Coyote Chronicles (The Veteran Book 1)

by Anton Le Roy

  Night comes and the horses don’t stop. Nor do my followers. We keep going under the blanket of stars until those shining dots are brushed away by the arrival of a new sun. Am really thirsty, but I can’t remember where I put my water canteen and it’s too much effort to get off my horse to fetch water from the river right next to us. It’s too much effort to do anything and then the thought of drinking makes me want to throw up anyway.

  Thinking of Gregor, of all the years by his side, of all the times he saved my life or I saved his. Of when we first met as kids as nothing more than runners following an army that we dreamed of one day joining, me an orphan and he a lost foreigner from an exotic land. Funny, we spent all those years together and we never once spoke of how deep our friendship truly ran. This anger, this boiling rage that soaks my brain – who is it directed at? The Vamonkeys, Satipo or me?

  At one point I think I see Gregor’s broken body lying on the bank. And then he’s gone like dissipating mist. Poor Gregor. Poor broken Gregor. Broken bones and broken limbs. Smashed skull. Blood flooding this already flooded river. His body sliding into the churning liquid to be dragged, sucked, spun and flung along the waterway. A piece of worthless rubbish. Flotsam. Ending up where? If not snagged against a rock or tree rooted bank? Eventually pulled out to sea? A rotting body fed on by all manner of mouths. Flesh chewed up and turned to shit. Bones fragmented and turned into sand. Then nothing remains of the man, only fragile memories within other minds and when they’re lost he’ll truly be gone. Eradicated from the world. The fate for us all. I’m sorry Gregor.

  I’m so sorry!

  I scream into the air in torment and fall forward against the neck of my horse, too weak to hold myself up and too weak even to hold the reins. I lay there, feeling the steady rhythm of the horse beneath me, watching the hanging reins sway with each step. Can’t feel the burning pain anymore, not sure if that’s a good or bad thing…

  Maybe this is what I deserve. Maybe this whole mission was a waste of time in the first place. Maybe trying to find Satipo was the wrong thing to do. Maybe I can’t save him. Should have listened to Gregor for once. If I ever did locate Satipo and he shuns my arrival I’ll be truly broken and there will be nothing left for me. Maybe it’s better I die with this poison in my veins. I try to look out ahead but everything is blurred and it makes my head hurt. There’s one thing in clear view though: the Coyote.

  Maybe for the first time, I look at it properly. It’s a fairly big thing. Old and flea-bitten. Scrawny. It walks hunched with dark eyes resting on mine to bore deep into the back of my fuzzy brain and I finally understand its strength that stretches deep within. There’s much more to this beast than I ever realised. What does it want with me though? Why is it haunting me? I helped save its life didn’t I? It saved mine in return. Now we’re supposed to be done with one another, so, why does it keep hounding me? Owe you nothing! Leave me alone! You and all those damned ghosts!

  “What do you want from me?” I rasp. “What?!”

  It doesn’t answer, just walks on ahead. The horses dutifully follow, taking an unmarked route away from the river. Can’t stop it. Don’t have the energy. Don’t care.

  “Fine… just let me die in peace…”

  I fall in and out of consciousness some more, the Coyote always in faint view.

  One last time I force open my eyes and the mangy old dog is gone and in its place is a pretty little girl. She’s standing there eyeing me in puzzlement while in her pudgy hands are picked herbs and flowers and it takes a while for me to realise the two horses are standing still and chewing on grass. I think there are buildings in the background. I try to speak but all I manage to do is slide from the horse and thud to the ground amongst the grasses and snowdrops. My horse prods its nose in my face, snorts and then continues eating grass beside my head while I’m unable to move. Bastard.

  Can hear the girl shouting and other feet approaching. Hands grab me. Urgent voices. A voice I recognise? It’s too late for me is it not? The poisoning in my blood is too strong. You cannot save me. Don’t even bother trying. I don’t deserve it.

