When Dealing with Wolves

by A. R. Thompson

  Stories. Geren and Yrsa looked at one another, studying this new word between them. It had a meaning they thought they recognised, something old and buried in the depths of the pack-memory, but it wasn’t in a shape they knew. Geren shuffled a little closer to Rostfar, dragging his wounded leg behind him.

  “Is that like . . . a memory that you share with other wolves? Or—” Geren struggled for a moment, and Yrsa touched her nose to his shoulder reassuringly, feeling him relax. “With other . . . humans.”

  “Sort of like that, yes.” Rostfar brought her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them. “Well, these stones have messages in them.”

  Geren sniffed at the stone nearest to him. “I can smell no message in these. Just . . . human smells.”

  “We don’t share messages like that.” Rostfar made one of her little laughter noises. “It’s – here, where there are shapes in the stone. The shapes have meanings, and they help us remember our stories.”

  “Like a pack-memory,” Yrsa blurted out, excited by this new parallel between wolvenkind and humankind. She liked finding them; it was like putting together a big picture made of lots of little discordant pieces. “The Speaking Tree – and the wyrdness – helps hold our memories.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Rostfar said. “I wish I could see it.”

  A growl from behind made all three look around. Grae hovered at the trees on the edge of the clearing, half-hidden in shadow. Cold claws dug into Yrsa’s stomach.

  “Grae—” her voice felt wrong, like it didn’t want to work. “We’re sharing a meal. Rostfar hunted for Geren.”

  Grae twitched his nose, but he didn’t come any nearer. The wyrdness was thick with some emotion Yrsa didn’t recognise: a nasty green-brown, like blight. His teeth flashed.

  “There are some things that are ours,” Grae said in a low, quiet voice, his eyes still fixed on Yrsa. “Hunting, the pack-memory – the human doesn’t get to join them.”

  “She’s helping me.” Geren sounded as tense as Yrsa felt. Yrsa tried to catch Grae’s gaze, to ask him what he was thinking – but he wouldn’t look at her.

  Grae shook his head and spoke to Yrsa instead. “I caught a wounded hare. I thought you would share it with me, but you’ve already had your fill.”

  If Yrsa didn’t know better, she would have described the tremor in Grae’s scent as pain. But that didn’t make sense because he wasn’t wounded. She started to get up, pushing aside the remains of the fish.

  “I’ll join—” she started. Stopped.

  Grae had already gone.

  Chapter 29

  Aethren was helping their pa refill the water store in the moothall, glad to be doing something useful, when Urdven burst in. He looked frantic and out of breath, but his eyes calmed when they found Aethren.

  “Kristan needs you,” he said.

  Aethren looked sharply at Marken. “I thought Kristan was preparing salves?”

  “So did I.” Marken shrugged. Aethren’s stomach cramped with anxiety.

  “Well – where does he need me? Couldn’t you help?”

  Urdven looked sheepish. “Oh, he didn’t get me. Little Ana ran into me, said Kristan had asked her to find Yrl Aethren and say to go to the south gate, but she didn’t want to come in here.”

  “I should—” Aethren gestured to the door and put down the bucket of water they had drawn from the well.

  “Go,” Marken agreed, a grim turn to his mouth.

  Aethren thanked Urdven and left. They walked as fast as they could without running, only breaking into a sprint when there was nobody around to question it. Most people were either finishing the roe traps, or were meeting with Natta for the seasonal stock-taking. What Kristan wanted outside of the walls, Aethren couldn’t understand.

  There was no sign of him when they reached the southern gate. Aethren looked around, frantic.

  “Aethren! I’m up here!”

  Kristan was perhaps halfway up the crumbling wall, one of the leather tree-climbing harnesses secured around his waist.

  “Are you . . . stuck?”

  “Oi.” Kristan frowned down at them. “What makes you ask that?”

  “Well . . . Urdven said that Ana said you said you needed me?”

  “Oh!” Kristan laughed, leaning back so far that Aethren’s heart tried to burst out of their chest. “No, no! I’ve found something. Come up here.”

