'Who goes there?' the guard called out, his voice trembling. A boy's voice.
'The Wolfeater. Who asks the question?'
The boy stepped from the shadows of the tree just as the clouds parted overhead, moonlight painting the snowy ground between man and boy in a strange ethereal glow.
Big blue eyes gazed out from the shadows of his fur-lined hood, while the fair-haired wisps standing on his chin and upper lip marked him as a man-child. It was Vinak's boy, though Radok could not remember his name.
'They… they said you wouldn't come this way.' The fear was thick in him, thick enough to cut.
Radok shrugged. 'They were wrong.'
✽✽✽
'They were wrong.'
Radok shifted slightly to the left, the vibrations along the rope telling the story. It was no more than a whisper of wind in a summer calm, a hunter's move, but to Nyana it felt like a rumble of thunder. She let the rope fall. If there was to be fighting ahead, best to let Radok move as freely as he needed.
'You should step aside now, boy,' Radok's deep voice pressed on. 'I'm not playing.'
'I can't.'
Nyana recognised the trembling voice and winced. It was Kian, Vinak's youngest. His brother was a mean bastard, but Kian had always been kind to Nyana. 'Pap will kill me if I let you pass.'
There was a crunch of snow as Radok took a step forward. 'What do you think will happen if you don't?'
'I don't want to see you die,' Nyana blurted out. Then she realised what she had said. 'I don't want to hear it, even. Let us pass, eh Kian?'
'Nyana? What are you doing here?'
'She's coming with me,' Radok answered for her. 'Now are you going to step aside, boy? Or do I need to move you?'
Kian thought long and hard about his answer, and in the silence Nyana could almost hear the workings of his mind. He was not stupid - certainly not as stupid as his brother - and he knew what it meant to stand against the Wolfeater. But he also knew his father. If Kian did anything but hold his ground, there was a good chance Vinak himself would scatter the boy to the Seven.
'Hit him,' she said suddenly. 'Hit him hard enough so they don't doubt he tried to stop us.'
Silence.
'Well, boy? Shall we play the Little Sparrow's game?'
Kian hesitated. 'You won't kill me?'
Radok sighed. 'If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already.'
'Aye then. Do it.'
With that, there was an explosion of sound as Radok burst into action. It painted a picture in Nyana's mind; snow crunching beneath his feet as he surged forward, closing the gap to Kian in an instant, a hissed intake of breath in anticipation, and the snapping of bone and scream of agony as Radok drove his fist into the boy's face.
Except it wasn't the face. It sounded more like a snapping branch than a broken nose.
'You broke my leg!' Kian cried out.
'I've saved your life,' Radok replied calmly. 'Now, when they come for me, you'll be left at home cursing my name. But at least your face won't be the first I'm looking for when they find us.'
The Wolfeater strode back to Nyana and placed the guide rope back in her hand. 'Let's go, Little Sparrow. There's a good chance someone heard that.'
And he set off again, loping south. Nyana followed in his wake. They passed where Kian lay sobbing in the snow.
'Farewell, Kian,' Nyana whispered to him. She would have left it at that, but the wind shifted and changed her mind. 'Bones break,' she told him, 'but spirits only harden. You'll never doubt yourself again now. No matter the foe set against you.'
Nyana stumbled on, following Radok deeper into the eternal darkness that was her world.
Chapter Seven
One Voice, One Will
Something is wrong.
Talak lifted his head from the soft fur blankets of his bed and peered about the tent, eyes still bleary with sleep. The canvas walls, painted a soft orange hue by the fire's dying flames, rippled in the breeze, yet there was no sound to it… no sound at all.
It's all wrong.
He surged to his feet, the sharp angles of his naked frame highlighted in the firelight. At his feet, Galdo and Mila slept on undisturbed, worn out by the marriage blessing. Talak would have taken a moment to marvel at his own prowess, but all he could think on was the silence. To a man born with his gifts, the All Song flowing through his veins, silence came as unnaturally to Talak as would the sun shining in the night sky. He could still remember the day he first touched the Blackstone, when the unrelenting roar of the All Song gave way to the voices of the Seven. They had been with him ever since. Until now.