  Take me, blessed darkness. Drown my mind with nothingness and numb the pain forevermore.

  Take me!

  Chapter 19

  Before.

  This is not my memory.

  I remember it all the same.

  Running through the snow, spraying clumps of white stuff in my wake. Bounding through the hills that rolled through the valley, the mountains framing the scene. A sky of grey, like a slab of granite weighing down the world. The snow brushed my stomach and my four legs should have sunk deep except I was as light as a feather. Gliding more than running. Slowing to a trot I reached a steep incline and sat on my hind legs looking at the scene below. Tongue lolling to one side as I caught my breath. Ears pricked at the sound of laughter. There, below, a young boy chasing his sister, both dressed in furs and leathers. Behind them, the small village of tents and campfires. I woofed and with tail wagging I scampered down to join them, much to their delight.

  That moment was pure happiness.

  Now.

  “You should be dead.”

  What the hell was that dream about? I was a dog?

  I’m groggy. Eyelids are heavy. Vision is blurred. Can’t move and it’s not because I’m strapped down it’s because my stiff body barely responds to any of my wishes. It’s taken one hell of a beating and there’s only dull pain now. Dull pain everywhere. I should be dead? Whoever said that is right – I should be dead.

  “Why not?” I manage to croak.

  Water is passed to my lips. Cold. Spilling down my chin, onto my neck and down onto the bed sheets. I’m in bed. That makes a delightful change despite the way I’m feeling right now. The water cools my mouth and continues down inside my craggy throat. Feels wonderful!

  “Why not? Because I saved you!” responds the woman.

  Woman. Can’t lift my head up to see her properly. She’s there, on the cusp of my vision. I struggle with lifting one bruised hand, slowly flexing the weak fingers into a sort of fist to test my strength. Not much there at the moment. I notice the swabs and bandages scattered around the bed and floor, all covered in blood, so much blood… Was I really cut up that badly? Did she drain me to clean the poison out?

  Again I ask. “Why?”

  She chuckles coldly. “Why save you? I wondered that too. Should’ve left you to die, but… I couldn’t.”

  What I can see of the room, beyond the dull lighting, are shelves full of books, potions, murky jars and collections of oddities; pouches and herbs hanging from the ceiling; stinking incense smoke wafting from burning sticks; symbols carved on wooden walls; and there’s even a really big crow perched on the back of a chair preening itself. Witch.

  Hidden woman continues. “Severe blood poisoning took you to the brink of death and to top that off you also had hypothermia, a concussion, multiple lacerations and deep puncture wounds, gangrene, several broken bones and internal bleeding.”

  Wow. Those vamps sure did give me a good beating. “Why?”

  “Even when the third night came? Three solid days of magicking and surgery to save your life. Pushing myself to the brink of my abilities and even my own health. And then after that, five days more while keeping you in an induced coma in order to begin healing you. Why did I keep going?”

  Exactly. “Why?”

  She moves her head into view. Another hallucination from my past! No wait, she’s not dead, she was never dead. She’s alive! Wetlock, my old flame. It was she who the girl called to when I was found, it was her voice I remembered.

  Wetlock shrugs. “I really don’t know why. I really should’ve saved myself the trouble, shouldn’t I?”

  Before I can speak she forces another liquid down my throat. Tastes ghastly. I have little strength to complain. Swallowing it down I can only stare at her lovely face until I begin to slip back into the land of dreams. Wetlock. One of my biggest regrets.

  Yeah, I’m surpr
ised you saved me too.

  Chapter 20

  Then.

  This is not my memory.

  And yet it’s as clear as day.

  Running across cold rocks dodging the ice that glistens. Paw pads delicately springing from surface to surface. I was older and I was bigger and I was stronger. My loud barks echoed against the coldness and ahead, my friend ran too. The teenager nestled deep within his furs. Beads and braids jingling. I caught him and playfully bit a mouthful of his leathers. He fell with a giggle and I licked his face. A youthful face with ancient features: low brow, dark eyes, dark skin and straw like hair. Despite being just a boy there was great wisdom within him. The elders in the village claimed him special and destined for greatness. I didn’t care about that though.

