When Dealing with Wolves

by A. R. Thompson

  “Who’s going to run for Dannaskeld?” Kristan whispered to Ethy, who was sitting beside him and sipping some dark brew. “If you’re – I mean, I assumed you’re going in for Dannhren, so . . .”

  “Didn’t you realise?” Ethy asked with her brow furrowed. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew – we’re not casting anyone else in.”

  Kristan blanched. “Then why’re we here?”

  “Trust me, Krist.” Ethy patted Kristan’s shoulder and set down her drinking-bowl on the empty crate beside her. “I’ve got a plan to make everything alright.”

  Kristan watched as she stood and moved through the crowd, touching elbows and shoulders as she went, until she reached the dais. Silence fell. Hundreds of eyes followed her as she mounted the steps, Hrall and Urdven following close behind.

  “Friends, children, my people—” Ethy began and extended her hands. It was weird, the way she stood with no armour or status symbols. All she had to make her stand out was the love she had poured into Erdansten.

  The same love Rost and Mam had poured into it, too, Kristan’s traitorous heart whispered.

  Behind the dais, outside of the stone perimeter of the mootplace, Kristan could see a knot of wardens waiting in an alley mouth. Waiting for Ethy’s signal to go and fetch the wolf.

  “Your Dannaskeld has betrayed you. Your Dannhren was ruined by her sister’s lies—” she broke off as angry mutters of agreement spread through the crowd. Kristan shifted to get a good look around, but he couldn’t see Mam’s bright copper-red hair anywhere. It was easy to picture her sitting at home, licking her wounded pride, but something in Kristan’s stomach wouldn’t sit right. He swallowed and brushed it aside.

  “Faren?” He called in a half whisper. Faren was standing at the end of the line of crates, his arms folded and his jaw set. His eyes cut straight to Kristan, and he raised one eyebrow.

  “Shouldn’t I get Mam? She’s not Dannhren anymore, but . . .” Kristan made a helpless gesture with his hands. “She should be here, shouldn’t she? And – where’s Laethen?”

  “Ethy knows what she’s doing,” Faren whispered back as Ethy began to speak about the troubles that had swept through Erdansten. “Just let her talk. Laethen needed to rest. I don’t know where Natta is, but she doesn’t need to be here if she can’t be bothered to show.”

  “. . . and with all of that, the time has come for change. No more shield blocking our view of the danger, no more clever tongue to spin us all in circles!” Ethy’s voice rose, and the susurrus rose with it. “We go to the wolves. They want to come at us with magic? Then we’ll come at ‘em with fire and steel.”

  The mootplace erupted into cheers and stamping feet. Kristan looked around at the fierce faces – at those dedicated to Ethy and those too scared or angry or exhausted to protest – and hoped he was part of the right thing.

  “You okay?” Faren broke into his thoughts. Kristan looked away from him towards where Mati stood at the periphery, his expression dark and grim.

  “I’m . . . tired. Been tending to the sick all night.”

  Faren glanced to Ethy, and then to Kristan. “You can leave. I won’t tell.”

  Grateful for the out, Kristan hurried to the outer edge of the mootplace and slipped down an alley between two houses. He didn’t want to be at the moot, but he didn’t want to be at home, either. Not if Mam was hiding there, licking her wounded pride. His feet carried him to the back door of Marken’s house; nobody would be there, and he could sit on his own in the familiar side-room with the herbs and poultices. At least he knew what to do with those.

  But the latch was open, the door ajar.

  Taking up a stick from outside, Krist shouldered his way into the room. He started to lift the stick, his pulse thundering in his ears in time with images of wolves or piskies or, or—

  Aethren.

  They were sitting at the table, a spoon halfway up to their mouth as they stared at Kristan, their other hand clasped around a knife.

  “You’re back!” the words came out unplanned as Krist launched himself across the room and flung his arm around Aethren. He heard the spoon and bowl clatter on the floor and didn’t care. All that mattered was his nose in Aethren’s shoulder and the familiar, wiry strength of their arms.

  Kristan realised Aethren smelled strange; of fruits and earth and goat’s blood and a faint odour of rot. He pulled back to look Aethren up and down, noticing the strange attire. “Are you alright? You’re not hurt?”