  Aethren sighed. Climbing the walls was a common pastime for children, despite parent’s countless warnings against it. Their fingers and toes remembered where to go, and it didn’t take much effort to get up to where Kristan was.

  “If it’s a bloody bird’s nest . . .” Aethren muttered, inching along a slight ledge created by some outcropping slabs.

  The wall here was overgrown with climbing shrubbery and dangerously crumbly, but Aethren knew better than to point this out to Kristan. He was already well aware, and he’d made his own decision to climb for whatever gods-cursed reason. He had attached several sturdy hooks to the harness and was using these to keep himself steady in place of another arm. His hand gripped a jut of rock hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

  “I think I know what’s made the other children sick.”

  Aethren’s heart dropped like a stone. “Kristan, it’s just the usual sicknesses that go around when the Starve’s over. Maybe it’s not quite the same, but Pa says sicknesses can change over time—”

  “Ren,” Kristan’s voice was quiet and serious. “I found these in Varnir’s pockets when her mam brought her in last night.” He released his handhold, making Aethren’s heart clamour in protest, and withdrew something from the pouch in his shirt. His fist opened to reveal two white, pearly berries, each no bigger than a cloudberry but perfectly round and plump with juice.

  “I . . . don’t recognise those,” Aethren admitted. They really wanted to taste one and find out if they were as succulent as they appeared, despite years of training screaming that it was a bad idea. Their hand twitched towards them.

  “Don’t.” Kristan withdrew his hand and quickly put the berries back in the pouch. Aethren shook their head.

  “So, why’re we up a wall?”

  “Look.” Kristan pointed to an alcove in the wall’s face, big enough for a couple of children to fit inside. There, resplendent and shining, was a single plant. Its leaves were a lush green and its branches dripped with berries.

  Aethren’s mouth started watering again.

  “We should climb down,” Kristan said. Aethren hastily agreed.

  Back on solid ground, Aethren and Kristan sat with their backs to the wall. Kristan sucked a graze on his palm, staring thoughtfully into the middle distance.

  “It’s like the story of Erdan and Almr,” he said at last. Aethren frowned.

  “It is?”

  “When Erdan made berries and flowers grow for the children.”

  “You don’t think this has something to do with a mythical god?” Aethren regarded Kristan narrowly, caught between pride and surprise.

  “No.” Kristan shrugged his shoulder. “But I think it has everything to do with magic.”

  Sweat prickled under Aethren’s arms. “You’re sure?”

  “You wanted to eat them, didn’t you?” Kristan raised one eyebrow. Aethren had to nod. “Yeah, and so did I. So, I spoke to Anrid – they said their cousin and her friends were playing here, by the wall, and that’s where the berries came from. She brought some home for Anrid to have, too.”

  “And every child who’s sick was there when they found the berries?” Aethren didn’t want to hear Kristan’s answer.

  Kristan nodded, his expression grim. “Either that, or a friend brought them some berries to try. I figured that no adults have gotten sick because the children aren’t supposed to be coming here, so they’d be keeping it secret.”

  Aethren stood up and craned their neck. They couldn’t see the alcove from where they were on the ground. “I don’t think you should tell anyone else yet.”
/>   Kristan didn’t say anything. Aethren glanced at him sharply; he looked away.

  “Kristan . . .”

  “I told Ethy,” Kristan said. His voice was quiet, but defiant. “I said I suspected – not for sure, but I showed her the berries I found. I figured if anyone might recognise them it’d be her. But she didn’t.”

  Aethren pinched the bridge of their nose. “Dammit, Krist.”

  “What?” His defiance turned to indignation, bordering on anger. “What have you got against her?”

  “You know what!” Aethren clenched their fists. “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten what Pa said. Ethy would be after my head if she knew what I could do – and something like this?” They flicked a hand towards the alcove above their heads. “It’d just convince her she’s right.”

  “She is right.” Kristan lifted his chin and clenched his jaw. “Those berries are magic. The wolves that killed Astvald and Arketh were magic; they must have been. You said it yourself – the mist wasn’t natural. So, yes! Ethy’s right to want to go after it.”

