When Dealing with Wolves

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When Dealing with Wolves Page 11

by A. R. Thompson


  Rostfar screamed and leant into the pain, letting it fuel her up, up, from ground to knees, to feet. Her hand closed around a stone as she stood and this time when the wolf knocked her flat again, Rostfar was ready. Claws snagged in her clothes. A stinking maw snapped in front of her face. A drop of saliva landed on her cheek.

  She slammed the stone into the side of the wolf’s head with all her strength. He pulled away from her as if she were a living ember, unsteady on his feet. Rostfar took a moment to catch her breath.

  It almost cost her life.

  Instinct jerked her body sideways before the second wolf could tear into her, before her mind even registered its presence. All Rostfar could see was the wall of one huge, grey-white flank, and then eyes the colour of a dying fire set in a snarling face. Rostfar tried to scramble backwards, but her arm gave out beneath her. She didn’t know what had happened to her knife. The world was dissolving into a cacophony of colours and awful sound. Her vision swam.

  “The human isn’t to be hurt,” said a voice, gravelly and firm. Rostfar turned her head and realised that she was lying flat on her back, staring up at the underbelly of a wolf. Ice laced her veins.

  The voice of the first wolf, thick with anger, “But—”

  “The human isn’t to be harmed,” The wolf repeated. Its growl was so deep it reverberated in Rostfar’s belly. “I’ve been expecting her.”

  Chapter 15

  Aethren sat slumped in a chair at the back of the moothall, wishing they could melt through the floor. Laethen was straight-backed but relaxed at their side. Aethren clamped both hands down on their knees to stifle the urge to tap their feet, and wished they had Laethen’s composure. Her confidence.

  Natta, standing over a map-board on the table, looked haggard and exhausted. Snarls of escaped hair hung around her face, and she kept brushing them away as one might bloodflies during late Bloom.

  “You’ve covered the Cracklands?” Natta tapped a spot on the map that lay between Whiterift and Eahalr. “She’s walked there before, in her sleep. There’s plenty of crags and hollows she might’ve fallen into.”

  “We’ve searched there,” Hrall said patiently.

  “And I’ve scoured everywhere from the Merrows up to Whiterift’s mouth, but the truth’s clear – Rost-Skelda didn’t come this side of Whiterift,” Ethy added. She looked over to Aethren and Laethen.

  “I split our group,” Laethen said. Although her mild voice was better for whispering over traps than addressing a group, confidence rang in every word. “Aethren took half over Whiterift while the rest of us covered the last section of tundra.”

  “You split up?” Natta raised her eyebrows. “Why not comb each area in sections, as a group? You could have missed something.”

  Aethren wanted to shrink under that gaze, but Laethen just looked steadily back. “We haven’t the resources to sustain an elongated search mission, Nat-Hrenna. Far better to divide our people and cover as much ground as we can.” She lifted one shoulder, and Aethren caught a touch of defensiveness beneath her exterior. That made them feel a little better. “’Sides, with that wolf or whatever it is still out there, we can’t leave any of our number exposed.”

  Apparently mollified by this, Natta looked at Aethren. “So, what did your group find?”

  “Uh, the report—” Aethren cleared their throat and stood up. “I took a group over the river. We found some footprints, set by the other night’s frost. They pointed north for a while, and then . . . they hit the edge of the Wyccmarshes.”

  Natta closed her eyes. Exhaled slowly. “You’re certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well,” Natta said. She sat down and folded her hands on the tabletop. Her expression was unreadable. “Laethen, how many can we spare?”

  “Spare?” Laethen blinked at her.

  “To venture into the Wyccmarshes,” Natta said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ll not see our security compromised, so we need to think carefully about who we send. You will be needed here, but Aethren – you’ve proven yourself a good leader, and we already know you’re an accomplished tracker—”

  “Natta,” Marken said. “Stop. Rost is – gone.” His voice caught and the pain was clear in his eyes.

  “We have to keep going forwards,” Hrall said, his voice dull. “Appoint a temporary Dannaskeld, just to fill in ‘til we can organise a Casting.”

