In Wilder Lands

by Jim Galford

  At this point, Atall and Oria began whining loudly, demanding that Estin be allowed to stay.

  Ulra glowered at Estin, then eyed the kits as she answered, “I will not have you out of reach when our pack-leader is unguarded. With her kits at her side, she is vulnerable and there are those who would take advantage of that. Her guards will need to be ready and close at all times. If she had a mate who was here, I could see an argument for modesty, but with him absent, I will see her guarded at any price to your feelings, Estin.”

  “Put his bedding in the corner,” Feanne conceded at last, pointing to one end of the tent. “We will manage.”

  Ulra frowned at Feanne briefly, eyeing the corner that she had indicated, as though even that was too far for her taste. Despite this, she dipped her head in acknowledgement and began unrolling a pile of furs and blankets, first in the area where Feanne and the kits would sleep, then where she had indicated for Estin. Once that was set up, Ulra excused herself, heading out with most of the supplies they had brought to disperse them where they were most needed.

  “I see little has changed since I was a child,” Feanne said, giving the kits a hug that they struggled against. “Ulra will protect me from myself and the more I fight her, the more trouble she will cause me. She is the only one I ever saw bully my father into a decision.”

  “It’s okay, mom,” Atall piped up. “Estin’s a good guard. He kept us really safe.”

  Feanne smiled up at Estin.

  “Yes, he did. That’s why I want to keep him around, too. I just thought he might want some time away from me. No such luck for him, though.”

  If Estin could blush through his fur, he would have. Trying to avoid any further scrutiny, he set about piling his belongings in the corner assigned to him, while Feanne spent the afternoon getting the kits settled into the camp and their tent.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Truths”

  The new pack was certainly not the old, though I still dreamt of Lihuan’s pack. I would remember the calm happiness in that group, where even the drama that came with conflicts over mates and things as simple as eating habits were just trivial by the standards of the new world I was living in. I almost longed for the simpler days when the worst I had to worry about were a bunch of deer wildlings knocking down my tent, rather than bloodthirsty walking corpses.

  Nightmares were prevalent for everyone and it was not uncommon for any of us to wake up screaming, remembering undead murdering a family member, or a city or village burning to the ground as corpses marched in relentlessly. Every cry in the night was met with armed guards from every faction that now dwelt with us. No one could be too careful, lest we find out that something had snuck into the village. Luckily, the night terrors affected so many that there were no hard feelings when it would turn out to only be a dream.

  Most of us had become secure long ago in the idea of a pack being a singular race or group. Insrin’s people had dreamt of a great fox civilization, led by his father and later by him. Lihuan had dreamt of a gathering of wildlings who would share their different lives to become stronger through being a unified family. The human barbarian tribes of the eastern plains that had joined us told me that their elders had dreamt of the day the tribes would work together. The dwarves had dreamt of riding out the wars in their tunnels, free of intrusions. The gypsies had dreamt of just riding away from it all in their wagons. Orcs had dreamt of facing the undead head-on and winning. The halflings dreamt of the undead giving up and leaving us all alone.

  So many dreams that had failed, just like my own dreams of saving my family so long ago. That, we all had in common.

  Now, it was time for someone else’s dream.

  Feanne’s dream was not the one she had grown up with. She once had just wanted to be left alone, expecting only the strong to survive. Time had changed that dream and then she had dreamt of a place where her children could grow to adulthood without being murdered—a fear that had grown into an obsession, I soon learned, as her nightmares were of the many children she had seen killed as she had grown up.

  Now, her dream for the future appeared to be a new form of her father’s, unifying not just her people, but all survivors, whether they wanted it or not. Survival of the strongest had changed into survival of all those strong enough to have lived this long.

  The disorganized rabble that had gathered in the camp needed a leader. They needed someone they could respect, who was not going to drive them off. Feanne did not want this dream, but it was hers, nonetheless.

  The races all had their own reasons for following her. If nothing else, there were those who followed her lead simply because the camp was largely held by the wildlings and she was their leader. For others, it took a little more.

