Malefactor

by Robert Repino

  Others endured bizarre, painful side effects. After eating contaminated deer meat, Urna went from a brave hunter to a confused, doddering animal. For three days, she shivered and vomited. Roka brought her food, stayed with her. She groomed her sister, licking her fur incessantly. During those long nights, she lay over Urna’s shaking body and howled. No one answered.

  That summer, every pregnant female miscarried or failed to conceive. Dregger could do nothing to stop it. They could move anywhere in the valley, or maybe punch through the blockade and reach safer ground. It would not matter. The rot lived inside them now.

  While he tried to negotiate with their neighbors, the others grew restless. Fights broke out over what caused the miscarriages. Wex and his brothers blamed Dregger, claiming that his weakness, rather than the dark water, had somehow poisoned the pack.

  The coup happened quickly, almost like a second flood. One day, Dregger led the hunters on a patrol. Somewhere in the woods, they cornered him, tore out his throat. They mounted his head on a pike in front of the den. When Roka saw it, she took Rove and Herc and ran into the forest as fast as she could. But Wex’s allies were waiting. Jape and the others seized her, pinned her to the earth. They dragged the young ones away.

  Once again, Roka howled into the night. And again, no one answered.

  In the morning, Wex appeared. He sat facing her, propped on his front paws, hindquarters on the ground.

  “Dregger was weak,” he said. “Weak blood. No choice.”

  He rarely spoke in the human language. She assumed it was out of shame this time. As if some other person confessed to his crime.

  Wex handed her a necklace. A leather strap, with one of Dregger’s fangs attached to it. Roka snorted in disgust.

  “You are the strongest female in the pack,” he said. “Join me, or we all die.”

  “Then we die.”

  He snatched her by the neck. Roka did not resist.

  “You are ready for death,” Wex said. “But who protects your sister, then?”

  With his other paw, he lifted the necklace to her. “Take it.”

  Whenever a pack leader fell, their mates were forced to carry with them some token of their past. This was the price of holding on to the old ways.

  “Your name is Mercy,” Wex said. “For that is what I give you. We breed new warriors. The future. We save the Mudfoot. You and I.”

  The elder wolves always said that mercy dogs served the noblest purpose of all. Then they would change the subject to something else.

  Roka slipped the necklace over her head. In that moment, amid a dying forest, she promised to stay alive. So that she could kill him.

  The wolves bounded through the snow, kicking it behind them in enormous white clumps.

  The trees thinned to a clearing.

  Mercy saw the slow deer. Their tails bobbing. The black eyes on the sides of their heads, expressionless.

  Wex raced ahead of the pack. In the snow, the hoof tracks gave off a scent so thick Mercy could swallow it. These deer trespassed on their land. Not a handful of them, but their entire herd. Their last mistake.

  I see red fangs, dripping with blood, the human had said. Yes. They all did.

  Wex grabbed hold of the slowest deer, gripping the hind leg in his mouth. The deer bucked, pulled away. A hoof smacked Wex in the skull, but the enormous wolf pressed on.

  And then, like a wave, the deer at the front of the herd jumped at the same time. Mercy saw their antlers rising over the others. As the herd moved forward, they all leapt over some object that Mercy could not see until it was too late.

  A trip wire.

  She jammed her paws into the snow and slid. Her feet dug in so deep that they ripped out the earth. The wolves behind her collided but kept moving.

  No! she barked.

  But with Wex in the lead, they ignored her. The deer he attacked—the bait, Mercy realized—jumped over the line. Wex never saw it. He hit the wire at full speed, right at his knees, and let out a piercing shriek that no one had ever heard before.

  Mercy skidded on her side and came to a stop at the wire. A metal line, definitely human made. As more of the wolves struck it, the wire vibrated against her body.

  More screaming.