  Aethren tried to catch Marken’s eye, but he was frowning down at the table. Natta seemed to have forgotten that Aethren was in the room, Urdven hadn’t said a word all meeting, and Laethen, Hrall and Ethy were watching Natta. Sweat prickled Aethren’s armpits. Now that their report was done, they had to go – but they couldn’t just leave.

  “Aethren,” Ethy said. Aethren stood up straighter.

  “Yeah?”

  “What do you think?”

  Aethren went stiff as everyone turned to look at them. “Well, um. Hrall, obviously.”

  “I’m old, cub, and there’s no whetstone to sharpen my mind.” Hrall shook his head. “No, my time as Dannaskeld passed years ago.”

  “Laethen?” Aethren’s voice was small. To their relief, this suggestion seemed to sit better with the council members.

  “Yes,” Hrall said. Urdven nodded.

  “Indeed, Laethen is good at what she does. A fine candidate.” Ethy nodded. “But with all due respect, Laethen, you wouldn’t be my first choice.”

  That gave Aethren pause. Ethy was the obvious choice, wasn’t she? She was skilled in hunt and combat, an excellent tracker, and a warden of Erdansten since she was only ten winters old (or so the story went). But Ethy, who always had something to say, seemed content to give the role over to someone else.

  “And who would you choose, Ethy?” Natta asked coolly. Aethren could practically taste the anger seething beneath Natta’s cold exterior: she didn’t want this to be necessary.

  “Aethren, of course,” Ethy said.

  Aethren’s world slammed to a halt. Their heart leapt, then froze in the back of their throat. Blood rumbled in their ears.

  “Aethren?” Urdven spoke up for the first time, eyes wide. “But they’re so young.”

  “Rost-Skelda was only a year older when she was cast in. Nat-Hrenna, you were Aethren’s age when you became Dannhren.” Ethy stood and smiled at Aethren. Perhaps she thought the expression was encouraging, but it just made Aethren want to throw up. Or run away. Or both. “Age isn’t everything. If it was, I’d’ve been made to retire properly years ago. So would Hrall. Aethren has done excellently these past few days, and Rost-Skelda had been talking with me ‘n Laethen about assigning command of the first Bloom hunt to them. As a trial.”

  “That’s true,” Laethen agreed slowly, thin eyebrows knitted into a perplexed expression. “But I don’t think it’s fair to thrust this on them, Yrl Ethy.”

  “No,” Aethren could barely choke the word out. “No, a hunt is one thing. I – I could do that, I think. Maybe. But I can’t – I don’t want to – Pa, this is ridiculous.”

  “Ethy, there’s a mountain-high leap from leading to hunt to being Dannaskeld,” Marken said.

  “Aethren has dedication, courage and skill.” Hrall had a distant look on his face and he spoke about Aethren as if they weren’t there. “In a few years I might have suggested they take a place in the Casting. I wouldn’t put them first in line today, but they are near the front by my reckoning. Laethen has my vote.”

  “Please, if I could speak for myself?” Laethen stepped forward, hands raised. Her mouth contorted as if she didn’t know whether to smile or grimace. “I’ve never minded stepping in for Rost-Skelda when it’s been needed, but I have three little’uns at home now and . . . well, I may have another on the way. So.”

  “Who else do we have?” Natta asked. If she was annoyed or disappointed, she didn’t show it. She didn’t show much of anything, actually – her face was still tired and worn, but the gates behind it were fastened shut. Impenetrable.

/>   Hrall scratched his chin. “Vasta entered the last Casting, but I don’t know how they’re doing after that wall collapse.”

  “No, we can’t put this on Vasta,” Marken said. “They’ve a good mind for security and maintenance and it’s as sharp as ever, but they’ll need more time to recover. Losing a limb isn’t something you can move on from in a snap.”

  Aethren waited for Ethy to put herself forwards. Surely now she would speak up . . .

  “Stop this,” Natta said, “We haven’t time for this debate, so I’m invoking my right as Dannhren to overrule or forgo official votes.”

  “But that’s for times of emergency,” Hrall said with a frown.

