Wolfeater

by Anthony Mitchell

  She was out there somewhere, Nyana, lost in the middle of that storm. The thought of it terrified him. If he waited long enough for the storm to pass, there was a good chance he'd find her half buried in the snow, frozen to death. He pictured her blank eyes staring back at him, as lifeless as they were useless. No, he told himself. I can't let that happen.

  He pushed himself from the tree and stepped out from the woods, into the swirling snows and wicked winds of the northern plains. For a moment it was like plunging his head beneath the surface of the water during those naked swims in the Velga, but then the cold truly hit him. The wind chill cut through his furs like a sword through paper, the snow and ice lashing into his face with the burning force of boiling water. He fell back again, slinking back into the shadows of the tree.

  He cursed himself a coward. How many times have you stormed the walls of the Wolf men? And now you're beaten by the weather?

  He pictured Nyana's face again. They could see nothing, those eyes, yet they held more soul than the eyes of any other living thing Radok had ever known. The day he saw them lifeless would be the day he died himself.

  He stepped out again, arm shielding his face, and strode forward into the wind. It hit him like a forge's hammer, blasting him again and again, but this time he rode it out, driving himself forward step by step, inch by inch.

  The shock of the cold made it hard to catch his breath, and he felt his lungs starting to burn again. He managed some ten steps before he fell to his knees, trying desperately to breathe.

  It was the Will, he knew. The Seven would do their damnedest to keep him from the Blackstone, but they had not accounted for the girl. Radok had never realised it before, but everything else paled into insignificance next to her. And now that her life was in danger, the gods would have to burn the flesh from his bones to keep Radok from saving her.

  With a grunt of effort, he pushed himself to his feet and staggered on. He was leaning into the blizzard, his clothes flapping about him, a layer of snow slowly building across his body. The wind roared in his ears, angry and defiant.

  Radok staggered on. The pain was fading now, his body starting to numb, but he could still feel his ears burning and his eyes watering. That was when he felt blood trickling from his nose. He looked down. His front was covered in it, red seeping into the white layer of snow covering his chest.

  'Radok!'

  A voice on the wind, faint and barely audible over the raging storm. Radok shook his head. It was a trick of the mind, nothing more. There's no time for it, he told himself. The Little Sparrow is out there, somewhere, and she needs you. He took another laboured step forward.

  'Radok!'

  There it was again, that voice, only it was louder this time, harder to ignore. Radok glanced back over his shoulder. Once again it was difficult to see anything through the snow and the dark, but when the clouds shifted he caught a glimpse of three figures standing in the shadows of the trees, like ghosts given form by the moonlight.

  'No,' he grunted, turning back into the wind and forcing another step. He wouldn't be fooled by his imagination. There was nothing back there for him. There was only the girl, lost in the whiteout up ahead.

  His left leg buckled beneath him and he dropped to a knee. He took a deep breath, blood still trickling from his nose, and pushed himself up once more. He managed two more steps before he fell, landing face first in the snow.

  He thought he heard the voice again before the darkness took him.

  'Radok!'

  ✽✽✽

  He stank of death.

  In truth, he had always stank of death. Each time he went away, whether on a hunt or a raid, he would return with the smell of death clinging to him, soaked into his furs.

  Yet this was different. This was not the smell of the quick death - the bitter, iron scent of splattered blood and spilt guts, or the pleasant hint of smoke from the fires of battle - but the rank, unpleasant stench of the slow death. There were no wounds to see, no injuries of any kind, but the smell was enough to tell Jian everything she needed to know. He is dying. And the end is close at hand.

  With a sigh, she sank to her knees beside the Wolfeater and took his hand in hers. They had managed to drag him back to the trees, dumping him with his back up against a tree trunk, unconscious, while the blizzard continued to swirl around them.

  'He's rotting away,' said Talgar, uselessly. He was standing over them both, pity in his eyes. Or what you could see of his eyes, at least, through the scraps of blood-stained cloth wrapped around his head, holding his face together. 'How long ago was it,' he muttered, 'that farm raid? Three weeks? No more than a month, surely, yet he's already half the man he used to be.'