  A pile of wolves lay a few feet in front of the wire. The wolves in the rear rushed to their fallen comrades. Jape stood on his hind legs, clutching his broken left paw with his right. Wex was face-planted in the snow, his front paws snapped at such a horrifying angle that they appeared to be severed.

  A film of blood dripped from the wire into the snow and immediately froze.

  Mercy turned to the deer. The herd split into two groups, forming a lane in between them. Someone behind her growled, but it sounded more like a question than a threat.

  Four bucks charged through the opening at full speed. Along with the horns on their heads, they each wore armor fashioned from antlers, becoming a wall of spikes thundering toward the wounded wolves.

  Jape stepped in front of the Wex to protect him. For all his faults, he remained loyal. He died first. The bucks mowed him down. A sharpened antler opened his throat, shooting out a red mist that speckled the lead buck’s face. The stag did not even blink.

  The entire herd spun around and stampeded toward them. The wolves tried to scatter. Mercy dodged one stag. Another, following close behind, zeroed in on her. He lowered his head. Before she could get out of the way, an ice-cold antler cut into her shoulder and snapped off.

  Lying on her side, Mercy saw the other wolves fall under the oncoming hooves. As the deer ran, the bottoms of their feet glistened bright red against the snow. With her paw, Mercy tried to stanch the wound on her shoulder. She bit down to fight through the pain.

  The herd wheeled around again to finish off the ones still remaining.

  “Run,” someone wheezed.

  As she clamped her paw on the wound, she scanned the bodies.

  “Go!” the voice said, coughing. It came from the battered husk once known as Wex the Cruelblood. One of his eyes was missing. Even now, he knew that she was the future of the Mudfoot. She could not die here.

  The sound of the hooves got her moving. With her injured shoulder, Mercy ran on two feet. A few others fled beside her, gliding over the snow on all fours. She knew their names. Uri. Knuckle. Cloy. None were brave, only lucky.

  The hoofbeats continued behind her, along with the snorting from the stags. As she reached the trees again, the sounds died out. She stopped. A few of the deer waited nearby, daring the wolves to retaliate. Behind them, the remaining stags walked into the mass of bodies in the clearing, a mound of fur and limbs with a growing border of red that melted the snow.

  One of the deer leaned over a fallen warrior, opened his mouth, and bit hard into the flesh. He tore away a bright pink chunk of it. No longer interested in the survivors, the others joined in the feast. The deer had sharpened their teeth into fangs. Mercy could only imagine the tool they used. They bit into the wolves again and again, peeling away the meat as their snouts glistened red.

  Another stag remained, still as a statue. A breeze shoved him. He readjusted his feet while keeping his gaze on Mercy. He opened his mouth, displaying a row of perfectly carved fangs. “No more hunt,” the stag said in a nasally voice. “No more Muddy Feet.” He made a show of walking away.

  Unlike the wolves, the deer ate their meat in silence, and without so much as a glance or a nod between them.

  Mercy headed for the den. She needed to find Urna. They would run from this place. And most likely die together.

  Mercy’s stomach snarled as she made her way through the snow. The wound in her shoulder burned until she could not feel it anymore. The frayed nerve ending fizzled out in the cold. On either side of her, tired wolves tried to keep the pace, leaving tracks and a white mist behind them. They must have wondered how a pregnant fema
le could move so quickly. The thought amused her.

  Wex was dead. They could speak freely in any language they chose. And yet no one said a word. They were all shattered. The deer had turned their own instincts against them. Wolves formed into packs, but a pack could be broken so easily, leaving only desperate savages.

  Mercy barely knew the wolves who trudged alongside her to the den. Some had joined the Mudfoot after Wex’s mutiny. Two others—a pair of brothers named Mag and Quick—fought alongside Dregger when the clan first migrated here. To stay alive, they fell in line when Wex took control, like everyone else. Since then, they could hardly look Mercy in the eye.