  “I’d say we’re nearing an emergency now, Yrl Hrall,” Natta replied dryly. “Laethen, you’re now on this council. You may of course decline, but it will be known to all that you walked away from the needs of your people.” When Laethen made as if to interrupt, Natta lifted one finger and pinned her under a ruthless gaze. “I’ll not force the responsibility of Dannaskeld upon you – or anyone else, for that matter. But the people need to see someone as holding the role, at the very least. Laethen, will you do it?”

  Laethen remained silent for a time, but eventually nodded.

  “Good,” Natta said. “Then you, Aethren, are now Laethen’s second. You’ll speak on the council and help her carry her duties. We need people who are close in order for this council to hold strong, and as Marken’s child and one of Rost’s foremost hunters, you fit that need.”

  Aethren wanted to laugh in derision. To ask if they got to have a choice. To bolt from the hall and vanish into the tundra. But they couldn’t do any of those things. All they managed was a soft, strangled sound in the back of their throat.

  “Aethren?” Marken asked, shifting his weight as if to come to them. Aethren dug their fingers into their upper thighs and stood straighter.

  “If there’s nobody else, then, fine.” They winced inwardly. Those weren’t the words they had intended to say, and certainly not in such a blunt tone. Would Natta take it as defiance? Aethren glanced at her warily, heart pounding.

  Natta’s face was still unreadable. “Call a peoplesmoot,” she said and looked away from Aethren to survey the council as a whole. “Rostfar is – lost – and so we must continue on. If any here disagree with my choices, walk away. I’ll not stop you.”

  Nobody left. Natta sat down, and the conversation turned smoothly to the usual organisational matters of running a town. Aethren tried to listen, but they couldn’t concentrate. Their legs felt weak, even though they were seated again, and anxiety continued to beat in their chest.

  It should have been a relief, to have been saved from true responsibility, but Aethren felt chilled to the marrow. Ethy’s face was branded inside their eyelids, gnawing at their conscience with needle-sharp teeth. She wasn’t dangerous, was she? Nosy and cunning, yes, but she was just . . . Ethy.

  But still. Aethren remembered being ten years old, caught alone in the biting quiet of a Starve’s night. Sylvrast’s pearlescent light had shone down over three stuffed dummies, each with an arrow in the centre of its forehead. Ethy’s fingers had seemed to cut where they dug into Aethren’s narrow shoulders. You’d best be careful with this sort of talent, cub, or someone might think you’ve the wyrdness in you. They take your head for that, you know?

  Aethren snuck a glance at Ethy. She clearly thought she wasn’t being observed, because her glittering eyes were fixed on Natta – and they looked just like the eyes of a raven about to catch a plump, unsuspecting mouse.

  Chapter 16

  The new wolf led Rostfar deep into the forest. Rostfar wanted to run, to fight, to move. Fear hummed inside her at an incessant pitch, but there was nothing she could do about it. The wolf stood tall enough that its head was almost level with Rostfar’s chest and although its muzzle showed flecks of grey, its build was strong and lean. Just looking at it left Rostfar sick to her stomach. There wasn’t a story in the world that could have prepared Rostfar for the sheer size and bulk that loped serenely before her.

  They had been walking for a while, when Rostfar’s brain finally reconnected with her mouth. “Expecting me,” she blurted. “You – were expecting me?”

  “By manner of your speech, yes. You – a human.” The wolf glanced back over its shoulder. “My name is Estene, and that was Grae. You?”

  “Uh – me, what?”

  “Your name.” Estene prompted in a tone that may have been mocking were it not for the soft edge.

  “Rostfar.” Rostfar replied by social reflex. She steeled herself and swallowed. “I’m here because . . . because wolves have been haunting our lands, and magic took – my daughter went—” she couldn’t make herself say it.

  “Your daughter went missing,” Estene said, “and you blame magic.”

  “I don’t blame magic,” Rostfar corrected her with rising impatience. “I know it was magic, or some creature of the wyrdness – a creature like you. A wolf. I want answers.”

  Estene stopped so suddenly Rostfar almost walked into its

  (her)

  side.

  “Do you want answers, or do you want revenge?” Estene asked with the barest show of her teeth. “Because revenge, blood-for-blood, killing senselessly – these are not Wolven things. They stopped existing the moment you walked into our home.”