  These were not happy times. It is hard to think happy thoughts or have actual dreams of a good life when you know that at any time undead might descend upon you, murdering every living being for miles. Still, I had my purpose. I was back with my people…Feanne’s people…and I was at her side as she led the way. I could live in her shadow and be happy, knowing that the one I—I could not bring myself to say the word ‘love’ again, though it was accurate—cared most for was where I could watch to be sure she was safe.

  If things went badly, I already had my orders. I was to escape with the kits and find a safe place, leaving Feanne and anyone else to die if necessary. Until then, I could accept Feanne’s pack as my home. Here, I could stay.

  “I will not be challenged, Bockkan,” Feanne barked at the human, who stood close enough that her nose nearly brushed his chin. “You will back down, or I will sit you down.”

  The human glared darkly at her, the snow blowing across his face, though he did not blink or move back in the slightest. He just stood over her, his hands clear of his weapons, yet the menace of him striking at Feanne was clearly there, making Estin nervous as he stood nearby.

  The argument had begun shortly after dawn, three months after Estin and the others had come to the camp. Bockkan was the latest of the camp’s residents to resist Feanne’s commands, despite how few she was willing to give. The man had been firm in his belief that Feanne was some kind of “evil spirit,” somehow bent on his people’s destruction. This particular day, he had called Oria an evil spirit that needed to be destroyed and made new threats against Ulra. Feanne had finally broken, confronting the man publically.

  “The fox is a trickster, a liar, and a coward,” the barbarian told her yet again. “We will not follow the fox. The elders taught us to follow the ways of many animal spirits, but the fox and others will doom us. You are the fox-spirit in flesh. Why should I tell my people to follow you, when in the end, you will run and leave us, fox?”

  Even a short distance away, Estin could see Feanne’s fingers flex as she likely contemplated ripping the man’s throat out. He put a hand on Oria, who was trying to sneak up to stand alongside her mother. Atall stood more willingly at Estin’s side, watching nervously.

  “Bockkan, stand down. I do not want bloodshed.”

  The barbarian laughed, this time making no pretense of the fact he was placing his hand on his sword’s hilt.

  “I hear much talk from your mouth, little fox. Other people may listen to wise words from you, but my people believe in actions, not words. Can you back your talk with proof of skill, or will your protectors strike at me?”

  Feanne glanced back at Estin, then over to Ulra, who had been growling almost incessantly since the argument had begun, standing over Feanne and Bockkan, ready to strike the man down.

  “If I can best you in a fight, you will submit to my leadership?”

  Bockkan grinned, checking for the agreement of his clanmates, who cheered loudly.

  “If a fox can beat a follower of the bear, then I will obey your order,” the man said, nearly tapping her forehead as he leaned down, apparently trying to intimidate her. “If the bear totem is stronger, I will lead you, little fox. My people will decide what becomes of both bear and fox, then.”r />
  “If that is the only way you will see sense…agreed. Prepare yourself.”

  Feanne stormed away from the man, marching directly up to Estin.

  “This is not how I planned on spending breakfast,” she said softly, rustling Oria’s fur and ears with her hand. “Did it really need to be this hard to have him stop threatening to skin Ulra? What honor is there in murdering the animal you claim you serve?”

  Estin shook his head.

  “Their ways are not ours. I was told that they prove their worthiness to an animal by killing it. Ulra must have looked really dangerous.”

  Sighing, Feanne knelt in front of the kits.

  “Oria…Atall…I want you both to watch. A pack-leader cannot back down if challenged. As soon as I back down, the leadership of this pack is lost.”

  Oria nodded nervously, eyeing the human as he tossed off his fur mantle, striding around the open field in the snow, bare-chested.

  “What if you get hurt?” asked Atall, perhaps a little too loud.

  “I will be fine,” she told him, then looked up at Estin. “If he somehow wins, then Estin will take care of you and leave the camp.”

