Wolfeater

by Anthony Mitchell

  The old man shrugged his scrawny shoulders. 'How long can the eagle soar? Only so long as the Will allows it. It's not an easy way to go though, the Rot. Better to choose a wall, I think. Better to end your life the way you lived. With a sword in your hand.'

  Only so long as the Will allows it.

  Radok felt a deep swell of anger at that. 'I have always served the Will,' he said. 'As well as any man!'

  'You have,' Ilgor agreed.

  'I've shed enough blood to fill the Great Lake twice over, and always in their name.'

  'No one would argue otherwise.'

  'I have sacrificed everything I've ever had to serve them. The Ashan Tay calls and the Wolfeater answers. I've done everything they've ever asked of me, and this...' He waved the bloody rag under Ilgor's nose. 'This is the thanks I get?'

  The Ashan Tai chuckled. 'Such is life, boy. Such is life.'

  Radok's jaw tightened as his rage threatened to spill over. Ilgor sighed. 'Very well,' he said, slipping from his stool and hobbling towards the hearth at the centre of the hut, where the fire was beginning to fade. He took two logs from a stack piled beside the hearth and tossed them onto the fire, before gently prodding the flames back to life with an iron poker. Once the flames began to lick, the old man lowered his tiny frame to the fur blankets at his feet and nestled in for the long night ahead.

  'Look around you, boy,' he said, once comfortable, and his wiry arms snaked out to take in the breadth of his hut. 'This is the kingdom of Ilgor, Ashan Tai of the Grey Crow. This is his reward for ninety years of obeying the Will. I may have been too small and weak to stand as Ashan Tay, but I have played my part in the All Song. I have healed the sick, burned the dead, held communion with lost souls. I have taken no women, for that would have weakened my spirit. I have never tasted love, nor enjoyed the fruits of its flowering. There are no children to remember my name. The kingdom will end here, in this hut, with my dying breath.'

  Suddenly the old man's eyes flared brightly, as though feeding off the fresh flames growing in the hearth. 'You speak of reward, but where is my reward for all those sacrifices? I was never given the dark skin that clads your body, marking you as special, hinting at the mysterious and exotic. I was never given the speed and power that flows through your veins, never given hope of becoming such a dangerous killer. And it's the killers our people love, Radok, not the healers. You have had your fill of women, I would wager? There may not have been love and there may not have been children, but you have tasted all the Seven could offer. You have lived life in the shadow of death, and that is the Basillian way. That is the way the Grey Crow flies.'

  Radok was unmoved. 'No,' he said bitterly. 'No, I have lived death in the shadow of life. I always told myself there would be a time for love; a time for children.' He stared down at the bloody rag, felt the poison within his body dripping from his lungs. 'But there was no time, not really. Not for a man like me. There was only ever time for the Will.'

  Ilgor reached across and laid a hand on Radok's shoulder. 'Pick a wall, Radok. So what if you don't die an old man lying in your own shit? Who wants that? Pick a wall and let your name live forever.'

  'Why?' Radok countered, shrugging the hand away. 'So that a hundred years from now they can say I was good at killing Wolves? What difference does it make? My life has no purpose.'

  'There is always purpose to serving the Will.'

  'What purpose?'

  It took the shaman a few moments to find the right words. 'I'm just a man, Wolfeater, and these are questions for the Seven. All I can say is that the Will is as the Will does, and our only hope is to spread our wings and fly.'

  The words lit a fire in Radok's mind and for a moment the pain was forgotten. I'm asking the wrong person the right question.

  He pushed himself gingerly to his feet, wobbled slightly, then picked a path between the scattered blankets and candles and burning incense.

  'Where are you going?' Ilgor asked as Radok reached for the tent flap.

  The Wolfeater paused and looked back. 'I'm going to the Blackstone. You say only the Seven can answer my questions? I'll go ask them.'

  Ilgor's already pale face drained of the last ghosts of colour. 'It is forbidden,' he whispered.

  Radok only shrugged. 'What have I got to lose?' Then he pulled the tent flap aside and stepped out into the cold night air.

  Chapter Six

  Little Sparrow

  The fire had guttered.

