In Wilder Lands

by Jim Galford

  “I yield,” groaned Bockkan, struggling back to his knees. Blood ran freely between his fingers as he held his chest. “Nature has blessed you well beyond me. You are my better and I am willing to admit it. You fight as no fox I have seen.”

  Long beyond reason, Feanne roared and rushed at the human, striking at him and flinging him back almost ten feet, where he hit the ground hard, then collapsed.

  “Stay here,” Estin ordered the kits, then ran onto the field of battle, stepping in front of Feanne.

  “Feanne,” he said calmly, wishing that he had some inclination that she might not maul him, too. “Feanne, I need you to stop.”

  Dark animalistic eyes stared at him as she roared yet again, her fangs dangerously close to his face. She brought back her arms, apparently ready to tear him apart as well.

  Estin held his ground, dearly wishing he felt as confident about her self-restraint as he was trying to let the kits believe he was. Fear gripped his stomach, knowing that if she saw him as even a slight threat, there were good odds that she would gut him. She had mentioned in passing that such a thing could easily happen if she was far enough into her rage. Now, he had to test that and it did not thrill him to do so.

  Feanne eyed him for a long time, growling as she tried to intimidate him so that she could get by and attack Bockkan again. Eventually, the instincts of her lycanthrope form began to waver in the face of exhaustion and she sat down, though in her current state, she was still taller than Estin.

  “Let it go,” he ordered her, refusing to look away as she stared angrily into his eyes. “This is over.”

  Staring right back, Feanne growled, but backed down. She did not even react when others of Bockkan’s clan came running to his aid, tending to his injuries.

  “Come back to me, Feanne,” Estin told her, slowly approaching her. Her white teeth bared briefly as he came near, but she let him get close, until he was able to touch her face. “This is done. Let it go.”

  Feanne closed her eyes and began to change back, her body wracked by convulsions as her bones reshaped themselves and her body returned to its normal shape and size. When it was over, she lay panting, staring blankly at the ground, just barely conscious.

  “Mom!” screamed Atall, racing over and dropping beside her, with Oria a few steps behind. “Are you okay?”

  Smiling weakly, Feanne looked up at her children, pulling them to her as she rolled onto her back in the snow. With both kits held to her chest, she gazed up at Estin.

  “Thank you,” she told him, then passed out.

  Estin glanced around at the crowd, waiting until all of them had taken a knee, acknowledging Feanne as the victor. Even the barbarians knelt, aside from Bockkan, who was unconscious and being tended to. Once every last person had given their indication that the fight was over, Estin slid his arms under Feanne and picked her up, carrying her towards her tent, with the kits following at his heels, followed by Ulra.

  As soon as he had gotten her onto her bedding, Estin checked Feanne’s remaining wounds, finding little of immediate concern. The change had healed her body almost completely, just as it had the one previous time he had seen it, though this time the price was taken in exhaustion, rather than blood.

  “What was that?” Ulra demanded, hunkered down in the tent. “They will demand answers. Lihuan told me to never ask about this, but he is no longer here to tell us to look the other way.”

  “That was your pack-leader,” said Estin, unwilling to look away from Feanne. He sent Atall to fetch some cool water, while Oria clung to her mother’s hand. “Do not question what she has to do to protect her pack. If you question her, the rest will, too.”

  Grumbling loudly, Ulra left the tent, even as Atall came back in, carrying a half-spilled bowl of water. He offered this to Estin, then backed away from both Estin and his mother.

  Estin lifted Feanne slowly, raising the water to her mouth. At first, the cool water ran off her fur, but she began drinking soon enough, stirring as it soothed her.

  “What happened?” Feanne gasped, her eyes still closed, but she pushed the water away. “Are we all right?”

  “You are,” said Estin, checking the children, who were both looking very much terrified. “The kits I think would like an explanation.”

  Feanne groaned and opened her eyes weakly.

  “Atall…Oria…did you see what happened out there?”

  Both kits nodded vigorously.

  “Estin, you will leave us. I would explain to my children what I really am.”

  “As you wish, pack-leader.”

  He got up and began to leave them alone, but Feanne caught his ankle, holding him firmly.

  “Thank you for not interfering,” she told him softly, then released his foot.

  “Not my place to do so, Feanne.”

  Walking from the tent, Estin stood guard at the door for the next half hour, as he heard vague discussions inside. He made an active effort to ignore them, instead focusing on those who passed by, trying to keep anyone else from getting close enough to intrude or listen in. The air soon chilled him deeply, but this was his post until further notice.

  Eventually, Oria and Atall came out, running past Estin and off into the camp without a word. He watched them go, wondering what to do, when finally Feanne called him back inside.

  “I am sorry for sending you out,” Feanne told him as he sat down on his bedding on the far side of the tent. “I wanted them to hear it from me first, without anyone else.”

  Estin nodded and watched Feanne for any sign of lingering harm, but she seemed to be recovering quickly.

  “Why did the Miharon let you change?”

  Laughing sadly, Feanne shrugged.

  “He’s probably dead. His woods were where we lost the last camp. I have not heard his call in a very long time, Estin. The power over the change is mine alone, now.”