  I just wanted to play.

  Now.

  I’m awake, I think. Yes, the same smell of incense and the same shelves of peculiarities. Another strange dream not my own, which means nothing to me. Why should it? Why the hell would I dream about the Coyote?

  Sunlight bleeds into the room through semi closed window shutters. Now I can get a better look at my surroundings. It’s a well sized room with a little hearth in one corner crackling away. There’s a couple of doors, one of which is open to reveal another room from where emanates the sounds and smells of cooking food. My stomach grumbles happily in anticipation.

  Time to test my strength, I manage to roll to my side and slowly sit up to the tugging of numerous stitches and bandages. A quick massage and deep clicking of my dodgy left toe. It’s a marvel that despite the damage inflicted on my body one person managed to repair it with magic and surgery. Wetlock: the girl I should have always loved and the woman I should have spent the rest of my life with. Could never change the truth inside the man though: I could never have stayed, much to my chagrin.

  There’s a low quality mirror in the corner of the room and I stare at my reflection for a while. Scars riddle my body, each one a memory etched there forever, although some of those memories have faded over time. Some scars are from weapons and some are from beast too, like the tentacle sucker marks on one arm. A few random tattoos are dotted about and those carry memories too for much different reasons. Even though it’s not as attractive looking as it used to be and there is a bit more flab around the midriff, my body is still in relatively good shape despite my growing years. Shame nothing can be done about what’s inside my body, like my battered knees, back and toe, for example.

  With a sigh I hang my legs from the bed and over the next few minutes continue stretching limbs and flexing muscles. Taking a deep breath results in a rattle from within. My lungs are weak. Then I try to stand to find that I’m too exhausted and before I can lay back down she appears from the next room just as I remember her.

  Raven hair is long, full, slightly wavy and as dark as night with the purple hue of oils shining at certain angles. Grey eyes like the coming storm clouds with none of the fury, just depth and strength. Milky skin no doubt still just as smooth as white silk – I remember my hands running along it, over her shoulders, the curve of her back, her hips and thighs, soft belly, all lovely memories I shouldn’t start thinking about right now. I don’t bother wondering why she doesn’t look a day over thirty when she should be closer to my age because I remember her potions and her magics. There’s not even a grey hair in sight. Crafty little minx…

  “Get down, you old fool!” she scolds, carrying in a tray. “And sit up on the pillows.”

  Ah yes I well recall that tone of voice caused whenever I’ve pissed her off. I understand how angry she must be – what with me showing up like this after ditching and running decades ago. Pretending to reluctantly follow orders I gratefully sink back into bed. “Was just seeing how strong I am.

  “As strong as a newborn babe,” she snaps, picking up a steaming bowl and sitting over me. Taking spoonfuls of stew she patiently feeds me, stuffing my mouth instantly after each swallow, probably to stop me talking. Always those piercing eyes upon mine. I know what she’s thinking.

  Only after the last spoon do I manage to speak. “I’ve been asleep for over a week?”

  “Eight days. Like I said, after the three days it took to save your life I kept you asleep another five to aid the healing process.”

  Wow. “Well, thanks, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as skilled at healing as you are.”

  A raised eyebrow as she wipes spilled food from my chin. I was being honest, maybe she thinks I’m trying to charm her.

  Uncomfortable silence follows.

  Me, “Didn’t know you lived in this area.”

  Her, “Why would you? We’ve not spoken to each other in years.”

  Ouch. “How long must it be now?”

  She puts the empty bowl and rag back onto the tray. “Does it matter?”

  “I guess not.”