  An old one hobbled behind them: Carsa, another female who lost her pups after the flood. When her last one died, she spent weeks gnawing at her paws and legs until they bled. Dregger tried to intervene. To get her mind off things, he let her lead the next hunt. A generous wolf was a strong wolf. Carsa tracked a fawn for miles before making the kill on a barren hilltop. She hummed like a pup while she chewed the meat. After a couple of weeks, the wounds on her paws were completely healed.

  A fourth one Mercy recognized: Creek, an orphan. Old enough to hunt, young enough to not understand how things once were. He was fast, which meant that the older hunters were always screaming at him to be more cautious. In the battle with the deer, Creek had broken his tail. It bent painfully in the middle and hung to the side. Mercy could feel it in her own tail as Creek waddled from side to side with each step. This injury could help him to grow stronger and wiser, if he lived long enough.

  The rest of them she knew by smell, mostly. Before long, she found herself in the lead of this sad pack. Though they were all going to the same place, she was now the highest-ranking member. As long as she carried her young ones, no one could touch her.

  On the plateau, the dirt gave way to loose stones and boulders. A howl went out from the den. It came in waves. A question. Good news or bad?

  The weary pack waited for Mercy to respond. She did not answer, which was the worst answer of all.

  At the mouth of the den, three guards stood watch. Behind them, the human remained tied to the tree, a faint grin parting his lips, dried blood on his face and neck. The sentries let Urna run past them to greet her sister. They knew Mercy was the leader now, yet would not acknowledge it.

  Urna yipped and danced around to show her relief. What happened? she barked.

  Death, Mercy grunted.

  Soon, all the wolves barked and yelped and tumbled about—their way of acknowledging that they were still alive. Other guards arrived. The news spread. A few lonely howls went out, all off-key and quavering.

  While Urna pestered her with questions, Mercy trotted past the commotion and went straight for the human. He seemed ready to meet her.

  Crouched before him, she sniffed at his legs, taking in his salty scent once more. The man’s nostrils flared. He smelled her as well. She wondered if he was mocking her.

  Urna watched from a distance with her feet tucked in and her belly on the earth.

  Behind Mercy, the random shouts and cries at last coalesced into a single howl, loud enough to hear for miles. A song of mourning for their lost leader.

  Amid the noise, Mercy rose to two feet and faced the man. The wind draped a few locks of his black hair over his face. He shook it away. She noticed then that the claw marks on his cheek had somehow healed, leaving pink indentations crusted with dried blood. His tattooed mask now had scars of its own.

  He, too, howled like a wolf, indistinguishable from the others.

  “You did this,” Mercy said in the human tongue. It felt so strange. Urna whimpered at the sound of it. She seemed to forget that Wex could no longer stop them.

  The man stopped howling. “No. I tried to warn you.”

  “How you know?”

  “I see what is to come.”

  “You see future?” Mercy said, snickering. She motioned to the rope around the man’s wrists. “You see this too?”

  “I did.”

  The howling grew louder.

  “Why you here?”

  “I’m looking for something. I came to your clan for help.”

  “Why help you?”

  “Because I’m the only one who can help you. Like I said: I see what is to come. What is to come is all that matters to a wolf, is it not?”

  Mercy glanced at Urna. Other wolves took notice of her standing on two legs, talking with the human. They continued howling anyway.

  “You’re a mercy dog,” the man said, nodding to her necklace. “The only reason you’re still alive is because of your children. Once they come out, your enemies will have no use for you.”

  “You know our ways. Good for you.”

  “Don’t act like there isn’t more.”

  With a tilt of his head, he motioned for her to come closer. She leaned in. Urna rose to her haunches, ready to strike if this man somehow broke free.

  “There are no children, are there?” he said, his voice no louder than a breath. “You were the last hope. The last hope for the last clan of true wolves. And now that’s gone.”

  Urna leaned closer, her ears twitching. Mercy was certain her sister could not hear, which came as a relief. Even Urna did not know the truth: Mercy had miscarried over a week before. The Damnable had taken away her children. Her claim to power rested on a lie. And any day now, the entire pack would know, and they would tear her apart for it.