Heart pounding, Talak pulled on his leggings and shirt, then ploughed out into the night air, forgetting his boots and furs. His tent sat at the eastern edge of the camp, sheltered by a copse of fir trees and partly hidden in the undergrowth. He liked it that way, away from the crowd, quiet and secluded. Talak stood at the threshold for a moment, bare feet sinking into the deep snow, looking back towards the city of tents.
Nothing strange out there. The odd tent was still lit, an island of light in a dark ocean made pale by the moonlight. The wind was still there too, flowing over and around, swaying tent and tree and man as though they were equal. We are equal, Talak told himself sternly. We all bend to the Will.
It was knowing how to bend that set the Ashan Tay apart. But what did a man do when the Seven fell silent? How did he serve the tribe when he couldn't talk them through the Will?
'Where are you?' he called into the night air, his voice smoking in the cold. 'Speak to me!'
There was no answer, only the silence of the ordinary. And was there anything worse than ordinary?
Then he felt it. A prod in the back, urging him forward. Talak advanced without hesitation, striding across the white field as though led by an invisible force. His feet burned from the cold, but he ignored the pain. There was something to see, something to do.
'Where are you going?' It was the girl, Mila, scurrying after him. She was still partly naked herself, her nipples standing like dark stones atop pale hills.
Talak spun on his heels to face her, his eyes blazing. 'Can you feel it?'
Confusion reigned on her face. 'Feel what?'
He turned away from her, striding on towards the settlement's centre. It was a stupid question to ask in truth: Can you feel it? How could she, when she was neither Ashan Tay, those chosen to enforce the Will, nor even Ashan Tai, those weak souls who could hear the Will but lacked the power to understand it? To her, the wind was just the wind - a force to be reckoned with, sure, but nothing special beyond that. She had never heard the voices of the Seven carried on the breeze, nor read the touch of the wind as guidance from the Will.
'It's changed,' muttered Talak, more to himself than to the girl, who still struggled to keep pace behind him.
Is this what it is to be one of the flock? To not hear the voices of the Seven bickering away over every little thing? To not search for the common ground between them? Is this what it is to play no part in the Will? Is this… emptiness… all people have?
It was a terrifying thought. Talak had seen the All Song break lesser men, but to him it had been nothing but a source of comfort. Chaotic as the voices were, as twisted and confused the message he had to unravel, at least he had a part to play in the great scheme. The thought he had woken to silence, abandoned and alone, shook that belief to its core. How could he survive, knowing the Seven had turned from him?
But they haven't, he thought now, the relief euphoric. That's their hand I can feel at my back. A firm hand. A guiding hand. It was not silence that greeted him this morning, he realised, but quiet. The quiet before the storm. The Seven had found their common ground without Talak's aid, and now - for the first time in his life - they spoke with one voice. One voice, one will.
Talak let the hand guide him, weaving a path through the mass of tents until he reached the centre. He lost the woman somewhere along the way, the cold defeating her, driving her
to seek shelter in one of the tents they passed. At the heart of the Grey Crows' camp, Talak stumbled across the charred remains of the pyre, where, hours earlier, they had put the mighty Jorn to the flame.
Talak reached out a hand and laid it on a charred log jutting from the burnt ruins. He would be back here in the morning to gather the ashes, ready for the casting.
Whatever ashes the Seven leave untouched at lea…
His thoughts trailed off as his eyes fell on the ash at the bottom of the pyre. There were handprints there, big sweeping waves in the grey powder, as though someone had grabbed up handfuls of the stuff and taken it away.
'You're too late,' a voice croaked. 'He's already gone.'
Talak stretched on his numb toes to peer over the pyre's debris. Ilgor sat there, a lonely bald head sitting atop a mound of white fur, his breath misting in the cold air. His face was blank, sad almost.
'Ashan Tai.' Talak offered a bow of the head, but he was unable to keep a hint of disdain from his voice. It was important to remind the lower caste where they stood in the great scheme. 'What do you mean, he's gone?'