  Nyana could smell it in the air, the scent of charred wood bitter against the sweet perfume of the candles. She could feel it too, the temperature plummeting as night closed in. She could smell it and she could feel it, but she cared not at all. In that moment, lost in the dark, oppressive silence of Radok's hut, the fire meant nothing.

  That's right! Sinak's voice, sneering into the darkness. What use is warmth to a dead girl anyway? Because that's what you are, bitch, with Radok gone. No one left in the world to protect you now!

  Nyana squeezed her eyes shut, tears spilling down her cheeks. She sobbed weakly, the sound pitiful in the darkness of her world. Huddled against the hut's curving wall, she drew her legs in closer, knees tucked beneath her chin, and rocked back and forth like a baby.

  It had been Sinak who brought her the news of Radok's collapse, his every word dripping with the joy of it. 'He fell!' the boy had exclaimed gleefully. 'He cast the flame and then he fell, blood everywhere they say. Had to drag him to the Ashan Tai's hut and left a bloody trail even you could follow! Shame he has to die alone. But he's not the only one, eh?' He'd sounded delighted with himself at that one. 'We'll be coming for you.'

  Then Nyana had balled her trembling hands into fists, nails biting into flesh, driving back the fear. 'I'm glad you've told me,' she said, keeping her voice as calm as she could. 'Small as you are, not even eyes would have helped me see you coming.'

  Nyana took some satisfaction from that, listening to Sinak's friends drag him away spitting her name. At least until his words sank in.

  She could handle the venom, for they'd been throwing that kind of hate at her for years, but it was the truth of the words this time that truly stung. Nyana knew she owed her place in the tribe to Radok's protection. Without him, the tribe had no use for a blind girl. Without him, she was alone.

  He might yet live…

  Nyana cursed her thoughts. That was a child's hope and she knew better by now. Even if he was still alive, Radok's illness was known now, witnessed by all the big names. There was no coming back from that for a Grey Crow. Sickness, especially with blood, was the worst kind of weakness. No one understood that better than a blind girl left to die by her own parents. Even now, men would be plotting their moves, eager to stake their claim for Radok's standing in the tribe.

  Fresh tears rolled down Nyana's cheeks as she closed her eyes again. It was all her fault. She had known the cough was wrong. She could hear it, deep inside of him.

  You should have done something, she told herself. You should have saved him.

  But what could she do? Radok was the strong one, the Wolfeater; big, and brave, and unstoppable. Nyana was just a weak little girl, as blind today as she had been the day she was born. What could she do?

  You could come for me, as I would come for you.

  Radok's voice. Calm as a spring evening, cool as a winter frost. He would come for her, sure as the Black Wind came for them all eventually… and Seven help the man who tried to stop him.

  Choking back one last sob, Nyana wiped the tears away on the back of her sleeve and pushed herself to her feet. She moved through the tent like a ghost, stepping carefully so as not to trip on the jumble of rugs, gliding past cupboards and chests, candle holders and weapon racks, making no sound as she moved. This was her realm. She had long since learned the lessons it had to teach.

  But outside, things were different. The Grey Crow were a nomadic people, moving camp whenever the white snows of winter forced them on, or else when they felt the Black Wind looming over them. With
every move there was a new set of lessons to learn, and Nyana would barely master the central paths before they tore the tents down and moved on again.

  Right now she could find her way to the Heart easily enough, but there had been no cause to visit the Ashan Tai's tent and his whereabouts remained a mystery. You can sniff him out though, she told herself. Ilgor was nothing if not pungent. The mixture of burning incense and brewing potions made for a potent odour, bitter and acrid, yet somehow sweet. Nyana could track him down as easily as a Narg tracking blood.

  She dressed in layers for the bitter cold; leather leggings beneath a linen shirt and woollen tunic, fur lined boots and, for a cloak, the pure white pelt of the snow fox Radok had cut for her. As an afterthought, she grabbed a hunting knife from one of the weapon racks and slipped it into her belt.

