogether.
    Ravan noticed the odd expression but
was unable to decipher it, his adolescent intuition serving him
better in the forests than amongst men. He