  Estin sat there a long time, just watching Feanne, who stared absently at the floor of the room, occasionally picking at drying blood in her fur.

  “Will this happen every time you are angry or in pain?”

  That caught her attention and she looked at him, cocking her head.

  “I do not think so. As weak as I am now, I doubt much could get me to change again soon. It may just be something that happens every so often, if I am in enough danger. I am quite sure if I tried again, the strain would likely kill me.”

  Estin noted that the children still had not returned.

  “Where did the kits go?”

  “They are mad at me for hiding what I am from them. They’re afraid that they are like me and just do not know it yet. I did not get the chance to explain to them that this was something given just to me. It would not be a part of them. They mentioned that they would go stay with the gypsies for now, which may be for the best, until they are ready to listen more to me.”

  “You’re probably right. They’ll need to come to grips with what they saw. Now, I need to make sure you’re not more hurt than you want me to believe.”

  “Estin…”

  Easing himself closer, Estin looked to Feanne’s wounds, despite her attempts to shove him away. His duties he knew were clear and so he used her weakness to make sure that she was not hiding any lasting damage from him. Once he had gotten her to lay back down and stop fighting him, he was able to check the various places he had seen her cut, but found only small gashes. Only the sword strike that had passed straight through her chest was still in bad shape, the puncture on her back still bleeding slightly. When he went to check where the sword had come through just below her right breast, Feanne grabbed his hand and stopped him more firmly.

  “You are quickly moving past being my guard and healer,” she warned, her tone low.

  “I can close the wound,” he reminded her, touching her shoulder. “Just say the word.”

  Feanne checked the tent door, where Ulra had taken up a watch, her furred back recognizable each time a breeze made the tent flap move. The air was chill, yet not too
bad considering that it was far into winter already.

  “Do not heal me,” she finally told him, taking his hand in hers. “I need to learn from my mistakes.”

  “Cuts are the least of the mistakes we’ve made,” he answered, pulling his hand free.

  He started to move back to his side of the tent, wishing he had kept his mouth shut. He longed to have kept his hand in hers, but knew that what he wanted was not within his right to ask for. Distancing himself was safest.

  They were both silent for a long time, Feanne staring blankly at the tent’s entrance, as Estin lay down on his bedding, watching the fabric of the tent overhead, wavering from the winds outside. Distantly, he swore he could hear the gypsies singing.

  “I deserved that,” Feanne said at last, breaking the silence within the tent.

  Clutching her chest wound, she walked over to him, lying down on the ground beside his bedding. The proximity was something she had expressly forbidden except when he was healing her, so Estin felt acutely uncomfortable with her presence, but he said nothing. She was his pack-leader and he did not want to tell her what—and what not—to do. Still, he readied himself to move away if she became concerned about their proximity.

  “Do you still wish we were together, Estin?”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his face, wishing he could go somewhere else. As her personal guard, running away was generally frowned on.

  “What I wish is long gone,” he answered eventually, trying not to notice her saddened expression. “You said it yourself. You’ve told me twice since then that I need to find a female to settle down with. I’m working on that, as you’ve ordered.”

  “No, you aren’t. I am not an idiot, Estin. Please do not act as though you can convince me that you have moved on. I have sent you away many nights and my eyes and ears in camp tell me that you stay within sight of this tent the whole time.”

  Feanne put an arm over his chest, pulling herself close to him, actually lying down on part of his bedding. Gently, she lay her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and relaxing, even as Estin felt poised to run.

  “Please just hold me. The kits will be gone a while. I am too tired to keep up this game. Maybe tomorrow, but not today. Perhaps with the morning I can manage to lecture you for letting me this near.”

  They lay there much of the night, Feanne holding him tightly, while he stared at the ceiling, trying to determine what she really wanted of him. It was awkward and hurt him to expose those feelings again, so he kept them under guard, shielding himself by ignoring that she lay so close. Eventually, even his defenses wore down and he pulled her closer, letting her sleep on his chest. It was so calming, so natural, and that was the first real sleep he had gotten in a very long time, not worrying about whether she was safe.

  When Estin woke, Feanne still lay at his side, but something was not right in the tent. He stirred, blinking to get his day-vision back. On the third blink, he realized that Atall and Oria stood over them, both staring with wide eyes. Before he could even open his mouth to speak, Atall took off running, with Oria not far behind.

  “What?” Feanne asked, sitting up just in time to look around and see Oria’s tail vanish through the tent flap. “What just happened?”

  “The kits saw us together.”

  Feanne groaned and shoved herself away from Estin, covering her face in frustration.

  “I really cannot make mistakes like this.”

  “Feanne, we did not do anything.”

  She shrugged and got up.

  “My children do not know that, Estin. I made a mistake that I cannot repeat. It will take some time to win back their trust. If I ever believe I need company again, I trust that you will be my strength in refusing. I task you with making sure I never allow another male into my bed again—whether yourself or someone else—if only to keep from having to explain this to the kits. I owe it to them to not let my heart wander.”

  Biting back his anger at himself, Estin just told her, “I’ll go find them and make it right, pack-leader.”