Ilgor looked surprised. 'Radok. He's been and gone. Bagged up Jorn's ashes and set off for the Blackstone. That's why you're here, isn't it?'
'I'm here because the Will made it so. And now I know why. Have you raised the alarm?'
Ilgor shrugged. 'Why would I?'
Talak felt a surge of anger. 'Because it is forbidden for anyone but Ashan Tay to visit the Blackstone a second time. As you well know.'
Ilgor waved a hand dismissively. 'The man is dying, Talak. I'd be amazed if he lasted a week in his own tent, let alone walking the Whitelands. He has the lungrot.'
'You think that matters?' Talak's eyes burned with a righteous fury. 'You think your friendship with the Wolfeater outweighs the laws of the Will?'
Ilgor shrugged again. 'If it's the Will he be stopped, he'll be stopped.'
'Why do you think they sent me?' Talak sighed. 'You should have told someone, Ilgor. If he reaches the Blackstone, men will be looking for blood. And not just Grey Crow; every tribe for a thousand leagues will seek his end. It's an abomination.'
Ilgor smiled. 'What if it's not? What if it's evolution? The Wolfeater does the impossible, Talak. He has done it time and again for the Grey Crow, all in the name of the Seven. If anyone deserves a chance to stand at the Stone a second time, to ask them why they have cursed him so, it's the Wolfeater. Him, and the girl too. She gets to ask questions too, given the path they've made her walk.'
'The cripple too?' Talak's jaw tightened and he could feel the veins popping out of his neck as his rage intensified. 'No one has that right, you old fool! No one, save the Ashan Tay. You think killing a few men makes you something special?'
Ilgor pushed himself to his feet with a grunt of effort, his old joints creaking and popping. 'I had my doubts,' he said, as he started to move around the pyre towards Talak. 'But then I came here and I sensed it; I sensed the Will. This is supposed to happen, Talak. You must see it?'
'You sensed the Will?' Talak laughed scornfully. 'You've never heard them, have you, Ilgor? You've never woken to the sound of their voices bickering in your mind. You open your eyes and you sense what needs to be done. Sometimes you're right, sometimes you're wrong; the consequences small and insignificant.'
Ilgor stood before Talak now, almost a foot shorter, his winter grey eyes staring up into Talak's. Talak sneered down at him. 'You've never had to weigh up the arguments of Seven gods in an effort to find the right path. You've never held the fate of the tribe in your tiny hands. That's been my life for thirty years. But today is different. Today the song is pure and clear, and seven voices have become one.'
'One voice?' Ilgor's eyes widened, suddenly fearful. 'Do you know what you're saying?'
'One voice, one will,' Talak muttered to himself, turning from Ilgor and striding away.
'Chadra!' Ilgor called after him. 'It's the Black Wind you hear, not the Will!'
But Talak was already beyond hearing. And he knew what had to be done. Radok must die.
✽✽✽
The hand had barely touched her shoulder before Jian was awake, knife drawn, blade tip pressed to her attacker's throat.
Only... there was no attacker. There was only Tess, as calm and unflinching as ever, unmoved by the blade at her throat. It was not the first time Jian had greeted her so, nor was Jian alone in sleeping with such a deadly partner. For some in the Grey Crow, it was the only way to survive.
'The elders are waiting,' Tess said calmly. 'They're gathering a hunt.'
Jian took a moment to wipe the sleep from her eyes. 'And what are we hunting?'
Tess's eyes flared with excitement. 'Not what, who. It's the Wolfeater, Jian. They want him dead.'
Jian's blood ran cold as the words sank in. She'd felt sick when she heard Radok had collapsed at Jorn's burning, but now this? What had happened that would turn the elders against him? Where was he going?
Before she could ask any of these questions though, or a dozen others flooding her mind, Tess was gone, disappearing behind the fabric hanging between Jian's room and the main tent. She rose quickly, dressing in her travel gear of leather leggings and tunic, fur lined boots, and the black bear pelt that was once her father's. Then Jian armed herself with her sword and bow, adding a couple of knives for good measure. Satisfied, she stepped from her room into the main tent.
