Wolfeater

by Anthony Mitchell

  'Agreed,' muttered the Wolfeater, relaxing.

  'We can't do that,' said the man with half-a-face. 'We can't lead Wolves to the sacred place of our people.'

  'Don't be such a fool, Talgar,' said the woman in white, sheathing her sword. 'We're not supposed to take those already turned back by the Stone, or girls either… yet here we are. You think it matters to the Seven who stops Talak, or only that he is stopped?'

  Senya's anger bubbled over. The decision was made and there was nothing she could do about it. And now they were talking about something else entirely. 'Who the fuck is Talak?' she stormed.

  The woman stared back at her intensely for a moment, something cold and deadly in her eyes. 'You'll find out soon enough, if you stick with us.'

  'Are you with us, Wolves?' asked the Wolfeater. 'Or shall we make this the end of the path?'

  Senya stepped closer to Mikilov, hissing in his ear. 'We can't do this. They are the enemy. We should be killing them, not joining them on some suicide march.'

  'I joined you on yours.' He spoke softly, but the words cut deep. 'Scar paid the price for that decision, but he saved that girl for a reason. Elgamire told me I'd find her, and that I'd have to make sure she lived. I'm not going to stand by while she throws her life away.' He turned back to the Basillians and raised his voice again. 'We're with you, Crows. We'll see this Blackstone of yours, and then we'll decide what happens next.'

  ✽✽✽

  Mikilov's hands were shaking as he returned to his place over Scar's corpse. They were still stained with the wolf's blood, and, though the bone-handled skinning knife was only small, it felt heavy in his massive grip. Was it nerves from the standoff with the Grey Crow, he wondered, or grief from Scar's loss? A little of both, he guessed.

  Squatting beside the body, Mikilov took a handful of fur in one hand and slid the knife in between flesh and skin once more, sawing away to free it. He knew the flesh was dead - that Scar had joined the Great Hunt in the sky - yet it still weighed heavy on his mind that this was his friend.

  'I can't believe we're doing this.'

  Mikilov looked up. Senya was pacing around behind him, the snow well-trodden beneath her.

  'You're the one who wanted to be here,' he said.

  'I wanted to kill the Wolfeater, nothing more.'

  'Well, it's time you learned that actions have consequences. Scar died for that little girl, which means I won't leave her side until she's safe.'

  Senya paused in her pacing. 'I was down in that hole too. How do you know he didn't die for me?'

  'Did he?'

  Senya held his gaze for a long moment, then she sighed. 'He died for the girl.'

  Mikilov nodded. 'Then we see this through to the end. Her end in this story, at least. Whatever that might be.'

  Senya started pacing again. 'I tell you, Mikilov: the first chance I get, I can't promise I won't kill him.'

  'Why?' It was Radok's woman, the older one, striding across to join them. Groaning, Mikilov turned his attention back to Scar's corpse. 'Why are you so desperate to see dead a man you don't even know?'

  'I know him well enough.' Senya's footfalls fell silent as she stopped pacing and stood facing off against the other woman, both trying their best to intimidate the other. 'We call him Wolfeater for a reason. He has killed hundreds of our people, perhaps thousands. My uncle Velimir is just one blade of grass in that field, but he meant the world to me and I am sworn to avenge him.'

  'Your friend here has killed just as many Grey Crow,' said the Basillian. 'He has killed Flatheads and Long Claws, Empty Faces and Bright Suns. Is there a tribe you haven't fought, Grey Wolf?'

  Mikilov shrugged. 'None that I know of.'

  'What does it matter?' snapped Senya.

  'It matters,' said the woman, 'because every side has its heroes and villains. We tell stories about the Grey Wolf around our fires, warn our children that he will come for them if they misbehave. But now that I see him, I find that he is just a man, not too unlike any Grey Crow. Even with those teeth, he's just a man. Do you see?'

  Senya did not reply, so the Grey Crow pressed on. 'Our people have been at war for as long as even the elders can remember, and these two, Radok and… Mikilov? These two are just warriors in that great game; they have only ever done what was necessary in order to survive.'

  'My uncle was no warrior,' said Senya. 'He was just a farmer, killed in cold blood. Where was the survival in that?'

  'Not Radok's finest moment,' the woman agreed. 'But even he would admit as much. You had just killed his greatest friend… his mind was not in the best of places. He lost his self-control. You say vengeance brought you out here? Well that was his vengeance, and look where he is now.' The Grey Crow clicked her tongue. 'Vengeance is just a word, She-Wolf. It does nothing to fill the hole left by those we love.'

  'You're a killer yourself,' said Senya. 'All you people are. What do you know about anything?'

  'I know I loved a man once,' the woman answered. Surprised by the honesty in the voice, Mikilov let his hands fall away from his work and looked up at the two women. They were standing close to each other now, barely two feet apart.