  Getting to his feet, he hurried from the tent, using the excuse to get some air and vent his own frustrations. He shoved past Ulra, thankful that she had no questions for him as he left.

  Estin walked slowly through the camp, not in any particular hurry to find the kits. They knew better than to go far and were likely hiding out at one of their friends’ tents, trying to sort out what they had walked in on. Sex was not a taboo topic to wildlings—even as young as they were, the kits probably understood all the fundamentals—but he doubted they had been at all prepared to see their mother with anyone. Seeing her with her guard was a slap in the face to their memory of their father, he rationalized.

  In his own head, the night was just as disturbing as it likely was for the kits. He had been so strong for months, suppressing his feelings, without exposing his need for Feanne even once in his duties as her guard. Deep down, he knew that if he was to truly protect her, he needed to distance himself from those feelings, as they would only make him make mistakes.

  Now, it was her that slipped, letting him know that for all her stubborn refusal to allow him near her, she still might hold much the same desires for him. That was not as refreshing as he had once hoped it would be, just serving to muddy his mind and his reactions. These days, he needed her to be strong for the pack, without regard for the feelings he hoped might one day fade. Nights like this only prolonged the time that would take.

  He took his time wandering the camp, sniffing every so often to make sure he was still following the twins. Estin had no doubts that they were upset and he wanted to be sure they got enough time to relax before he came walking up on them.

  When he did finally reach the end of their scent-trail, Estin was rather surprised to find himself at the gypsy wagons. He had not even thought that the kits might come back here. This area of the camp was always lively and loud, not really the mood he expected the kits wanted after their surprise. Strangely, the usual laughter and singing from this part of the village was replaced with nervous whispers and someone shouting, though the voice was muffled by the wagons themselves.

  Nervously, Estin ran into the middle of the ring of wagons.

  At one side of the open space where the gypsies held their nightly celebrations and kept their campfire, Atall and Oria were standing in front of Yoska, whose back was to a wagon. A dozen gypsies stood in a half-circle around the kits, weapons drawn on them, even as Atall held his own blade to Yoska’s chest.

  “This is your fault!” the kit was saying as Estin came up. “You gave him the idea.”

  Estin froze as he grasped what he had just walked up on. Atall believed that Estin had bedded his mother on the recommendation of Yoska’s stories about multiple spouses. The male had always been more shocked than his sister at the tales. Now, he was looking for someone to be angry with.

  “Atall, please put it down,” Oria pleaded, watching the other gypsies closely. She looked terrified, which Estin had to think was justified with so many weapons pointed at her brother’s back. “This isn’t right…just let him go.”

  “Your sister is wise,” Yoska said calmly, though he winced as Atall’s knife dug a little deeper into his stomach. “Perhaps you tell me what I have done. Is much easier to decide if I have wronged you if I know why you are stabbing me, no?”

  “Atall!” Estin yelled as he walked up, hoping to draw the child’s attention to himself. In the past, Atall had been far easier to intimidate into abandoning a course of action than his sister. “Turn over your weapon immediately!”

  “I won’t listen to you,” said the kit, glaring angrily at Estin. “It’s this human’s fault that mother betrayed father. If you come any closer, I’ll stab him, then you!”

  Estin looked over at Yoska, who gave him a confused shrug. The man seemed remarkably unconcerned, despite his whole clan being on alert, ready to kill Atall the moment they got the chance.

  Walking more slowly, Estin had to almost push his way
through the other gypsies, some of whom muttered angry threats at him in passing. As he got closer to Atall, he unbuckled his belt and tossed it aside, along with the swords it bore.

  “I’m unarmed,” he said to Atall, holding up his hands so that the kit could see that his claws had not even fully regrown. They were usable, but likely could not cause any appreciable damage and were certainly no match for the long knife Atall bore. “We need to talk.”

  Atall whipped his knife away from Yoska, marching towards Estin with the blade pointed at him. Immediately, gypsies filled the gap between him and Yoska, making sure that Atall could not go back after their leader.

  “I loved you,” the boy told him angrily. “Just because you and mom are friends, doesn’t mean you can bed her while father’s gone. I should kill you for it, but I want him to do it when he returns.”

  “Atall,” said Oria, her voice shaking. “Stop.”

  Estin held his hands out at his sides, inviting Atall to strike. If nothing else, he knew that would ensure that no one else was getting hurt. How the kit felt was his fault, after all. His first thought was to prepare magic that would mend his body if Atall got lucky and stabbed him, but he disregarded it as unfair to Atall and likely would be too obvious and slow to work, anyway. If the kit wanted to stab him for what he had done, he could not take that away from him.

  “I have never disrespected your mother,” Estin said, taking another step forward. Atall’s blade was now only a foot away. He began evaluating whether he could snatch the knife away without risking either of them. “My life is hers.”

  Atall trembled with rage. He had always been angry, but had never been good at venting it. Now, he seemed to have found his target in Estin. He raised his knife, ready to strike.

  “Atall, father is dead.”

  The anger practically fell out of Atall as he looked back at his sister, looking terrified.

  “You’re lying!”

  Oria shook her head, telling him, “I saw it, Atall. He died saving us. Please don’t hurt Estin.”