  Mercy pinned her ears to her skull. This human could see inside of her mind and her body. Her instinct told her to rip his throat out while she still could and to share the meal with her sister.

  “You’re trying to survive today and maybe tomorrow,” the man said. “If we work together, we can make sure you never have to worry again. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen your pack rising from the ashes of this place. Calling on all true wolves to join them.”

  “True wolves,” Mercy said. “Like you.”

  “Like me,” he said.

  She waited for him to blink, but his eyes remained fixed on her.

  “You say Dregger helped you,” she said.

  “He gave us safe passage a long time ago. Probably kept it quiet. I don’t blame him.”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Call me Augur. Of the Toqwa pack.”

  “Humans have no packs.”

  “We are not humans. We are hunters. Keepers of the forest. Like you.”

  “You from Hosanna.”

  “No. Hosanna is the enemy. I come from the hills, out there. I wanted to find the great Dregger. I was willing to settle for Wex. But now I see that you are the one.”

  With the pads of her fingers, Mercy touched the newly healed scars on his face. Soft pink ridges. He did not flinch. She pulled her hand away to sniff her nails.

  “We have the ability to heal,” Augur said. “That’s what your people need, isn’t it?”

  “Need food.”

  “Yes. And you could eat us, I suppose. Live a few more days. But I offer you something more.”

  “Speak, then.”

  “Someone is coming. An heir to the Mudfoot. A wolf-child. For you to raise as your own. He can bring all the packs together. He can destroy Hosanna.”

  “Where?”

  “He arrives by sea.”

  This human mocked her after all. They were cut off from the sea, thanks to the blockade.

  “I know what you are thinking,” he said. “We can’t get there. The recon units will see us.”

  “Yes.”

  “We know where their base is. Not far from here. Take that out, and you can make it.”

  Mercy turned away from him. The howling around her at last subsided. Several of the wolves went about jostling and sniffing at one another. Urna flattened herself on the ground, not wanting anyone to notice her presence.

 
“You’ll need help,” Augur said. “You’ll need us.”

  Mercy willed herself to see into the future, as this human claimed he could. She saw nothing but a scorched landscape, littered with polished bones. This path she had walked for so long came to an end here.

  She dropped to all fours and let out a quick bark. It summoned the two brothers, Mag and Quick. They were a unit. One day they would distinguish themselves. Until then, they shared a single name.

  “Let them go,” Mercy said. When the two brothers hesitated, she growled: Do it!

  The wolves undid the human’s bonds. It took a moment—the knots proved stubborn, and the two brothers grumbled at each other’s mistakes.

  Urna whined. Are you sure?

  Mercy ignored her.

  “Roka,” Urna said. It was the first time Mercy had heard her old name since Dregger’s death.

  In a deliberate movement, Augur slid down the pole to a sitting position, then rolled onto his back. The submissive pose. A sign of respect and trust that a human would never do. The wolves pawed at him.

  Urna spoke her old name again.

  “Don’t call me that,” Mercy said.

  Chapter 2

  A Beacon of Light

  (unofficial) logbook of the sus al-rihla

  january 15

  WEATHER: light breeze. overcast. moderate swell.

  0630 assigned as an extra hand to engineering crew. completed refit of wind turbine.

  0900 science team meeting. blood results on latest specimen still pending.

  1257 new sighting reported. 34.6, -74.8.

  1325 captain confirms new heading. intercept course.

  personal health: good. third day in a row without seasickness.

  The bow of the al-Rihla dropped into the oncoming wave. Gripping the railing, D’Arc felt weightless until the boat crashed into the surface. Her legs buckled. Salt water sprayed all over her fur. She shook it off like a typical dog. One of the humans on deck chuckled when he saw it. The humans always liked pointing out the things the animals did that they found cute.