  Rostfar’s mouth clacked shut.

  Estene continued walking calmly as if the exchange hadn’t happened. Rostfar said nothing else until the two of them came to a stop at another clearing. This one was less defined, less open. Branches knotted together overhead, and tree roots snarled their way through the leaf-strewn floor. A series of water pools were sunk into the naturally tiered rock, the air above them coloured with steam. The scent of wet earth and iron was stronger here.

  “Are you going to kill me?” Rostfar’s tongue was thick and heavy, but her insides felt hollow.

  “I’m not going to kill you,” Estene said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Or I would have allowed my children to attack you before you ever set foot in Deothwicc.”

  “Then what am I here for?” Rostfar demanded. Estene motioned her head towards the pools.

  “You will want to rest after your journey, yes? Then wash and lick your wounds. I must confer with my boundmate and our Speaking Tree.”

  “Confer?” Rostfar repeated numbly.

  “About you, and what to do with you.” Estene gave her a strange, slantwise look. Rostfar had to fight the urge to laugh; it sat, hard and painful, in the space between her lungs. “Why do you look so surprised, Rostfar? We are wolvenkind, after all. Not animals.”

  Rostfar looked down to hide the chase of emotions across her face. She had to hug herself with her fingers digging into her arms to contain the hysterics that wanted to break free, quivering with the force of them. Her cheeks burned.

  When she looked up again with another question on her tongue, Estene was already gone.

  ⁂

  The human was exactly where Grae said she would be. Yrsa crept through the underbrush, using the time before it detected her to get a good look. She had never seen a fully-grown human up close before.

  They were odd creatures with their furless hides, long limbs, and the hairs that grew without rhyme or reason on their heads and faces. Yrsa watched the human remove a few of the layers of stolen skin that they called “clothes”. The human leant over the hot pool until she could plunge her wounded arm into the water with a low hiss of pain. Grae’s teeth had not gone deep, but the wound was wide and clearly hurt.

  Guilt rushed over Yrsa in a tide that snatched her breath away; she should have been there to stop him from attacking, to stop him from behaving so much like a human. But she couldn’t be everywhere at once, no matter how much it hurt to admit.

  Yrsa slipped from her cover. “Is it painful?”

  The human moved with impressive speed for one so strangely built. She bolted up and whirled around.
>
  “You,” the human snarled low in her throat. Yrsa recoiled, unprepared for the certain venom in the human’s tone. How could she already hate Yrsa without knowing her?

  “Me?” Yrsa cocked one ear and lowered her head in a gesture of appeasement. The human’s aggressive stance faltered and then—

  “I should kill you.” But her voice shook. Yrsa crept a little closer until she was completely out of the shrubbery’s cover. Exposed. Trusting. “I saw you in the wyrdness. You were there when Astvald died, and in my daughter’s memories.”

  “I’m—” Everything rolled into place like a boulder sealing a cave. Yrsa’s heart plunged through her stomach. “I didn’t kill the pups!”

  “You’re lying.”

  Yrsa couldn’t help but take offence. She drew herself up and eyed the human with a level glare. “A wolf never lies.”

  The human had inched sideways, but she froze at that and gave Yrsa a look impossible to decipher. The wyrdness around her was swirling faster and faster and—

  It stopped, frozen in place and stained a stiff, starched white. Yrsa watched it with bated breath.

  The human lowered her fists. “Then why were you there?”

  The question made Yrsa flinch. It was one she had asked herself again and again in the days since returning to Deothwicc. She should never have been on human lands, but she was curious. She had always been curious. So, she had travelled through Deyjaholm – the ever-shifting tunnels created by the Speaking Trees’ roots, tunnels where time and distance held no sway – and gone to watch as the humans migrated from their town to a second territory.

  “I wasn’t near human lands when the first child was taken,” Yrsa began slowly. She was trying to remain aloof like Estene had taught her, but the human looked so lost and hopeless and . . . small, in a way. “I travelled into your territory and watched you move to that other place, by the river. I . . . I wanted to watch what you did with that structure on the ice – really watch, not just through the wyrdness or from pieces deep in the pack-memory.

 

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