The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit

by H. G. Sansostri

  The two guards glanced at each other again. Corsair had disturbed the peace of the tavern and now the few occupants were focusing on the commotion at the counter.

  “Why do you keep looking at each other like that? I just want some peace after being out on the front. Can’t I have that?”

  “Sir, it’s about your father.”

  Corsair let out a wry laugh, one that was scornful and sarcastic and at the expense of the sincerity the two soldiers showed.

  “Let me guess – he wants me to run over to the Great Hall of Wolves to listen to him rant about how he’s disappointed in me and how I’m a disgrace to the Sedrid lineage? How I’m not a wolf? If he wants to do that so badly he can come over here and say it himself, in front of everyone so they get to see exactly what he’s like with me.”

  Silence.

  “Go on then, spit it out. That’s what he wants, isn’t it?”

  The soldiers looked uncomfortable, disheartened in response to the unwarranted level of his outburst. The air was tense. The atmosphere was hostile.

  Corsair looked from one guard to the other.

  “I’m sorry, I just… is something wrong?”

  The lantern holder stepped forward to whisper in his ear, one that Corsair willingly lent him as it stood.

  “Sir… Sir, your father is dying.”

  Whatever fragile and sombre peace was held over the interior of the Great Hall of Wolves shattered as Corsair barged through the door with the two guards trailing behind him.

  He didn’t even need to ask where he was.

  At the front of the hall, with the podium cleared to make room, his father lay on whatever comforts the guards and servants could bring. A pillow rested under his head while sheets were folded beneath his body to form thicker padding. A doctor was sitting next to him, his instruments laid out to one side, but the look of defeat on his face told Corsair that his efforts were fruitless.

  His mother leant over her husband, crying tears of misery, holding a paw under his head and with the other resting on his chest. Peter and the servants stood metres away, watching the Winter Baron they had served for years die, and the guards stood farther back. All eyes but his mother’s were on the new arrival, surprised at the sudden entry.

  Corsair rushed forwards, barging past Peter, moving around the wide benches and mounting the steps to the stage.

  He fell to his knees by his father’s side, opposite his mother.

  “Dad, Dad, what happened?”

  His father croaked, too pained to speak. Corsair looked up at the doctor.

  “What happened to him?”

  “He was on his way to a meeting with the King of Opulus, Sir. On his way there, the ictharrs leading the wagon lost control and caused a collision with another carriage. His side was pierced, and I removed the shard, but there’s some manner of internal bleeding beyond repair. I tried to offer him a pain relief remedy to ease his suffering but… he refused to take it.”

  Corsair looked down and saw the bandaging wrapped tightly around his father’s abdomen where the shard had punctured his side, a futile attempt to remedy his wound. He looked up.

  “Do something, you idiot!”

  “Sir, I cannot‒”

  “It’s your job to save his life so save him! He’s dying, save him!”

  Corsair could feel tears rushing from his eyes, choking him, and he had to keep swallowing to even have a chance at speaking. He was trembling and verging on hysteria, acting on intense emotion as his father died in front of him.

  As he opened his mouth to berate the doctor further, he saw the pained look on his mother’s face. The dying moments of his father weren’t to be filled with arguing and conflict.

  He should die peacefully.

  Corsair restrained himself, looking down at his father.

  “Arthur?” his mother whimpered. “Arthur, please… you can’t leave us. I need you. Your cubs need you.”

  Corsair watched his mother cradle her husband’s face in her paws, keeping his head up. He tried to make eye contact with his father, to try to say goodbye, but he couldn’t connect.

  For a moment, he thought he was too delirious even to realise what Corsair was doing. But, then, he saw how much his father was struggling against his wife’s paws.

  He’s trying to look away from me.

  “I love you so much, Arthur.”

  His father tried to reply but his words caught in his throat as pain ruptured whatever thoughts he had in his head. His face contorted, agonised, and Corsair could only watch through tear-filled eyes.

  Look at me. Dad, look at me.

  He wouldn’t.

  Corsair placed a paw on his father’s chest, feeling the sputtering heartbeat beneath his ribs.

  “Dad? Dad, don’t go.”

  He never thought his father would have enough energy remaining to push his paw away. It wasn’t hard or with any force but Corsair saw his father raise his right paw and heave against the weight of his son’s. He watched in horror as his paw was eased off his father’s chest.

  “Dad?”

  His father was looking away from him again, eyes focusing on his wife, and Corsair called out once more.

  “Dad, please.”

  Seconds passed. His mother held her gaze with her dying husband, eyes rimmed with red, until she looked up at her son.

  She shook her head.

  Corsair knew what that look meant. She didn’t have to say anything.

  Other than the wailing of Ophelia Sedrid, there was no sound. The guards and servants remained still. The snowfall outside was non-existent. Every soul in Grand Wolf Plains was at rest.

  Corsair Sedrid focused on his father’s corpse, cradled by his mother, and let his tears hit the floor without a word.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A few days later, thousands gathered in Grand Wolf Plains.