  'His life was my whole world,' the woman went on. 'He put a baby inside my belly, and I have never felt so much love as I did in those few blissful months. I know too that my body struggled with the birth, and that the babe lacked the strength to survive those struggles. I know my man - the love of my life - blamed me for the child's death…'. Her voice broke for a moment, and she took a breath. 'I can still feel the blows to the head where he tried to smash in my skull. I buried an axe in his face to save my life, and for that the tribe ordered my death.

  'I know I'm alive today because of Radok. He was the only one who stood for me. Even when the elders called him off, he held his ground. Just as he held his ground when they came for the blind girl. Most would have rather seen her dead than lay that burden on the tribe, so Radok told them he would carry it himself. That's who the Wolfeater is, She-Wolf, so don't tell me he's just a killer.'

  'Aye, he's no monster,' put in Mikilov, pushing himself to his feet. 'No more than any man, at least. Thank the Hunt, there aren't that many monsters left in this world. Even this thing…' He grabbed the kragan's severed head by a tuft of fur and lifted it high. The black eyes stared back empty, the burned half of his face glistening with puss in the rising sun. 'There was no evil in him, no malice. He was just an animal doing what he was born to do, preying on the weak for survival.

  'We all of us must do what we can to survive, but sometimes we have to do what's right too. That's what separates us from the beasts and the animals.' Mikilov cast the head into the open chasm below them, listening to it bounce hollowly against the icy rocks below. 'We are with you, girl,' he told the Basillian. 'I gave my word that we would see the Blackstone together, and I'm nothing if not a man of my word. No harm will befall you or yours at our hands. Not even the Wolfeater.'

  Senya tried to protest, but Mikilov raised a hand to silence her. 'Give your word, Senya.'

  'But…'

  'Your word.'

  The girl's face reddened with anger, but Mikilov stared her down. At last, she lowered her face and sighed. 'No harm,' she promised. 'Not until the Blackstone.'

  Mikilov turned back to the Grey Crow. 'Satisfied?'

  'Enough.'

  'Good.' Mikilov gestured at the kragan's corpse. 'Then you two should get to work on that. There's still a long way to go before we reach the Blackstone and we'll need more supplies if we're going to make the return journey. No point letting good meat go to waste.'

  The two women looked at each other with a grimace of disgust. Whether it was the grim task they'd been set or the idea of working together, Mikilov didn't care.

  'I'm almost finished here,' he said, turning back to the fallen Scar. 'Once I'm done, we'll need to get moving again. The smell will bring more hunters down on us, even out here.'

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The White Waste
r />   They were called the Whitelands for good reason; vast, open tundra quilted in perpetual snow. Yet, once night had fallen and the clouds lay heavy overhead, the name could not have been further from the truth…

  Looking out into that black emptiness, back the way he had come, Talak smiled. He sat cross-legged in the snow, his hood drawn up against the northern wind, adjusting his fur coat so that it sat better on his shoulders. The Darklands, he thought absently. That's what they should have called it. Home to the Black Wind.

  Out in the distance, an orange spark lit up, its weak light flickering in the deep dark, and Talak breathed a little easier. For five nights now he had sat sleeplessly, watching the back trail for sign of the enemy. Each time he sighted their little fires it made him smile.

  The flames were a sign of weakness. Cutting as it was, Talak barely even felt the cold now. The Seven tried to force him back, of course, as they did anyone trying to reach the Blackstone, but the Eighth shielded him from the worst of it. He hadn't eaten for days, drank sparingly, and slept not at all. He should have been exhausted, hungry and parched, yet he had never felt stronger. It's the Black Wind, he thought. It nourishes the soul.

  He didn't move as he watched the fire flickering in the distance. That's how it had been these past five days. During the hours of daylight they marched into the endless white, and when the sun fell they made their camp, where they cowered from the eternal dark.

  They moved slowly, held back by the blind girl and the sickly Radok, but every step they took was forward. Talak had to give them credit for that. The Whitelands had broken far greater men than the strange band set against him.

  He pictured them in his mind's eye, bunched up around the fire, leaning towards the flames, trying their best to keep warm. There were seven of them in total, including the blind and the dying. Talak had counted them on that first day, dragging each other along in two groups.

  Talak had no idea who the two outsiders were, Valor by the look of it, but it was the Grey Crow in the lead group that held Talak's interest, including Radok and the girl. Of that five, the other three must have been all that remained of the hunting party that set out with him from the Heart's Fire. The two women were there, easily identified, and for the third Talak guessed at Talgar.

  That these three had joined forces with Radok was hardly surprising. They had been taught all their lives, by Talak himself even, that bending to the will of the Eighth was an abomination, and that anyone found walking with the Black Wind should be destroyed. That was why they had set out after Radok in the first place, for fear he served the Eighth.

  It was the slaughter of the Empty Faces that changed things. That was the moment Jian and her friends learned the truth, that Talak had turned from the Seven and sworn his loyalty to the Eighth. Stupid fool, Talak cursed himself. You showed them too much too soon. If only they knew the power the Black Wind had gifted me, perhaps then they'd understand…

  The union that followed was inevitable. In knowing Talak now served the Black Wind, it told the remaining Grey Crow that Radok's goal served the Will's purpose, and that made him special.