  “Never mind that,” Aethren said – rather rudely, Krist thought, and grinned. This, at least, hadn’t changed.

  “But you’re back!”

  “Krist—” Aethren stood so they could grab both of his shoulders. Their face was tired and grim. “Please, please tell me that things haven’t gone entirely to Nys. Where is everyone?”

  “Marken needed more yarrow, and everyone else—” Krist paused, frowning. “You’ve . . . not seen the mootplace?”

  “The tunnels brought me—” Aethren winced, seemed to mentally go back on their words. “I came through the southern gate, snuck through the back. Why? What’s going on?”

  Krist opened his mouth. Closed it. Shame burned his cheeks and the back of his throat.

  “. . . you left,” was all he could think to say, his voice small. “Someone had to fill the gap, and Ethy’s good—”

  “No, she isn’t.” Aethren held up both hands as if to physically stop him from arguing with them. They really looked exhausted, and – scared? Krist had seen their panic attacks, but this was different. Deeper. Kristan bit the inside of his cheek and let Aethren speak. “What kicked all this off?”

  Krist flinched internally. He shifted from foot to foot, drumming his fingers against his thigh. “It was—” he cleared his throat, but the thick, queasy feeling refused to budge. “There was a wolf. It said someone injured Rost, and it needed a . . . a healer. Ethy said it was lying, because wolves lie, so I thought – I mean, we all decided to . . .”

  “To what?” Aethren stepped closer, their eyes sharp. Krist wished the floor would open a passage to Nys and let him fall. He was probably headed there anyway at the rate things were going.

  “It’s going to be at the moot.”

  Aethren jerked back. “What?”

  “Ethy said to give it a trial.” The words felt jagged in Krist’s throat. “To – to make it answer for all that’s happened to Ket, to Rost. And Astvald, of course – wait, Ren—”

  But Aethren was past him, pushing out of the door. Krist hurried after them with his pulse beating a mad rhythm in his temples.

  “Where are you going?” Krist put himself between Aethren and the exit, his hand planted firmly on the doorframe. “What’s happening?”

  “Is your mam at the moot?”

  Krist faltered. “. . . No. She’s at home – probably sulking because she’s lost her stupid precious position . . .” but his voice died at the expression on Aethren’s face. “What?”

  “Bloody skyfire, Krist.” Aethren ground the heel of their palm into their forehead. “No wonder they brought me here. Right, let’s go get Natta.”

  “And then?”

  “I’m going to rescue the wolf.” Aethren fixed him with a damning look. “So, you can either help me, or get the fuck out of my way.”

  Chapter 45

  Aethren rattled the back door of the Dannhren’s house. The latch must have been down from the inside because it only opened a finger-width before jamming. They cursed under their breath.

  “Here,” Kristan said. “Let me.” He put his armless shoulder against the door and drew his herb-cutting knife, sliding it through the narrow gap. After a moment’s concentration, the door swung inwards.

  Before Aethren could get a look inside, Kristan let out a wordless shout and darted over the threshold. His knife clattered to the floor. Aethren burst in after him.

  Natta lay on the floor, her chair toppled over sideways, a pool of blood around her head.

  “Mam—” Kris
tan went down on his knees at Natta’s side. It must have hurt, but he didn’t flinch. “Can you hear me? Mam? Aethren, get the shutters open. The ones at the back.”

  Aethren did as he asked, cold certainty filling their chest. In the new daylight they saw two bowls of stew at the table, the wooden map-board spread across it, a half-drunk bowl of root brew. Natta groaned something unintelligible, her eyes flickering.

  “Who did this? How . . . why?” Kristan asked, apparently talking to himself more than his mam as he pulled back her eyelids. “Shit. Shit.”

  “What is it?” Aethren knelt on Natta’s other side, taking in the pallor of her face and the blood matted in her hair.

  “The shadesleep essence.” Krist was emptying vials and sealed pots from his bag across the floor, sorting through them with deft fingers. “It’s missing.”

  “Shade . . .? As in shadeberry?” Aethren stared at him. “Krist, why the fuck do you have poison in your bag?”