  “Oh.” Aethren dropped their voice, regarding Kristan with a flat, cold stare. “So, you think that because I’ve got some strange ability I don’t understand and didn’t ask for, Ethy’d be right to hunt me?”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth. We’re not even talking about that.”

  “Aren’t we?”

  Both Aethren and Kristan were on their feet now. Kristan was trembling. “No, we’re not,” he said, but he didn’t sound so sure anymore.

  “Has it occurred to you that if what Faren says about Rost is true, then your own aunt’d be at the end of Ethy’s spear?”

  Kristan’s mouth gaped. He stepped back and shook his head, as if that might dislodge Aethren’s words from his ears. The colour drained from his face.

  “Just think about that,” Aethren snapped, and turned away.

  They hadn’t gone more than a few steps, however, before a dark shape swooped out of the sky. They raised their arm to meet the raven and it proffered them one of its legs. A flat, circular token with three concentric circles carved into its surface was tied there. The back of the token bore a small etching of a spear, marking it as being from Ethy.

  “What is it?”

  “Ethy’s summoned the council,” they said.

  “Ethy? Not mam or Laeth-Skelda?” Kristan frowned, his anger momentarily forgotten in confusion. “I didn’t think she could do that.”

  Aethren closed their clammy hand around the token as the raven flew off. “That’s because she can’t.”

  Chapter 30

  Aethren couldn’t keep their worry down as they walked across the mootplace. Natta was just leaving her house, and she stepped to Aethren’s side with a nod of greeting. Her lips were clamped in a tense line.

  “Are you alright?” Natta asked as the two of them walked towards the alley between Rostfar’s home and a large storehouse. Aethren kept going, but realised that Natta had stopped. They turned back to her.

  “Tired,” they said, which wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t entirely true either.

  “You can talk to me.”

  Aethren bit the inside of their cheek. Natta must have known about Rostfar’s magic and helped her hide it, but Aethren felt a sharp pang of guilt at the thought of confiding in her. It wouldn’t be fair to give Natta any more secrets to hide.

  “Just tired. Promise.” Aethren gave Natta a small smile and turned the corner. Natta’s boots crunched loudly, then she outpaced them and strode ahead. Aethren slowed down as she knocked.

  Faren answered.

  Aethren’s breath caught in their throat. Faren, thankfully, said nothing as he ushered them inside with a tilt of his head.

  Aethren noticed the smell first – rot and brine, familiar enough, save for a sickly-sweet undertone that Aethren didn’t recognise. They coughed and pressed a hand to their nose.

  “What is that?” Natta asked.

  “That,” Faren said. “Is what you get for consorting with magic.” He pointed towards the table and a heaping pile of . . . something.

  Aethren looked around the rest of the room: Hrall, Ethy, Marken, Urdven. “Where’s Laethen? She should be here.”

  “The point of Yrl Aethren being on the council was to stand in for Laethen, if she needed it.” Ethy clapped Marken on the shoulder and smiled at Aethren. “I didn’t see a reason to trouble the lass, not with what she’s got to cope with right now – her children being ill and all.”

  “Enough.” Natta slammed the door shut behind her as she stepped the rest of the way inside. Cold air swirled through the room, disturbing the old scarred raven on the shelf at the back. It croaked indignantly, but Natta paid it no heed. “Faren, that wasn’t an answer. What is going on?”

  “Our hemlock traps have washed up, every last one,” Hrall said.

  “We only sunk those a week ago.” Aethren’s stomach clenched. They swallowed queasily. “Why would anyone – do they want us to starve?”

  “Nobody would do that,” Faren said, as if trying to explain a complex matter to a child. Aethren bristled. “Look, they’ve been rotted – but it’s no rot I’ve ever seen.”

  Natta walked to the table and touched the topmost hemlock branch. It dissolved under her fingers like an ember gone to ash. Her voice was distant when she asked, “All of them?”

  Ethy nodded. “All of them. Took a boat out myself to check.”

  Aethren wondered, viciously, if Ethy had done this. The force of the thought hit them like a storm wave, but it receded just as fast. Even if Ethy would go that far to cause trouble, no human had the power to do something so vast.

  But the wraiths might.

  “We’ll have nothing for the K’anakh when they come, and then what? No roe to trade means we’ve little of value to offer, and that means we starve,” Ethy said.

