A Wolf in the Dark

by S E Turner

  The rest of the boys spent an agonising night together. It was difficult to speak—there was no comradeship, no fellowship. They didn't know what to say to each other. How could you offer words of support to the boy who might be trying to kill you the next day? Those who managed to close their eyes wore the hideous face of fear in their sleep. Those who couldn't drift off easily lay wide awake, their haunted eyes focused on the ceiling above but seeing nothing. The thought of the unknown consumed them and plagued their ravaged dreams. Each one prayed to their own god, their totem, their spirit guide. These were boys who had given up hope and were waiting like terrified animals in a slaughterhouse.

  Lyall kept his vigil by the window, his eyes drawn to the glowing light which never went out, and Namir prayed to the hare in the moon.

  The next morning, Namir stood by a basin, trailing his hand through the water. The movement was soothing. He didn't know how long he had been up. It felt like minutes, but it was probably longer. As he cupped his hands and bent forward to splash his face, there was a hard click from the solid inner workings of the lock followed by a harsh grating sound from the hinges. The door was thrown open, and the light suddenly changed in the room as the dreaded voice of Poxface snarled. 'Today is day one of the games and General Domitrius Corbulo has made a request.'

  'Oh, no,' they synchronized together. 'What has this monster prepared for us now?'

  'He wants the boy called Namir and the boy called Lyall to start the games.'

  Namir turned, feeling the water trickling away between his fingers.

  'What?' called out Lyall.

  He dodged the sharp-edged fist that was thrown his way.

  'I'm going to die today anyway, what's the point in attacking me? '

  'Hmm,' Poxface sneered. 'Come with me!'

  Namir and Lyall walked out of the dormitory for the last time and left the other boys bewildered in their thoughts. They were obviously glad that they would live another day, but absolutely crushed for their good friends who had been so optimistic for all these months. The other boys from their clan couldn't look. Dainn put a comforting arm around Rufus. The remainder slumped down where they stood.

  It was only Targ and Suma who looked jubilant.

  Lyall remembered the last time he was part of a royal pageant. He pictured a boulevard of lemon groves filled with lines of drummers and trumpeters playing the king's own Royal Anthem. The ranks were dressed in their blue and gold colours—stern, sombre and totally focused on the auspicious occasion. There were rows upon rows of soldiers carrying their own weapons with ceremonial gilt edge swords fixed rigidly at their sides. The King's Guards on horseback would carry flags and banners waving proudly in the breeze—a figure head, a monument of honour. Ahead of the royal party would come the king's own personal guard on a magnificent black stallion carrying The Royal Standard that displayed the imposing Durundal Coat of Arms. The majestic throng followed the Royal Standard, and finally lantern carriers brought up the rear. The crowd would bow and curtsey and throw flowers to their beautiful queen dressed in her most regal gown and wearing the Royal Diadem of pearls, diamonds, rubies and emeralds. The king wore the ceremonial robes of office and gold crown that had been in the family for generations, and Lyall would wear his uniform and a small bronze coronet. They paraded along to the joyous shouts of 'long live the king' which echoed through the kingdoms for miles and trailed in the wind for hours. What an experience for a young boy, Lyall thought to himself. And now here he was, heir to that crown, fighting for his life, and entertaining the man who ordered his parents death. He looked to the skies for his father's blessing and touched the totem for his guide's help.

  Namir and Lyall had to be marched past the Emperor's celebrations before any of the guests arrived. Then they were led round to the back of the arena where a jug of liquid waited for them.

  'You would be wise to drink this,' they were told. 'It will give you added strength.'

  The boys looked at the jug, then at each other. They both saw exhaustion and fear.

  'I don't need this,' said Lyall.

  'Neither do I,' agreed Namir.

  'As you wish.' Poxface took his sentry position a few feet away from them.

  The boys sat. They had waited in their barracks tormented and anguished for so many months now, a few more hours on their own was, ironically, the only comforting respite in this continual nightmare.

  'Make it quick, Namir. Just do it quickly.'