Only the Long Eye was present, sitting cross-legged by the fire, long, bony fingers stretched out to the smouldering flames, warming herself. The old woman looked up as Jian entered, a knowing sparkle in her weary eyes. 'You can't save him,' she said, her voice cracking and creaking like an old tree. 'He seeks to break the laws of the Seven, and they can't let that stand.'
'I'll hear what the elders have to say,' Jian told her. 'Then I'll decide where I stand.'
'You stand with the Grey Crow, girl, as you always have.' The Long Eye sighed. 'Just remember one thing. The Wolfeater may have saved your life once before, as he has saved many others in his time. But he's a killer, through and through. Nothing you can say will change that. He's killed more men than you can count, and in his stubbornness more will die before his time is done.
'He dances with the Black Wind now, and all such flames burn brightest before the end. Make sure your flame isn't snuffed out with his, child.'
Jian nodded slightly, unsure what to say. Then she made to leave, crossing to the tent's exit. The Long Eye caught her wrist painfully and Jian looked down to where she sat.
'The elders are fools,' the Long Eye said, whispering as though she might be overheard. 'They'll do all they can to hold to the old ways. Rather, they'll do what they're told. Obey them where you can, but let not their words burn through your own knowledge.' She drew Jian closer, her putrid breath and yellowed snarl barely an inch from Jian's face. 'And beware Talak. He knows not what he is.'
She released Jian as suddenly as she'd grasped her, waving her hand dismissively. 'Go then. Go see what task the fine, brave men of the Grey Crow would set you next.'
Jian needed no further encouragement. She stumbled from the tent and set off into the light mist of early dawn, traveling along the camp's main thoroughfare. Abused and broken, Jian had found a sisterhood with the women of the Fallow, but she had never felt comfortable in the old woman's company. The Long Eye was given the name for a reason. She saw deeper and further into a woman's problems than anyone had the right.
Well she can keep her crooked nose out of my life, thought Jian. There is only one person I would share it with… and now they want him dead.
She pressed on for the Heart, the giant tent where the elders did their work. It was tough going. While a fresh layer of snow covered everything else, the paths along the way were churned to slushy mud, and more than once Jian almost lost her boots to the earth.
She heard the noise before she saw the tent. Hundreds of voices demanding to be heard, full of outrage and disbelief. Then the canvas hall reared up
out of the mist, a vast round tent with a sloping roof, patched together from the hides of a hundred wild beasts, each patch marking its own story. The history of the Grey Crow was written there, in those tattered patches, and it never failed to swell Jian's pride.
How much of that history was written by the Wolfeater, she wondered? More, at least, than had been written by the fools now holding council beneath its roof. More, probably, than any living man. And now they want him dead?
Jian thrust herself into the tent without pause, fury driving her on. She found herself wading through a crowd of men and women, abuse hurled after her as she shoved past. She had never seen so many folk gathered in one place that wasn't a battlefield. There must have been half the tribe gathered there, eager to hear the Wolfeater's fate.
'We all know what Radok has done for the Grey Crow.' It was Lokar talking, hands held up for calm from the crowd. He was standing at the centre of the tent, the Heart's Fire burning behind him, sweat beading his bald head, his pointy beard seeming to grow greyer by the second. 'No man can question it. But does that give him the right to ignore the laws of the Seven?'
'No!' the cry rang out.
'And what does the law say of the Blackstone? A man may only touch it once, unless the Will flows through him. Radok had his chance and the Seven turned him back. Yet our friend, Talak, brings word that the Wolfeater sets out for the Blackstone once more.'
A cry of outrage from the crowd at this, along with murmurings of disbelief. 'Worse still,' Lokar went on, 'he takes a girl with him, so that she might stand the test herself.' More gasps of horror. 'Women are forbidden from the Blackstone for good reason. Their frames are too weak and too fragile to survive the Crossing. That's why they were blessed with the gift of life instead.'
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