  Natta pinched the bridge of her nose. “Don’t fire the arrow before you’ve nocked it. We’ve got grains, and the potatoes make a good tender—”

  Marken spoke up for the first time. “I’m afraid not.”

  Everyone turned to look at him. Aethren noticed he had a burlap sack gripped in one hand.

  “Most of our crop’s gone to shit.”

  “Blight?” Aethren asked, desperately hoping the answer would be yes. Blight was natural, treatable. Marken shook his head.

  Opening the sack, he withdrew what might have once been a potato. Its skin had shrivelled and thickened, and the pressure of his fingers released a black ooze. “This came from our back garden.”

  “I’ve ordered a salvage harvest,” Faren said, leaning against Ethy’s table. Natta turned to him like an eel striking at its prey.

  “You ordered?” She raised one eyebrow.

  “And what did you find?” Aethren asked, eager to cut the tension before it could rise any more, even as fury at Faren’s conduct simmered beneath their skin.

  “We won’t starve,” Faren said, deliberate and slow. “But we won’t have enough, either. It’ll be a bone-bare winter once all the herds are gone.”

  Natta’s white-painted lips drew back from her teeth. She stepped away from the table, and Aethren noticed a muscle twitching in her jaw.

  “And all of this was done without a word to me?” Natta’s tone was like black ice. Aethren expected the others to buckle – to show some shame, at the very least – but nobody so much as flinched. Ethy smiled a sympathetic smile.

  “We’re worried about you,” she said. “Worried that your – involvement, with Rostfar, has put you too close to the matter.”

  “Involvement?” Nat snorted. “She’s my sister. My twin! We share a soul, she and I. I’d know if she had anything to do with this.”

  Faren leaned forwards. “So, you’re not denying that she could have done it?”

  “Bloody skyfire!” Aethren flung up their hands. “Do any of you even know Rost-Skelda? Or have you forgotten, just so’s you can pin all your blame on her?” Aethren pinned each person present with a
scalding glare. “She’s your Dannaskeld, one you cast in. Your friend, your family – Hrall, you trained her like she’s done me. And Pa—” their breath caught in their throat and they moved past him to Urdven. “Arketh loved your bees, wanted to be Beekeeper herself. You knew Rostfar, dammit.”

  “She made us think we knew her,” Ethy said.

  “Look at the facts.” Faren stepped forwards and put a hand on Aethren’s shoulder. They stiffened under his touch. “Rostfar fled, and then all this went wrong.”

  Natta started to protest, but Aethren got there first. “Rost-Skelda didn’t flee.”

  “Ah, Aethren,” Ethy said sadly. “Your loyalty does you credit, but I spoke with Rostfar before that hunt. She was a wreck – and I’m not blaming her for that, believe me – but she confessed that she wished to run away. To leave all of this pain behind. Perhaps she went to seek her own revenge, or . . .” she let the implication hang, regarding everyone else with a look of regret. As if she felt bad about her accusations.

  “A fleeing person doesn’t leave half their supplies behind.” Aethren knocked Faren’s hand away and leaned towards Ethy. “She sleep-walked, or – I saw these strange lights in the fog. Perhaps she followed them.”

  Hrall shifted in his seat, rapping his knuckles on the table to get everyone’s attention. His eyes were sad, but the firm line of his mouth showed no sign of mercy. He cleared his throat and said, in the firm tone that had marked Aethren’s early training, “You don’t need to lie for her, cub. I know it’s hard to hear, but Rostfar wasn’t who we thought. Whether she’s guilty—”

  “I’d say she is,” Faren muttered.

  “Whether she’s guilty,” Hrall said again, louder. “Isn’t important. The bones of the matter are that we’re in trouble, and with recent revelations, people don’t trust Nat-Hrenna to make the right choices.”

  “Just say what you mean,” Natta hissed. Ethy, Hrall, and Faren all shared a look. Aethren’s throat constricted.

  “Nobody’s saying you’re untrustworthy, but as far as anyone’s concerned, the magic’s got into your head,” Ethy said gently. “You’re too close to the matter.”