Cyrus LongBones Box Set

on towards the Virkelot Ring Road.
Like the Dead Fence, the Ring Road rimmed the entirecircumference of Virkelot, acting as a boundary linebetween the forest and Cyrus’ village. All streets and alleyways ended on that round road.
Cyrus peeked out from the underwood. There was no onein sight. Good, he thought. He would make it home in time for dinner.But he still needed that key…
He scrambled out onto the street. Potholes dented thegravel lane and several homes slouched along its inner edge. The cottages’ blueand grey exteriors had faded. Their grass roofs sagged overhead.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
A wiry hand clutched Cyrus by the neck. He couldfeel sharp nails stab into his flesh.
“Mom?”
Cyrus tried to look back. The grip was tight,the nails drawing blood.
“Just like your father, aren’t you, always sneaking about like a little rat.”
She twisted him around to face her.
Cyrus’ stepmother, Llysa,was slender compared to most villagers, a little taller than Cyrus, with skinas pale as teeth. White strands of coarse hair slashed her death black mane.
“I wasn’t sneaking,” Cyrus said, his body flushing hot.
He heard his voice and hated how weak and pathetic hesounded.
“How many times do I have to tell you to stay awayfrom that demon’s shrub, you little, ungrateful bastard?” Llysasaid, her thin lips tightening in anger, “If you want to ignore village law andget yourself killed, that’s one thing, but you will not endanger or embarrassyour half-brother and me as well.”
Cyrus had always thought she might have been beautifulat one time, but years of fear and hatred had sharpened her features into asoulless, lined mask.
“There’s no law that saysyou can’t go into Hekswood,” Cyrus said, regrettingthe words the second they left his lips.
WHACK!
Llysaslapped him hard across the jaw. His vision flashed white, and his blackened eye felt bruised to the bone.He began to taste blood.
“Don’t talk back,” she snarled, “You live under myroof, eat my food, you will do what I say. I didn’t ask to be burdened with an orphan, but I’ve done myduty. I’ve done what your tramp of a mother couldn’t, and what your cheatingfather wouldn’t. You’d best remember that.”
Furious, she began to drag Cyrus down the tree-linedroad and towards the town square. He heard the large key ring jangle in the pocketof her grey, ankle-length dress. He needed that shed key if he was going to escape…
When they arrived at the village main street, Llysa dragged him past stout, grey-haired adults and round,white-haired children. All watched them out of the corners of their eyes. Thesmell of mud and animals filled the crisp, fall air.
“There goes Gunnar’s bastard,” said one young girl,from the balcony of a two-story shop.
Cyrus looked up and noticed that the girl was notalone. Beside her was Sarah Heiler. Sarah was notlike the rest. She seemed thoughtful and kind. She was one of the few kids in thevillage who did not pick on Cyrus. She peered into his eyes, then quicklylooked away.
“It ain’t right, him beingpointy-eared and skinny,” said an old woman.
She sat in a rocking chair beside the two girls,smoking a pipe.
“Where do you reckon he got those odd, blue eyes andyellow hair?” the first girl asked.
“His mother was a witch,” the old woman cackled.
Sarah’s face flushed red. Cyrus looked to the ground. His skin prickled and burnedwith humiliation.
His stepmother yanked him stumbling into a crowd andthrough a long lineup at the VirkelotWork Office.
“Back of the line,” shouted one man.
“You have plenty of work on your own farm,” shouted another.
“Mind your business, you greedy gluttons,” Llysa yelled back.
From there she pulled him along a small wooded trailand across ChickenLop Lane. When they reached thefamily farm, she hauled him through a shriveled apple orchard, past a burnt downbarn and towards the family home.
The house was old, squeaky, and like most others inthe village, painted pale blue. Thick tor grass grew from its sagging roof. Agrey roof goat chewed at its bowed ridge.
Llysapulled out the ring of keys to open the kitchen door. Cyrus focused on theshed’s skeleton key. The kitchen door was already open.
“Niels, how many times do I have to tell you to keepthe doors locked?” Llysa yelled, “Younever know who might try to break in.”
“Did you find him? Is he okay?” Cyrus’ half-brotherreplied.
His voice came from the pantry.
“He was right where I said I’d find the little sneak,”Llysa said, locking the door behind them, “hidingfrom his chores as usual. Just like his father, can’t pull his own weight.”
To Llysa, pulling your own weight seemed to mean moving piles ofbricks from one spot; then moving them back. Or digging deep holes in theearth, only to fill them in again.
Cyrus’ half-brother Niels walked into the kitchen witha plate of steaks in his hands. He gave Cyrus a sorry smile.
Niels was taller than both his half-brother andmother, with broad, brick-like shoulders and a square jaw to match. He was ayear and a half older than Cyrus and hadgraduated from school one year earlier. He kept his thick, grey hair short andneat.
“Grab a seat and dig in,” he said.
The table was spreadwith baked potatoes, roasted vegetables, fresh bread and a dish of warm, creamybutter.
Llysashoved Cyrus into a seat, then sat down herself. The keys jingled in herpocket, seeming to taunt Cyrus.
“It looks amazing, Niels,” she said, “You’re such ahard worker. Why don’t you say grace?”
“Sure,” Niels said, smiling awkwardly.
He took a seat, clasped together his thick fingers,and said, “Oh Angel King, we thank you for the bountiful work you have providedfor us, and for the Dead Fence which protects us. Please, bless our family andkeep us safe, and pray that we always respect the boundaries that you have setforth for us. Thank work.”
“Thank work,” echoed Cyrus and his stepmother.
“So, how was work today, son?”
Llysa’s face seemedalmost kind when she looked at Niels.
“Worked in the orchard all day,” he said, “Those treesaren’t what they once were, but they’ll live.”
“Such a hard-working boy,” Llysasaid, “You take such good care of your mother. You’re nothing like your drunk ofa father was.”
“What did you learn in school today, Cyrus?” Niels asked,changing the subject.
“The usual,” Cyrus