  'What are you talking about brother?'

  'Just kill me quickly, that's all I ask. '

  Namir was thinking, he was always thinking, waiting for an answer, a sign, anything that would end the horror.

  Lyall hugged him. He wiped away a tear, he didn't want his life to end like this. This life had only just begun. His new family, his home. He felt his wolf tattoo and smoothed the scar on his neck. Somehow that gave him strength. Namir looked straight ahead.

  After a few hours they were led away to be dressed. They could hear the assembly taking their seats, they could hear the General and the Emperor—they knew those voices. The boys shuddered, fearful now, clutching each other like frightened infants going into the unknown.

  Lyall tried to find his inner voice to comfort him and give him strength, but even that had abandoned him now. The few patchy strands of new hair were shaved off again with the cruel edge of a knife; the guard didn't care about the blood that flowed with each cut. Their tunics were replaced with a yarn that went round them like a loin cloth, and green slime was rubbed into their bodies. It smelled revolting and made them retch. Their necks disappeared into their hunched frames as the whites of their eyes glared out through camouflaged faces.

  'You look like a savage now,' said Lyall dismally.

  'I think that's the desired effect,' replied Namir, looking at his unrecognisable twin.

  'Good luck, dear brother. I am so glad I found you, albeit for a short while.'

  'Good luck to you too, Lyall. You are a courageous sibling, and it's my one regret that I didn't know you for longer. '

  They stood in the centre of the arena: focused, poised, their hearts beating frantically in unison. The sweet music stopped playing, and the shrill excited voices stopped chattering. The sound of drums and trumpets announced the start of the games. The gauze was pulled to either side of the packed arena and the two brothers faced their audience.

  Finely dressed women adorned themselves in the finest weaves and threads which billowed to the floor. They assembled candy floss creations on their heads and arranged elegant jewellery upon their ivory skin. They looked straight ahead at what stood before them. Wide eyes peered through colourful faces. Spectacles on long sticks enhanced the vision before them, and shocked hands flew up to wide open mouths. The men wore oversized coloured shirts with embroidered waistcoats and long ponytails hung down their backs. Tight fitting crimson britches covered white stocking calves, and shiny black shoes completed the ensemble. The boys would have looked like naked reptiles to the overly attired spectators.

  A gasp went up from the crowd. Some of the women screamed. The General smirked. The Teacher nodded to the General. Namir put a hand out to stop Lyall. The Emperor stood up.

  'Welcome, welcome, my honoured guests and people of the realm. It is that time of year where we celebrate our good fortune by being entertained by those who are not so fortunate as us.'

  A staccato of fake titters followed his introduction.

  'These boys have been training for months so that you will be entertained, and today you will be delighted with what the General has in store for you.'

  Swivelling faces looked joyous at the mention of the General's involvement.

  'So, without further ado, let us witness together, the General's auspicious surprise.'

  The brothers looked shocked… what on earth did he mean?

  'Boys, select your weapons. Guests stay well back for your own safety,' came the order from the guard.

  Heavy gates at the side of them ne
rvously edged open. The boys hadn't been prepared for a beast. The misfits Suma and Targ, hadn't mentioned animals before. The brothers looked at each other and recoiled as a shadow emerged.

  'What in the name of the gods is this?' yelled out Lyall.

  'Just stay calm, brother. Do not panic. Do not show your fear.'

  The monstrous gates were fully dilated now and revealed a creature from their depths—a creation that had been concealed from them and the awaiting crowd. The sun's shadow quickly drained away like a terrified feline slithering out of view.

  Namir tried to settle Lyall's terror. 'Do not fear, brother. We will conquer this challenger.'

  'But it's the Baal Namir.'

  'What's the Baal?' Namir said, feeling a bead of sweat escaping down his temple.

  The boys quickly selected their weapons and backed away slowly, not taking their eyes off the monster .

  'It's the devil’s servant, I have seen pictures of it, I didn't think it really existed. I thought it was folklore. Namir, we are going to die!'