  News of the Winter Baron’s untimely and unfortunate death reached all frontiers of the Clan of the Great Lupine. It wouldn’t have been a surprise to Corsair if the Land of the Sun and Moon knew it too, celebrating the death of their enemy’s leader in the hopes that it would lower the troops’ morale.

  Corsair sat inside the Great Hall of Wolves, on the front row to allow easy access to the podium. His brother and mother were sitting to the left of him, each one holding a parchment in their paws, and the pews behind them were filled with friends and colleagues of the Winter Baron. Outside, hundreds of wolves surrounded the building, watched by solemn guards who had to do little work. None of the wolves would have dared make a ruckus, or yell, or shout, or cause disruption.

  Everyone was silent.

  The priest, a white-fronted wolf swathed in his religious robes, stood behind the podium. His paws were placed one on the other in front of his lap, head down in respect, holding the silence intact.

  Corsair looked left towards his brother.

  Ragnar’s eyes were on the priest, right paw repeatedly tapping against his knee. The other paw held his parchment, which quivered and trembled. It was barely restrained by his will.

  It was a rude awakening for his brother. He was brought home from the front to be given the news and Corsair watched his older brother cry and wail in the living room, comforted by his mother like a cub.

  In all his years, Corsair had never seen his strong, resilient and determined brother cry.

  Corsair’s eyes moved past Ragnar and focused on his mother. There sat the widow, her eyes shut and head bowed, mumbling a prayer underneath her breath. He had not seen her shed a tear since the death of her husband but she had become withdrawn, never talking to anyone, and sitting on the bed with one paw placed on the side where his father had slept.

  She looked empty, vacant. As if she had lost some part of her.

  Beyond her was Mr Duncan. The large wolf sat there in silence, staring pensively at the wall in front of them. As the good friend he was, he had come to say his goodbyes to his companion.

  And, finally, Corsair.

&n
bsp; The younger Sedrid had tried to be supportive to his sibling and mother. He tried to converse with them, told Peter to keep an eye on them, offered to go to the tavern, to go on a walk, to do anything as long as they talked to him.

  They were never prepared to do anything other than grieve. In reality he didn’t wish to go out on a walk or go to the tavern either, but he needed a distraction. He needed something to conceal the fact that his father ignored him, even on his deathbed, by pushing away his paw as the light finally left him.

  I’m such a disappointment.

  Yet he did not know how to feel.

  Hatred and misery threw him to and fro, rebounding him off one and towards the other. One moment the grief would root him to the spot, the next it was alleviated by an uncompassionate void that resented the wolf they had gathered to remember.

  Head rising slowly, the priest addressed the hall.

  “It is here, today, that we have come to say our goodbyes to Winter Baron Arthur Sedrid. In a series of misfortunes, our great leader was killed a week ago, a victim of a tragic accident. But, today, we look past the unfortunate events of his passing and we dwell on the good and warmth Arthur Sedrid brought to his family, his friends, his colleagues and his clan.”

  He gestured to the front row.

  “If she wishes, Ophelia Sedrid may come up and speak.”

  Corsair watched his mother open her eyes and nod, rising up from her seat and walking to the stage. Mr Duncan whispered his condolences to her as she moved. A servant followed, not ordered to do so, and Corsair appreciated her concern.

  The priest stepped aside and let the widow step forward. She cast her gaze to the back of the room, scanning the faces in the seats and above in the viewing galleries. With a shaky sigh, as loud as a shout in the silence of the hall, she looked down at her parchment and began to read.

  “At the age of 25, I saw Arthur Sedrid for the first time. It was at a tournament all the way to the west in Gredstok. When I saw him afterwards at a celebratory dinner I just…”

  She stopped.

  “He was the most handsome wolf I ever laid my eyes on. He was kind, caring and… we got along so well. We were soulmates. We were even more than that and we spent years and years together. Thirty years. My life has been so great with him in it, and it’s… I can’t believe that…”

  Tears began to brim over but she raised a paw to hold the servant’s assistance at bay.

  “Apologies. I… can’t believe that he’s gone. He was an entity of kindness, of love, of courage and loyalty. His heart was so big and his company was always welcome and… now, he’s gone.”

  She paused.

  “I ask that all of you remember him for the wolf he was, and that we don’t shed any more tears over our loss. Whether you knew him as a colleague or had the pleasure of knowing him as a friend, I ask that you keep him in your prayers and memories. He’s a strong wolf, but… after this life we need all the help we can get.”

  She paused again before nodding, confirming that her speech was over. Not a sound was made as she stepped down and sat back on the front row, wiping her eyes.

  “If Ragnar Sedrid wishes to speak, he is welcome to come up and say a few words.”

  Ragnar’s response was almost immediate. He got up instantly and padded over to the podium while Corsair looked down at the floor and readied his speech. Unaccompanied by any servants, considered strong enough to speak without a threat of emotion breaking through, Ragnar began.

  “Ever since a young age, I’ve looked up to my father. When I was a pup, all I could do was dream of being a brave warrior like him and being as courageous and strong as he was. I think that’s a dream most wolves have about their fathers. I don’t think, however, most people get to do that. It’s all lost as we get older, probably because we have jobs to do and lives to lead that are too busy to let us remember the dreams we wanted to pursue as pups.”