  “It’s a sedative – strongest one there is. Dangerous, but not in small—”

  A resounding boom from outside cut off the rest of Kristan’s sentence. It came again, followed by the sharp peel of a bell. Aethren had only heard that particular summons once before, when a man went on trial for hitting another trader during the tradesmoot. He had been banned from the tradesmoot for the next three Blooms; Aethren doubted Ethy was going to be so kind to the wolf. Their heart flopped wetly into their stomach.

  “I’m going to kill Ethy,” Aethren spat. Kristan stared at them, freezing with a vial of dark liquid halfway to his lips.

  “My bag – she . . . she gave it back to me, after we captured the wolf. But . . .” Kristan spoke slowly, his voice tight and tremulous. “No. No. She said I’d left it behind – someone else must’ve taken out the shadesleep, maybe Faren. Ethy only wants to help. This—” he motioned to Natta, the dark liquid in the vial sloshing sluggishly. “Isn’t . . . she wouldn’t.”

  “You can be really stupid, Krist, but you’re no fool.” Aethren took the vial from Kristan and pulled out the cork, then returned it to his hand, closing his fingers over it. They fought to soften their voice. “You know that’s not true.”

  Kristan looked down. The hum of noise from outside had vanished, smothered by tense expectation. Natta’s breathing rattled in the sudden hush.

  “Mam—” Kristan let out a choked sob as if in answer. Aethren squeezed his shoulder.

  “Do what you’re good at. Take care of her.” They stood up. “And I’ll stop this bloody moot.”

  The shutters at the front were fastened shut. Aethren opened one a crack and peered out at the mootplace.

  Ethy stood on the dais, flanked by Faren and Hrall. The crowd began to part, and the muttering rose again like a swarm of angered bees. A small knot of people emerged from behind the hall, dragging a covered shape on a large stretcher.

  Aethren looked back at Kristan. He was absorbed in his task, propping Natta’s head up on his knee so he could pour something into her mouth. His face was pale, but his hand was steady. He knew what he was doing.

  Straightening their cloak, Aethren stepped through the door. Nobody noticed them. All eyes were fixed to the front as Faren and Hrall hauled the stretcher onto the dais. At a gesture from Ethy, they each grabbed a corner of the waxcloth and pulled it back.

  A collective gasp shuddered through the crowd.

  The wolf was bound to the board, its muzzle tied with rope, its eyes wide and afraid. Aethren tried to urge their feet forwards, but they felt paralysed.

  “The wolf,” Ethy said, her voice grim and clear as it echoed across the mootplace, “responsible for killing Astvald and Arketh.”

  The wolf snarled and tried to lift its head, but the bindings were too tight. Its breaths were ragged and shallow, its sides trembling with each inhale. Aethren could see pink in the foam around its muzzle.

  “That’s not true!” Aethren heard themself shout. Dozens of shocked faces turned to Aethren like flowers to the sun.

  “Aethren.” Ethy, for the first time in a long time, looked completely flummoxed.

  “Yrl Aethren, you mean,” Aethren said. Anxiety bubbled in their stomach and exploded beneath their skull, but Aethren let the breathless rush carry them on. They slammed the door of Natta’s home shut and strode forwards, refusing to slow for anyone in their way. Nobody tried to stop them.

  Ethy recovered herself quickly. “This wolf has torn children apart, Yrl Aethren.” She spat out the honorific like a stone. “It admitted its crimes. It even wounded Rostfar. Everything that’s happened, this beast has been behind it.”

  “Arketh is alive,” Aethren said, careful to keep their voice loud without shouting. They saw Mati out of the corner of their eye but ripped their gaze away. “I found her. With the hrafmaer.”

  Ethy let out a bark of laughter. “The hrafmaer? Do you expect us to believe that?”

  “Believe what you like.” Aethren shrugged. “But it’s true.”

  “Even if the hrafmaer do exist and they do have Arketh, what does it change?”

  “A whole bloody lot, that’s what.” Aethren mounted the first step. Ethy didn’t move. Cold, spiteful fire burned in her eyes. “That wolf—” they pointed behind Ethy, “is not the one that attacked me. I think you know that, but you’re using it as a convenient post to scrape the shit off your shoes.”

  “They’re all the same,” Faren spat. “One wolf is as guilty as all the rest.”

  “We’re not murderers!” Aethren snapped back. They turned and faced the rest of the crowd, challenging and defiant. “Killing anyone at an unfair trial is a terrible thing.”