  She was reaching for the tent's canvas doorway when it was torn from her fingers. A vast figure barged through the opening, crashing into Nyana and sending her tumbling to the fur scattered floor beside the fire. She landed heavily on her backside, tailbone taking the brunt of the damage, and stifled a cry of pain. She recognised the brute force and oak-like figure that sent her sprawling, having held tightly to it through the harshest winter nights. She recognised the smell of him too; all sweat, and blood, and steel. Even before she heard the voice, Nyana's heart soared.

  'Damn, girl,' he said, the deep dulcet tones of his voice like music to her ears. 'Are you alright?'

  Springing lightly to her feet, Nyana launched herself at the newcomer. This time he caught her, kneeling so he was at her level, pulling her into a tight embrace.

  'They said you were dead,' she blurted out, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. 'They said blood ran from your nose and you fell.'

  Radok pulled away and held Nyana out before him, his giant hands clasped about her shoulders. 'And you believed them?' His voice sounded wounded by the thought, but, as ever, Nyana could hear the smile playing at his lips. 'You should know it would take more than a bloody nose to end the Wolfeater.'

  'I never believed them,' she lied. 'I was coming to save you.'

  'You were? Well, that would have been a sight to warm the heart. Even a dead one.' Radok cupped Nyana's face in his hands, his right thumb gently stroking her left cheek.

  Though his hands were still cold from the outside, Nyana did not flinch. She just closed her dead, useless eyes and sighed. This was where she wanted to be. Held in those rough, calloused hands; sheltered by that huge, hulking frame. This was still the safest place on earth.

  After a long moment, Radok eased himself away from Nyana's grip and pushed himself to his feet. 'See to the fire, girl. No point you freezing to death.'

  She did as she was bid, moving to the fireside by memory. She prodded at the dying embers with an iron poker, felt a fresh wave of heat against her face as she exposed the glowing heart. Like Radok, it seemed there was some life left in the flames. Nyana added a fresh pile of kindling to the embers, then placed a log on top for when it caught.

  Radok, meanwhile, was making as much noise as he ever had while moving around the tent. First he was digging in the clothes chest, then rummaging through the food stores, even clanging his way through the weapon racks. He was packing a travel bag, filling it with supplies and equipment.

  'Where are you going?' asked Nyana.

  'I…' he hesitated. 'I'm going north. To the Blackstone. There are questions I want answering.'

  Nyana felt a swell of panic. 'You can't. It's forbidden. Only the Untested can go to the Blackstone, or the Ashan Tay.'

  'Yet that's my path, girl.' In a heartbeat he was beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder. 'Others will come for me. They know my intentions. They ask you where I've gone, you tell them truth, you hear? They'll find the tracks anyway.'

  You're all alone now. Sinak's voice, full of scorn. And we'll be coming for you.

  'I'll come with you,' said Nyana, unable to keep the fear from her voice.

  'A girl? To the Blackstone? Impossible.'

  'Why? It's no more forbidden than you going back there!'

  'You're just a girl,' Radok snapped back, his hand falling from Nyana's shoulder. 'And you're blind. The road will be long and hard enough without having to drag you along. There's a good chance I'll die out there.'

  'I'll die if you leave. And you know it.'

  'Don't say that.'

  'Why not? It's the truth isn't it? There's no place for me here once you're gone.' She was fighting back more tears now. 'You're the only reason they let me live. I'm nothing without you.'

  'Don't you ever say that!' Radok swept Nyana up into his arms, the power and speed so terrifying it almost made her cry out… until he held her to his chest and all her fears drained away. His voice was soft as he whispered in her ear. 'You think any of them would have survived the path you've had to walk? You're more Grey Crow than any of them. You fly, Little Sparrow. None of them can say the same.'

  'They'll kill me, Radok. I know they will.'

  Radok put her down. She could feel him watching her, thinking, judging. 'Alright,' he said at last. 'We'll go to the Blackstone together. A man for the second time; a girl for the first. Let's hope the Seven don't tear us to shreds for such an outrage!'

  'Thank you!' Nyana threw herself into his arms again, hugging him tightly. 'You won't regret it!'

  'I already do,' he said, but even holding him, Nyana could feel his smile. 'You have to do what I say, when I say it. You don't like being carried, but there will be times when we have to run and I'll have to carry you. There will be no arguing in these moments.'