  'And still prettier than you.' Tess appeared beside Talgar, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him away. 'Let's give them a moment, eh?'

  Jian nodded her appreciation to Tess as she led Talgar away, out from the shelter of the tree and into the snow. Tess nodded back, that same look of pity in her eyes. That hurt more than any of it. This was the Wolfeater; the finest Grey Crow to ever live, loved by his own folk and feared by their enemies in equal measure, a legend on both sides of the All Song. He deserved more than pity. And he deserved a better end than to be wasted away by some wretched disease.

  Jian felt a squeeze on her hand and looked down. Radok's eyes slowly opened. They struggled for a moment to focus… then his dark gaze met hers and he smiled. 'It was you calling for me,' he said, his voice cracking from a parched throat. 'I thought it was my mother, calling me home.'

  'Your mother died a long time ago,' Jian told him.

  'She never stopped being my mother,' said Radok, before being gripped by a sudden coughing fit.

  Jian winced. It was painful enough just watching him sputter and wretch and hack like that, without even imagining how bad it must feel to go through it. She waited for the fit to pass, then, digging her flask out from the folds of her coat, where she kept it close enough to her body heat so that it might stop the water from freezing, she removed the stopper and pressed it to Radok's lips, tilting his head back so that he could drink.

  The Wolfeater swallowed what he could, though most of the water spilt down his chin. Once he'd had as much as he could stomach, he knocked the flask away weakly with a wave of his hand.

  Radok let his head rest back against the tree trunk. His eyes shifted beyond Jian to take in the swirling snows and blistering winds rushing through the surrounding trees. 'I'm tired, Jian. I've given all I can.'

  'No one has given more.' Jian felt tears in her eyes as she spoke. 'The gods are cruel, Radok. You taught me that.'

  Radok nodded. 'I wanted to ask them why. That's why I dragged you all out here. Even Nyana… I promised her she would touch the Blackstone, but I should have left her back home, where it was safe.'

  'The blind girl? I know you love her Radok, but the tribe see her only as a burden. She was only ever safe with you.'

  'And now she's lost in this storm…' Radok's face creased up in a spasm of pain.

  'There's still time,' said Jian, watching the pain slowly pass. 'You can find her, you can still touch the Blackstone.'

  The pain lines on Radok's face were replaced by surprise. 'I thought you were here to stop me.' His eyes flickered to the dagger sheathed at Jian's belt. 'I'm ready for you to stop. I'm so tired, Jian.' This last was almost a whisper, and it broke Jian's heart to hear it.

  'You think I could do that? You saved my life, Radok. You were there for me when no one else was. Talak forced my hand to join this bloody quest of his, but I would have killed him before I stood against you.'

  'Don't say that,' said Radok, 'not even to me. Talak is Ashan Tay. He speaks the Will and the Grey Crow follow. That's how it has always been - how it must be. My journey has led me down a different path, but the Grey Crow always fly true.'

  'You wouldn't say that if you'd seen the things we've seen,' said Jian. 'Talak has fallen, Radok. He serves the Eighth now.'

  Radok force
d himself into a sitting position, though it obviously pained him to do so. 'I don't believe that. He's always been a self-righteous shit, true, but I've never doubted his grasp of the Will.'

  Jian shook her head. 'We met with the same Empty Faces you did, back at the Velga. Talak butchered them like a wolf tearing through sheep. And then he left us, saying he didn't need us anymore.'

  'Maybe he was right,' said Radok. 'After handling a few cannibals, I'm sure he fancied his chances against a dead man and a blind girl.' He laid his head back once more, his tired eyes sliding closed. 'What does it matter? Let me sleep, woman. I'm done now.'

  'No you're not,' hissed Jian. 'Don't you understand? It wasn't Talak, it was the Black Wind working through him. And if he wants to stop you reaching the Blackstone, then the Seven must want you to make it. You have to do what you set out to do. That is the Will.'