  The sight of the demon, dragging itself from beyond the heavy gates, made the crowd gasp. Even they hadn't seen anything like this before. The pictures on the street walls were nothing compared to what was emerging from these depths. The General managed a misshapen grimace, and the Emperor and honorary guests started to fidget nervously in their seats. At that moment, the boys felt the assembly suddenly on their side. They felt their compassion and support. All those pompous eyes, fuelled with disgust and prejudice, gradually changed to pity. The fear of the boys saturated the warm summer air, and the crowd gasped as Lyall took aim with a feeble bow and arrow.

  'We are not going to die, Lyall. There are two of us. It is folklore. It is only your fear that will cast doubt. We will conquer this.' Namir's strength was admirable.

  Lyall glanced at his brother. Was he was actually going to try and fight this thing? Wasn't he going to run away like the others and be hunted by the soldiers and the guards and make another game out of this theatre? The sweat from his palms made it difficult for him to grasp the weapon. A taste of vomit came from deep within his core and lingered like an unsavoury dish in his dry mouth as even more adrenaline was pumped around his stricken body. He fixed on the Baal. It resembled half beast and half human and was of a monstrous size. Goodness knows where they found it. Who on earth could have even captured a devil such as this? It must be old, he thought. It must be injured. There was no other explanation. But then his thoughts quickly evaporated as the beast hurled itself forward towards his brother.

  Namir shook the sweat of terror from his brow and quickly sprang into defence stance as he held up his two swords, one above his head and one protectively across his chest. 'Remember, brother— engage with care for accuracy is more vital than power.'

  The Baal lurched, strings of mucus spewed out of its nostrils like entrails and sweat ran down its disfigured face. Its claws gripped onto a grotesque spiked ball of iron as it wielded it around its head with Namir's skull in its sight. Lyall fired the first arrow which unbalanced the creature, and Namir dodged the launched weapon. He ran in to the mutant, slicing its leg while it was still unbalanced from the motion of oscillating. The savage tried to impale Namir with its axe, but Lyall catapulted a rock from his sling shot which smashed into its skull. Lyall ran to the other side of the arena and picked up another boulder. Sounds of horror and anguish from the crowd echoed around the dome. The guests recoiled and looked to the boys to save them from this creature.

  Again the fiend advanced with the spiked monstrosity, shredding Namir on the arm. A brief paralysis prevailed as he instinctively gripped the limb in pain. Red fluid oozed between his fingers, congealing with the oil and sweat that his body was excreting. The ogre salivated with desire at the sight of blood and lumbered round the arena, shrieking and howling like a possessed being. Lyall aimed with the bow again and sank an arrow into the beast's eye. Warm liquid spurted from the wound. The crowd winced and could only look between fanned fingers.

  This gave Namir another chance, and he ignored the pain in his arm. He wiped his saturated hands on his legs and refocused. He dug his sword into the ground and pulled himself upright. His eyes fixed on the target and his grip tightened on the weapons. He lowered his head as he took several deep breaths, and the beast displayed its misshapen form in front of the shocked audience. With a surge of acceleration, he charged towards the parading monster. He launched in with a double blow from the swords, slicing it across the abdomen with one stroke. As he jumped over his assailant’s arm, he swung round to plunge the other sword into its exposed back. The creature shrieked in pain and sent Namir's sword flying into the air as it doubled over. Two arrows fired from Lyall protruded from the creature's back haunches, and it was left immobile. The crowd shuddered. Namir took his opportunity and punctured the creature in the back with full force again. An axe was thrown at the human skull and missed by a hair. The beast had only one weapon now and began to circle it high above its head, gaining force and momentum, and with a last exultation of energy, threw it to crush Lyall's crown. But Namir propelled his sword into the air and knocked the ball off course.