  'Agreed.'

  Radok sighed. 'Then go gather your gear. Dress warm, you've never felt cold like the Whitelands. Don't pack too much though. We need to be light on our feet. There will be moments we need to move quickly and silently. Go. I'll get the food.'

  ✽✽✽

  Radok peeled back the tent flap and peered out into the night. A strong wind cut sharply through the channel between tents, the scattered torches lining the way flickering and hissing in the dark, or else snuffed out by the wind. Night had rolled in and there was no one to be seen outside. Most of the surrounding tents were shrouded in darkness, though a few showed light within.

  Radok let the flap fall back into place and turned to face the girl beside him. Nyana was waiting patiently, her ghost eyes staring at nothing, her head cocked slightly so she could hear better.

  Radok thought again about leaving her, cutting her loose and making his own way north… but the girl was right, damn her. With Radok gone, there would be those in the tribe who sought to harm her - especially once they learned of Radok's intentions for the Blackstone. He shook his head. For eight years the girl had been under his protection. He had killed her father to make it so. There was no chance he could leave her now, not even for the sake of his own journey.

  'Take this,' he said, thrusting the end of the tether into her gloved hand. 'The other end is fastened to my waist. Don't tie it to you though, that could be dangerous if something happens to us. Just hold to it like your life depends on it. Follow me closely and watch your step. If you start to struggle, don't panic. Don't even speak. Give two yanks on the thread and I'll drop back. Remember: speed and silence are the key.'

  'I'll remember,' she replied. 'Speed and silence.'

  Radok's heart swelled at that. This girl, he realised now, was as much his daughter as anyone's, and the thought of leaving her had been a coward's thought. Even with the Black Wind at his back, there was no running from that responsibility. It was only right that he take her with him, to stand together before the gods. Better that, he thought, than to make our stands alone.

  He laid a hand on Nyana's hooded head and smiled. 'Then let's go, Little Sparrow. The Seven are waiting.'

  They stepped from the tent into a world of wind and darkness, Radok leading the way. He took her to the pyre first, where the last few embers still glowed despite the snow. Radok drew a leather sack from his carry bags and
swept up what ash he could, careful to avoid the burning pieces.

  'Sorry, old friend,' he muttered. 'You might be missing a finger or two, but I'll see you dancing with the Seven before my time is done.'

  Satisfied he had gathered as much of Jorn's remains as he could, Radok set off for the camp's southern border, dragging Nyana behind him with the rope.

  South seemed the wisest option. Ilgor had been a good friend to Radok these past few years, but he was Ashan Tai before anything else. Chances were he'd already told the elders of Radok's intentions for the Blackstone. They would be watching the road north. Best to head south first, swing east or west for a spell, then forge a path north. Hope for the best, Jorn would have said, plan for the worst.

  They marched through the deep snow as silently as they could, with every crunched step sounding like thunder to Radok's ears. Yet it seemed the wind favoured them at least. It came howling through the valley of scattered tents like a maelstrom, whipping at the canvas and guide ropes as much as at their clothes, masking the sound of their advance. It came at them headfirst too, keeping their scent from anyone waiting on the path ahead. Perhaps the Seven wish to see me as much as I wish to see them…

  'There's someone up ahead,' called Nyana, yanking twice on the rope for Radok's attention.

  Radok stopped mid-stride and hunched low, peering into the darkness ahead. It was difficult to see anything through the blistering wind, but he squinted and strained all the same. 'How do you know?' he muttered back. 'I can't see a damned thing!'

  'I can feel it. The wind moves differently around them. It tells their story.'

  Radok glanced at the girl. Even now, despite everything he had seen, she could still surprise him. 'And what does it say? How many?'

  'Only one. Young and afraid.'

  'Then we push on.'

  They took no more than twenty strides before Radok saw him, sheltered beneath the snow-laden boughs of a giant conifer. Radok swept his gaze around the area. The last tent lay several yards behind them, while the tree stood as a lone sentry at the edge of a sprawling wood. They had reached the edge of the Grey Crows' settlement. And there was no one else around.