  Uncertainty rippled through the mootplace. Aethren could see it in darting eyes and shuffling feet. Emboldened, they mounted the dais properly.

  “Enough of this,” Ethy sneered. She faced Aethren instead of the crowd, but her words were clearly meant for all to hear. “How do we know you are trustworthy, Aeth-Skelda? You confronted the wolf, but you didn’t kill it – we’ve only your word for what happened. You vanish from the place you’re supposed to protect, and then return with tales of the hrafmaer, claiming that Arketh is alive. Where is she, then?”

  “Hrafnholm.” Sweat prickled along Aethren’s hairline. They could feel the moment sliding out of their grasp. Now was the time to announce Ethy’s crime to the masses, but then what? They hadn’t any proof.

  Ethy gave Aethren a sickeningly sympathetic look. “They’ve got to you, too, haven’t they?”

  “What?”

  “The wolves and their magic. They’ve crawled inside your head.” Ethy placed a hand on Aethren’s upper arm. “You’re sick, poisoned. It’s okay. Faren will take you home.”

  “No!” Aethren didn’t mean to do it. As their panic rose, so did their hand, fingers splayed to ward Faren off. There were at least four strides between them when Faren shuddered to a stop with a choking sound. He collapsed to his knees.

  Aethren flung themself past Ethy, elbowing her in the face as she tried to catch them, and dropped to their knees by the wolf. Their stomach was cramping, their lungs burning. The world was thin and stretched to breaking point.

  Strings, Aethren thought, It always comes down to strings. And what was rope, if not thousands of finely woven fibres of string?

  The strands of magic that held everything together came alive beneath their fingers, crackling with energy, and the ropes burst. For one sharp breath, the wolf didn’t move. It stared up at Aethren, a snarl building in its throat. Everyone seemed to be watching, waiting; the whole world bound up in Aethren’s spell.

  “Go,” Aethren whispered.

  The wolf lurched to its feet.

  Screams exploded from the centre of the crowd. A child’s screams. The wolf looked towards them, its sides heaving and its breath misting in the air. It met Aethren’s eyes.

  “Don’t hurt them,” Aethren said, barely able to force the words out. They stood, ignoring the dizzy roaring in their ears.

  Ethy was on
her knees, clutching her face as blood ran through her fingers. Hrall stood in shocked silence, a quarterstaff held loosely in his hands. Most of the crowd were either trying to leave or staring at Aethren in disbelief.

  “Catch them!” Ethy spat. Faren lunged at the wolf with his dagger drawn, but was hauled bodily back by Mati, who hurtled up the dais steps.

  “This way,” Mati gasped, taking Aethren’s arm. Aethren looked from Mati to the wolf, then back to where Ethy was getting to her feet. The wolf made a near-imperceptible movement with its head that might have been a nod.

  All three of them plunged off the dais into the crowd. People scattered – but whether to avoid the wolf or Aethren was impossible to tell. Someone grabbed Aethren’s hair and they turned, lashing at a glimpse of exposed skin with their fist.

  They didn’t want this. But there wasn’t any choice.

  “Ren!” Kristan’s voice cut through the confusion. He was holding open the door to his home with his shoulder, gesturing madly. The wolf darted ahead, faster than a human could possibly be, and disappeared inside. Mati went next and managed to pull Aethren through just as a stone struck them in the soft meat of their thigh. They crashed to the floor on the other side of the threshold, and the door slammed shut.

  ⁂

  Grae thought his head was going to explode. Whatever the humans had tainted that hare carcass with had long worn off, but he could still feel the burn of the ropes around his stiff limbs. The human voices in the room buzzed like bloodflies inside his head.

  “—that’s a wolf,” the large human was saying.

  “Well it’s not a hare, is it?” Snapped the one who had rescued him. They were still on the floor, a cloth pressed to their nose. Grae could smell their blood – but he could also smell their determination, their anger. And their magic.

  The boy Grae had first met at the walls started to speak. “Aethren, we can’t smuggle it—”

  “Him,” Grae said sharply. Four heads swivelled to look at him. Kristan swallowed and continued talking, not taking his eyes off Grae even as he pointed to the human lying on the floor.