  “As you wish, pack-leader,” Estin said, knowing he was not to speak during official matters of the pack leadership unless addressed. “They will come to no harm.”

  Feanne took Estin’s hand and squeezed it thankfully, then cast off her cloak and strode into the area where Bockkan strutted back and forth, drawing cheers from his own people. Already, a crowd had gathered from all ends of the camp, though most looked on with a tense and radiant nervousness. This was the first time anyone had openly challenged Feanne’s leadership and many in the camp had likely waited for the moment to finally arrive so they could see if she could back up her attitude with skill.

  “What are our terms?” Feanne asked, flexing her hands and examining her claws.

  “Terms? This I do not understand.”

  “May we use any abilities at our disposal, or just our weapons?”

  The human’s eyes drifted from Feanne’s claws to her face—likely her fangs.

  “You may use any ability you possess that is not magic. I have heard rumors of your skill in magic and this is not something I would willingly face as a true warrior.”

  Feanne smiled grimly, nodding agreement.

  The barbarian drew his sword, tossing aside the sheath as he picked up a simple wooden shield.

  “Attack when ready, little fox.”

  The two paced one another, the human relaxed and waited to see what his opponent could do, while the much smaller Feanne circled him, studying muscle movements and the way he held his weapon. Neither was armored, with Feanne wearing basic leathers and a fur mantle and Bockkan in his thick furred pants and boots.

  “You wait to deceive me, fox,” Bockkan said, laughing as he turned. “We will wait all day if you do not learn to fight like a true warrior. I will not let you use your trickery on me.”

  Estin winced as Feanne reacted to the jibe, rushing in recklessly. Her claws glanced off Bockkan’s shield and he slashed wildly, very nearly taking Feanne’s head off as she dodged out of the way, regaining a safe distance from him.

  “Will she get hurt?” Atall asked, tugging at Estin’s hand. “I don’t want mom to get hurt.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Estin told the child, watching as Feanne slapped aside another sweep of the sword, snarling as she kept her distance. “She’s the best fighter I’ve ever met.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” whispered Linn, stepping up alongside Estin, giving Atall a playful flick on his ear. “Bockkan’s killed more than a hundred men in battle and was the bane of my troop’s existence for years. He does not want a woman—no matter what race—to tell him what to do. That’s what this is about, have no doubts. His tribe does not allow women to lead.”

  Estin’s mood sunk. He had hoped this was a simple dispute that would be resolved quickly, but that told him it was unlikely. He dearly hoped he would not have to get involved, as Feanne was always cross if he prevented her from getting all the glory in a battle. He had learned that when they had scouted out a small undead outpost several weeks earlier and he had used his magic to destroy many of the creatures, only to have Feanne lecture him for hours about having taken away her opportunities to tear them apart, though she had claimed it had something to do with being the leader.

  Some things never change, he thought, watching as another flurry of blade, shield, and claws left both combatants uninjured.

  “You spend too much time avoiding being hurt in combat,” Bockkan chided as Feanne danced away again. “A true warrior would not be afraid of their enemy. You only prove my point.”

  Feanne bared her fangs, but continued to watch for an opening, having already tested the human’s speed and found it a reasonable match for her own.

  She lunged again, this time her claws raking Bockkan’s shield as he drove her backwards with a stunning blow to the side of the head with the grip of his weapon. Feanne staggered away, holding her head. When she pulled her hand away, blood ran freely down the side of her face.

  “She’s in trouble,” Oria told Estin, her little claws digging into his hand as she panicked. “Do something!”

  “No,” he told her, kneeling down so he was at face-level with both of the children. “No matter what happens, I won’t go against what she told me to do.”

  “Because she’s the pack-leader?” asked Atall, studying Estin’s face.

  “Sure,” Estin answered with a smile. “Would you cross your mother when she’s upset?”

  Atall and Oria grinned broadly, even as Feanne avoided Bockkan’s weapon again, ducking his shield to rake his lead leg with her claws.