  The crow appears through the open door and for such a big thing it lands ever so lightly on the back of the chair where it pecks at the wood a bit. Wetlock greets it warmly and then checks my bandages and stitches. Some bandages are changed. Hands are on my body with none of the affection once found there. Cold. Methodical. “How do you feel?” she asks.

  The sudden return of Gregor’s death, as startling as the impact of his body striking the ground. I feel lost. “Fine. I feel… fine.” I hold back the anguish that rises within and I hold back the anger too, that need to unleash my rage. Can’t let her see how much pain I’m in and I don’t physically.

  Her, “Good, then you’ll be able to travel again soon enough.”

  Me, “You want me gone already?”

  She looks up from her fussing. “You chose to leave last time. Remember?” The words slice the air. Then she calms and says, “You’ll stay until you’re ready to go, and I know you’ll go because you always do. Before that time you need to recover back to full health. You’re not as young as you used to be, you know.”

  “Nor are you,” I grin, “Although you wouldn’t guess that from the sight of you. You look amazing.”

  I’m sure there is the faintest sparkle in her eyes and then another scowl eradicates it while she retorts with, “Don’t bother with flattery.”

  Fair enough, I’ll hold back the smooth talking, well, for now anyway. I just can’t help myself. “So, what’s this town called?”

  “Broken Naile.”

  I made it! And the Coyote led me here…

  Wetlock then holds her hands to my chest and a warmth grows on my skin before sinking within and spreading throughout my insides. Magical healing. Feels good. “It used to be a nice little place to live in until a gang of criminals took up residence and appointed their own Reeve to run this town. Hopefully they don’t learn of your arrival, they might recognise your name and want to see what all the fuss is about.”

  I almost answer that with a cocky response and then think better of it. “Gang?” I ask instead.

  There’s a fire in her eyes when she says, “The Newborn. A bunch of crooks that have the audacity to proclaim themselves as priests!”

  Gotcha! I’ve finally found them and if they’re here then that could only mean…

  I realise she’s staring at me. “You’ve heard of them, haven’t you?”

  “Aye. They’re not good people,” I reply, my mind racing through a whole series of thoughts.

  She nods, watching me intently. “I know and that means we have to be careful. I didn’t work this hard to heal you just to see you die again.” The crow caws and Wetlock pauses to listen to it, tilting her head as she does, almost like a bird herself. “Hugimun here doesn’t have good news. Seems like they’ve heard about a wounded man arriving in town.” I stare at Hugimun the talking crow and it in turn regards me with dark and indifferent eyes. Wetlock continues, “The fiends have been roughing people up to find out more information and once things get nasty someone is bound to spill I have you. If they have a mage, these wards of mine hiding you won’t last forever. That’s why I want you on your feet, in case we n
eed to hide you elsewhere.”

  As the magical healing does its work the warmth from her hands starts turning into a blazing heat, which strangely doesn’t hurt and I know it just means the spell is doing its job.

  “I’ve been searching for them,” I finally state, fighting the urge to rush out now to confront them.

  “That’s why you came here?”

  “In a round-about way.” I decide to be honest. “I’ve a score to settle, and also… Satipo’s with them. He’s their leader.”

  Her eyes shy away. “I thought as much. I’ve seen him here too.”

  I hiss in panic.

  “Don’t worry,” the faintest of smiles on those lovely red lips, as red as rose petals. There, that cheeky look she used to give me. “He hasn’t seen me yet.”

  Good. I don’t know what he would do if he did.

  Dunno what I would do either.

  “It was quite a shock…” she mutters. “And to have fallen in with that sorry lot too.” A shake of the head. She doesn’t say anymore, doesn’t need to.

  “You were right,” I mutter, “What you said about Satipo all those years ago.”

  A raised eyebrow. “I’m always right. Have you still not learned that?” There, a joke! Does that mean she’s warming to me a little?

  I chuckle. The humour soon fades. “Been travelling, trying to find Satipo ever since I learned he was still alive and hooked up with this cult. It’s time me and him had a little catch up.”