  Radok's eyes flared open and Jian knew she had made a mistake. 'You think I give two shits what the Will wants! I gave my life to them, and this is what they gave me…' He hawked and spat, and a thick blob of congealed blood landed in the snow. 'I'm done answering their call.'

  Jian's shoulders slumped in defeat. Of all the men she had ever known, she thought Radok the unbreakable. 'You're not the first person to suffer,' she said softly, her hand moving subconsciously to her belly. 'You're not the first whose body has let them down. But suffering is a part of life, Radok. It's what sets us apart from the gods. I would wager Nyana knows the truth of this. She is out there somewhere as we speak, suffering. No doubt Talak will put an end to that the first chance he gets.'

  Jian gave Radok's hand one last squeeze. 'You rest a while,' she told him. 'We'll find the girl and lead her to the Blackstone. We'll keep your promise, even if you can't, because we are Grey Crow, and that's the least you deserve.'

  Jian made to move, but Radok held tight to her hand and drew her back to him. 'Promise me you'll look to the girl once I'm gone. Her heart is pure, and she needs a place in this world.'

  Jian nodded.

  'Then get me up,' said Radok. 'I won't make it to the Blackstone alone.'

  Jian signalled to Tess and Talgar, and together they heaved Radok up onto his feet. He stood for a quiet moment, sucking in great gulps of air, seeming to grow taller and sturdier with every breath, as though the cold air restored a fraction of his strength.

  They heard a bestial roar carried on the wind, echoing from somewhere in the distance. But while the sound froze Jian, Tess and Talgar to their spots, it spurred Radok into action. He stepped out from the shelter of the tree and set off north once more, into the biting cold and the raging winds. 'Come,' he said over his shoulder, a smile somehow lighting his face. 'Crows fear only the slow death.'

  And so they followed. On to the Blackstone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Blood in the Snow

  Gripping tightly to the fur at the nape of Scar's neck, Senya let the wolf lead her on, deeper into the blizzard. He had stuck close to her following Mikilov's fall, but he showed no sign of the loss beyond that.

  She thought there might be some hope in that. A bonding between man and wolf was rare these days, but it was said such relationships were powerful enough that both sides could sense the pain or death of the other, even over great distances. Perhaps Scar's lack of mourning was a sign that Mikilov had survived his plunge into the river. By the Great Hunt, let it be so…

  Senya had considered turning back, of course, perhaps following the course of the river in the hope that Scar might pick up the old man's scent. But in the end, she decided against it. They were here for justice against the Wolfeater, and they had come too far and risked too much to put it on the line for a fool's hope. Better to push on and get the deed done, she'd thought. If, by some miracle, Mikilov did survive, he'll find his way out of this mess I've created.

  They soldiered on, pushing deeper into the woods on the Velga's northern bank, eventually stumbling across a scene of carnage. They found themselves in a clearing where the snow was churned up and scattered with blood.

  In the middle of the scene a corpse lay face down in the snow, his throat and shoulder torn out. They found a second body wrapped around a tree a few feet away, his broken frame twisted in unnatural angles. Though Senya lacked Mikilov's talent for reading sign, she knew enough of the basics to see in her mind's eye how events had likely unfolded.

  She saw that the Basillians had come down from the hill to the east, their seven sets of footprints moving at speed to the clearing. There they met the maker of a second trail coming in from the south west, back towards the river. The second trail had been more difficult to read, due to the churned snow, but Senya found a few massive paw prints and tufts of white fur snagged on nearby trees to hazard a guess at the maker.

  She had never seen a kragan in the flesh before, only the stuffed head mounted on Velimir's wall, but even that massive trophy was enough to fill her with dread. A bear would have been bad enough, but a kragan was something else entirely. The beast had made short work of the two Basillians in the clearing, while the others had fled for their lives.

  Knowing it wouldn't do to linger, with the beast likely to return at any moment to feast on his kills, Senya had allowed the wolf to lead her away. Scar followed the kragan's trail west, back towards the Velga. Senya tried to turn him around, knowing the Wolfeater was heading north, but the wolf was stubborn and she decided to trust his instincts.