  He looked up at the viewing galleries.

  “My father, Arthur Sedrid, is someone who managed to do that for me. Even though he had constant meetings, even though he was always busy leading the clan for his people and what he believed was just and right, he had time for me. Because of him, I managed to become as strong and courageous as he was. I managed to hold my own all because he showed the love and effort for me to do so.”

  He looked back down to the audience.

  “When I heard that the one figure in my life that I looked up to was gone, killed in an accident, I… I cried. I couldn’t stop crying. I’m thankful that I had such support from all of you and my family. Without you all, I would have curled up and lost all of what my father trained and taught me to be. But I know now that I should never lose sight of who I am. To honour the time and love he gave to me, dedicated to my life, I will never forget what my father helped me become.”

  He paused.

  “I love you, Dad.”

  He let the final phrase hover in the air before he stepped down and returned to his seat. Corsair felt his brother pat him on the back, a way of comforting him, but it only awakened him to the realisation that it was his turn to speak.

  He didn’t know if he could do it.

  I’m lying. I’m lying through my teeth.

  “I now invite Corsair Sedrid to speak a few words, if he wishes.”

  Corsair looked up and found all eyes in the hall to be on him.

  There was no chance he would refuse. He would not wish to dishonour and disgrace his father in front of all these people, during the final time he would have to commemorate him fully. But, as he stood, he found that every step towards the podium was heavy. His body repelled him from the stage, his heart drumming away, but he forced himself up. He muttered thanks to the priest before he took position and looked out to see the whole hall looking back, soft and considerate gazes made into harsh and judging glares by the number of them.

  I’m lying. Everything written here is a lie.

  Pushing through it, he looked down and began to read.

  “My father has always been a loving wolf.”

  That sentence alone made him question his own memory, as if he had been living half of his life with another family, but he pushed through.

  “As a pup, I always wanted to be a great fighter. I always wanted to become skilled with a sword, to ride an ictharr into my battles, and no one enabled my dream more than him. He was a great teacher, and he was disciplined enough to never give up on me and always helped me through my training. Even when Alpha Tiberius took over, he was always there to help us.”

  He continued.

  “Every day of my life has been great with my father in it. Every hour, every minute, every second has been so fulfilling with his love and care. Now that he’s gone… I don’t know what to do.”

  I’m lying.

  “My father was a wonderful wolf. He always looked out for others and cared for us and…”

  Did he?

  Did his father care for him? Arthur Sedrid willingly sent him and his brother off to war, to be exposed to the sights of bodies and blood and severed limbs and dying screams. Was that caring? Was the bite that almost killed him caring? Were the ceaseless days of lectures and yelling filled with love? Did his father even care? Did Corsair even‒

  “And I love him.”

  Silence.

  “I love you, Dad. I miss you.”

  He said it again to confirm it. To prove it. He wanted to show that he loved his father, that he missed his father and felt the sting of his eternal absence.

  But he couldn’t forget the sting of the bite 10 years ago, eternally stamped on his neck. That loomed in his head as he sat back down and covered his face with his paws.

  Did he love me? Did my father even care? Would he have cared if I had died out there, alone and scared?

  Before he could finish that thought, he heard the priest begin to speak.

  “Before we move on to our concluding sermon, I would like to read out the will of the late Winter Baron Arthur Sedrid.”
>
  In the silence that followed, all that could be heard was the sound of a scroll being unravelled and parchment being pulled taut. Corsair peered up at the priest, along with everyone else, listening to what his father had left behind for them, but already knew the answer.

  Nothing for me. Ragnee will be Winter Baron. I’ll be left as nobody. An outsider. A stranger.

  “To the people of our great clan – if you are reading this, it must be in the event of my passing. If my demise was brought about through natural means, I ask that you all put your sorrow and grief to rest and set about on a new day as soon as you can. Dwelling on my passing will never bring me back. If I have been killed through foul play, I ask the soldiers of my clan to bring the culprit to justice for my family’s wellbeing.”

  Silence.

  “In the event of my passing, I ask that my title as Winter Baron be passed on to…”

  The priest cut himself off. A face of confusion came upon him, and he blinked twice to challenge the reality of what was written. A low murmur of uncertainty hovered over the hall.

  What’s wrong?

  “It appears that… it says here, that in the event of my passing, I ask that my title as Winter Baron be passed on to… Alpha Dominic Tiberius of the clan army.”

  “What?” Ragnar said.

  Everyone turned to look at the front row, where the large shape of Alpha Tiberius sat. The hulking brown wolf didn’t look left or right, watery eyes focused on the priest while everyone clamoured around him.

  “I am aware that my eldest son, Ragnar Sedrid, is next in line for my leadership. However, until he is believed to be of a responsible and mature age, I ask that my loyal advisor Alpha Tiberius acts as provisional Winter Baron until that time comes.”

  That sealed it.

  Minutes later, as a result of his father’s act of contempt of the maturity of his eldest son, Corsair witnessed Alpha Dominic Tiberius of the clan army being crowned as Winter Baron of the Clan of the Great Lupine.