  The crowd were standing on their feet now, urging the boys to victory, swiping the air with clenched fists. Namir was fired up and withdrew two daggers from his boots. He threw one to Lyall, who ran round to the back of the creature. Namir rushed towards the staggering body, and with precision, threw his dagger at the mutant's heart. Lyall took a long run up from behind, executed a tremendous burst of power as he leapt on the fiends back, and with one swift movement, slit its throat. With a flash, it was over—the jugular was severed with one blade and the nucleus ruptured with the other. The Baal fell with a tremendous thud and the place erupted with thundering cheers and a rapturous applause of satisfaction and admiration. Namir strode around the corpse like a leopard with its prey, eventually standing proudly with one foot on its rump to receive his adulation. Lyall paraded round the arena howling like a wolf before he ran up to Namir and lifted him by the waist to another accolade.

  'What a team,' Namir said triumphantly, championing a fist into the air.

  'We killed the Baal. We killed a devil,' shrieked Lyall, and looked to face the General. 'That's what we will do to you one day, you monster. Enjoy the time you have left, for your days are numbered.'

  The General didn't hear the words but saw the venom in Lyall's eyes and turned to leave with the Emperor. The audience were still on their feet as the curtains bowed them out. The two boys dropped their heads respectively low in response to the support.

  'That wasn't supposed to happen, Corbulo,' raged the Emperor.

  'I know, sire. I am as baffled as you are.'

  'Make sure tomorrow's event goes more to plan.'

  'Yes, Gnaeus. It has already been arranged. '

  'Good. Now, let's make it look like we are as pleased with the result as our audience is.'

  'Yes, we will have to.'

  The two statesmen slid around, sharing pleasantries with the guests, as the two brothers strode back to their rooms.

  'What! How on earth are you both alive?' gasped Ronu.

  'I think the General's plan backfired,' answered Lyall stoically.

  'Tell us how you did it,' urged Clebe.

  'You imagine the devil in front of you, all your fears and nightmares in one form, and then you find courage from within,' answered Namir. 'You reach inside yourself, to your totem, to your instincts, and focus hard. But most importantly, you have to believe.'

  'When you feel that you have all the strength of your totem to suck the energy from your enemy, its pumping blood and its breathing heart, then you can finally take the life from it,' continued Lyall focusing his venom on Targ and Suma. 'And it helps if you have an amazing brother—the one who has your back.'

  Namir smiled at the tribute and embraced his twin.

  The captured boys rejoiced at the unity and found strength in their solidarity. This gave them a platform. This ra
ised their spirits. For Namir and Lyall, they could now relax a little. For the others, the General's depravation had reached another level.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The long hours of wakefulness gritted their eyes after another sleepless night of worry, and the heat of the day was already seeping through the rafters and pressing on their skin like a heavy wet blanket. The clatter of keys announced the arrival of the guards who were met with a row of tortured souls awaiting their instructions.

  'Targ and Suma, Clebe and Ronu, come with us.'

  Shaking legs wracked with despair tried to support the frames of Clebe and Ronu, whilst Targ and Suma stood up tall and eager for battle.

  'I told you we would kill you all,' snarled Targ.

  That's all that was needed to fire up Ronu and he found his strength again. 'I have waited a long time for this, you pathetic wretch. You have made this all too easy for me.'

  'Come, brother,' said Clebe. 'This day, revenge is ours.'

  Outside in the open air, the two excitable vagrants laughed and ran ahead. Ronu and Clebe remained stoic with a dignified walk. Inside the dormitory, Namir retreated to his bed and sank down with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, trying to find an answer from somewhere in the vaults above him. Lyall filled a bucket from the well and washed himself. The bruises from the previous day had now emerged and the freezing water was soothing them. He didn't remember being struck by the creature, but in the frantic chaos, he must have been. He ducked his head fully in the bucket to drown out the sounds going on around him, and then returned to his look-out post behind the barred window.

  'You two, stay here. You two, come with me,' churned the orders from the guards.

  Ronu and Clebe remained at the back of the arena, while Suma and Targ were led round to the stable block. Now separated, Ronu and Clebe took their seats behind the gauze curtain and waited for the unknown. They spoke quietly. They talked of a distant time, they shared their hopes and dreams, and then they turned to the present.