  He led her to a third body, this one torn in half, his guts sprayed across the white earth. Beyond this they reached a tree around which Senya found two sets of prints. The first set, the larger of the pair, merged with the kragan's chaotic trail, heading off through the trees to the bloody clearing. The second set of prints were much smaller and now half buried in the steadily rising snow. This trail did head north, and it was the trail Scar followed, his nose pressed to the earth.

  Senya had hesitated for just a moment. They were supposed to be hunting the Wolfeater, not a child. And yet Scar had been following Radok's scent from the beginning. If this was the way he pointed, what choice did she have but to follow?

  She fell in behind him, leaving the shelter of the trees for the open plains of the Whitelands, where the blizzard swept in hard and fast. She had grabbed the scruff of Scar's neck, bowed her head into the wind, and followed him out into the great White Waste…

  Back in the present, the wolf pulled up sharply and Senya almost fell over him, dragging her thoughts back to the swirling winds around them.

  'What the…?'

  The wolf was crouched slightly, staring north into the blizzard, his head square to his shoulders, ready to pounce. Senya drew her sword instinctively and stepped up beside him. She couldn't see a thing through the darkness, not with the snow lashing at her face, but she felt a presence closing on them, some remarkable, unseen force.

  They seemed to wait an age, unable to hear anything over the wailing wind, until, at last, a shape began to form from the darkness. The child materialised as if from nothing, a dark silhouette emerging from a dark horizon.

  Slowly, the figure advanced on Senya and the wolf, details growing clearer with every step towards them. It was a girl, judging by her figure and her gait, wearing grey furs with a hood drawn up. She stopped perhaps ten feet away, cocking her head in a way that almost mirrored Scar's own flare of curiosity.

  That was when Senya noticed it. The snow was barely touching the girl. It seemed to dance around her, drifting close and then swerving away, as though an invisible force protected her. It's the wind, thought Senya, staring in astonishment. While it blasted her and Scar with ice-laden waves, the girl's clothes barely whispered with movement. She should have been coated in a layer of snow like the rest of this god forsaken place, but she was dry as a bone.

  'Who's there?' she asked, a knife flashing into her hand. 'I can hear you breathing.'

  'I doubt it,' said Senya, who had to strain just to hear her own voice over the raging wind. Yet what if the girl spoke true? What
if the force protecting her from the elements also shielded her from the sounds, letting her hear only what she needed to hear? What kind of girl could hold that sort of power?

  It reminded Senya of the old woman they had seen while overlooking the camp of the Grey Crow. She had appeared from nowhere, dressed in rags and talking in riddles, with unseeing eyes that seemed to see everything. The Wanderer, Mikilov had said. Elgamire.

  It was a name of myth and legend, and Senya had refused to believe it. Yet there was no denying the sense of awe she felt when standing in the old woman's company. It carried with it the same kind of elemental force she felt now, watching the snow swirling around this statuesque girl, never touching her.

  'Who are you?' she heard herself ask. And in her mind, Some kind of god?

  Stepping forward, the girl drew back her hood and revealed a plain, round face and a pair of blinded eyes. As soon as she saw the eyes, Senya thought it was Elgamire, only younger somehow.

  'I am Nyana,' the girl said, lifting her chin defiantly. 'I am Grey Crow.'

  She tried to match Senya's gaze, as Elgamire had, but this one lacked the piercing vision of the older woman, the feeling that those unseeing eyes saw everything. They instead missed their mark, the girl's head jerking left and right as though searching for the right spot. Just blind then, thought Senya. She must be the one Elgamire spoke of: the Wolfeater's cur…

  Overcome by a sudden swell of anger, Senya drew her sword and strode forward. The girl should die, she decided. For once in his life, it would be Radok who endured the bitter taste of loss.

  Hearing this sudden advance though, the girl's bravado disappeared in an instant. She stumbled back terrified, almost tripping over her own feet. It was heart-breaking to watch, and it gave Senya pause. Her sword arm sagged suddenly, the blade feeling very heavy. Just a child, she realised. And a blind one at that.