  “Foxes are bad luck to my people,” repeated Bockkan, swinging yet again and missing as Feanne moved under his weapon, raking his bare chest with her claws. Even that did not slow him. “If you are proven to be a dark spirit, all of the foxes must go.”

  “This,” Estin noted, speaking to the kits, “is where things get ugly.”

  Feanne roared at Bockkan, her claws missing narrowly as he slashed at her, leaving a bloodied line across her leg with his sword.

  “She’s losing,” Oria whimpered.

  “Your mother is fine.”

  “How many times can she get cut before you think she’s in trouble, Estin?”

  He looked up at Feanne as she stumbled away, one hand on her leg to slow the bleeding.

  “A lot more than that, if she’s upset enough.”

  Feanne stopped backpedaling and held her ground, furiously clawing at Bockkan, until he was forced back, bleeding from dozens of minor wounds. Despite the severity of his injuries, he grinned and laughed, slapping his sword against his shield in challenge, only to have the shield fall to the ground, the straps having been cut by Feanne’s claws.

  “Clever fox.”

  This time, Feanne was more cautious in her attack, striking from every odd angle Estin could imagine, but Bockkan was faster, managing to avoid or deflect most of her attacks, then countering with a single slash that caught Feanne across the stomach, sending a spray of blood across the crowd as she collapsed.

  Half-crawling, Feanne tried to get some distance from her opponent, only to have him grab her by the scruff of the neck. Unceremoniously, Bockkan drove his weapon through her back, pulling it out and raising it high over his head as Feanne fell to the ground.

  “The fox is not so tough without her tricks!” announced Bockkan, waving his sword in the air in victory. “You will all listen to my orders now!”

  “Mom!” Oria gasped, as Feanne crawled a foot or two, clutching her chest.

  “Trust in her,” Estin told both children, holding them to keep them from getting in the way. “She’s not done yet. She could have avoided that attack…she did this on purpose.”

  As he expected—but had hoped would not be needed—Feanne curled up on the ground, letting loose a low growl as her body trembled. The sound of breaking bo
nes drew Bockkan and the children’s shocked stares, as Feanne’s body changed rapidly. The entire gathered group watching the battle stood silently throughout the change.

  “Mom?” whined Atall, wide-eyed.

  “Shhhhh,” Estin whispered, smiling. “You need to know what your mother really is. She’s a lot stronger than you know.”

  When Feanne reared back up, she had changed into her huge fox-like lycanthrope form, the rage from her injuries having overtaken her control over the change, though most of her previous wounds had closed. Roaring loudly enough that even Bockkan stumbled away from her, she rushed back into the fray, batting Bockkan aside with one massive hand.

  Bockkan reeled from the first hit, his arm hanging limply at his side. Striking back with his sword, he stumbled as Feanne grabbed the weapon and threw it aside, pulling it easily from his grasp.

  Backhanding Bockkan, Feanne howled as the man tumbled away, clutching his chest, where deep gouges bled profusely.

  “Do you yield?” roared Feanne, shaking as though it were an immense strain to keep from attacking. Even the act of speaking seemed difficult for her in this form.

  “This,” grunted Bockkan, regaining his footing, “is why I had hoped to fight you, little fox. Nature does not just bless you. I was told this was what I faced.”

  The man let forth a roar of his own, the cry as feral and animalistic as any Estin had heard. Around him, shadows seemed to flow together, creating an illusory form around him that reminded Estin of the way the Miharon had appeared. In this case, the silhouette around Bockkan was that of a massive bear. Into this dark shape Bockkan’s human body disappeared and only the shadow-bear remained.

  The two crashed together, dissuading any pretense of Bockkan’s form being anything less than solid. Claws tore into each with a ferocity that made Estin sick to his stomach, the two ripping at one another without any regard for their own safety. Defense and avoidance was forgotten in favor of brutal devastation.

  The cries and howls of the two finally died down as Feanne kicked Bockkan away from her, sending him tumbling to the ground, even as her own massive wounds closed. The bear attempted to stand again, but fell back down, the shadows fading and falling away from Bockkan’s human body.