  But it was never about Radok, thought Talak, smiling. Any man can wield a sword, but it takes a special kind of gift to know the Will without ever touching the Blackstone. It's the girl that's special. Pulling his coat tighter to him, Talak shrank a little deeper into the furs, settling in for the long night ahead. It was always the girl. That's why she dies.

  ✽✽✽

  It was the strangest feeling.

  Out here in the frozen wilderness, disease coursing through him and enemies in his camp, Radok had never felt so close to death. Yet in that moment, with Nyana curled up against him on one side and Jian resting her head upon his shoulder on the other, he would not have chosen to be anywhere else.

  Talgar sat to Radok's right, Nyana nestled between them, his cloak draped over her along with Radok's. Tess sat to Radok's left, on the other side of Jian, her head resting on Jian's lap. And across from them all, still unsure of their new allies, even in the face of such bitter cold, the two Valor were huddled together, leaning in towards the flames.

  The fire itself was something of a miracle. Talgar had brought a supply of wood with him when they set out from the shelter of the Velgan forest, his bag near full to bursting. The rest of their supplies - the dried meats, the lentils and beans, the cooking pots - were divided among Radok, Tess and Jian. Now that they had joined forces, Radok even left his pots behind, to make room for sharing the load. The Valor brought nothing to the party when they joined, though everyone did take up a share of kragan meat, packed with snow to keep it fresh.

  Radok had thought the idea of fire a fool's hope, believing that the incessant snow and wind out on the open plains would make it nigh impossible for a flame to take. Yet the flame did take, and the fire roared away in the quiet night. 'It's the girl,' Tess had said. 'I don't know how, but for some reason the wind is different around her.'

  'It's the Will,' Talgar had offered, always the superstitious one. 'The Seven are with her.'

  'Then they're damned fools,' Radok had replied. 'If they're helping her, they're helping me; and if they knew what I had in mind for them, they'd have no part in it.'

  Radok fed a log into the flames and settled back once more. That would be the last this night, he decided. They'd agreed to ration the fuel as best they could, or else it would have been burned up the first night they spent out in the Great White. As it was, they used just enough to get them through the coldest hours between dusk and dawn.

  The girl, Tess, moaned something in her sleep and Radok glanced at her. Her head still lay on Jian's lap, Jian's gloved hand resting on her shoulder, holding her close. He wondered how long they had been together? Tess was already with the Fallow when Radok delivered Jian to the Far Eye. Did it start back then, in the early days? Were her babe and her man even cold yet?

  It was a callous thought, Radok knew, but jealousy was getting the better of him. He'd hardly taken his eyes from Jian since they'd fallen back in together. In much the same way he hadn't realised Nyana's worth, Radok had been oblivious to how badly he needed Jian in his life. They were everything to him, he realised now, in one way or another.

  'What are you thinking?'

  Surprised by the voice, Radok jerked his head slightly, his eyes meeting Jian's where she lay against his shoulder, staring up at him. She wore that half smile she sometimes carried, a knowing smile, with the flames of the fire dancing in her hazel eyes. She'd washed the war paint away, along with the white hair dye, and the softened look made her even more beautiful.

  'Stop staring,' she said, 'and tell me what you're thinking!'

  Radok shrugged. 'That it's a good match,' he lied. 'You and her.'

  Jian smiled. 'No cock. That's the secret.'

  'It's a waste,' said Radok, offering a wry smile of his own.

  Jian shrugged. 'It never would have worked between us, you know that don't you?'

  'Why not? I would have treated you right.'

  'No doubt,' said Jian. 'But you only wanted me because I was broken. It's the same reason you took on the girl. You're all strength, Radok, and you only want those who need you that way. But I could never stay broken. I needed to fly again, and you gave me the strength to carry on.'

  Radok considered her words carefully. There was some truth in there, he supposed. His strength was prodigious, and all his life it had dictated his purpose among the Grey Crow. Yet killing the enemies of his people had never been enough to satisfy the Wolfeater. He had always felt the need to fight for the plucky unfortunates too, the likes of Nyana and Jian. The thought that it was those battles, fought for the individual, and not the wars waged among the tribes or against the Valor, that defined him had never even occurred to Radok.

  'You're wrong,' he said at last. 'It's not the broken that win my heart. It's those who continue to fly even when their wings are clipped. That's Nyana. And it's you.'

  As Jian struggled to fin
d the words to reply, Radok eased himself from between her and Nyana and pushed himself to his feet. 'I need to go piss,' he said, suddenly embarrassed by the honesty he had shared.

  Stumbling away from the warm circle of light offered by the fire, Radok found himself staring off into the darkness of the south, pissing with the wind. The snow was light still. Soft flakes drifted down gently from the heavens, though their swirling dance picked up pace further away from the fire - further away from Nyana. Even as that thought ran through his mind, Radok felt the sensation of being watched.

  He waited for the flow to end, then shook himself off and tucked it away. Finally, he turned slowly north, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon. He walked slowly around the fire, freeing himself of the glare, and stared out into the night. He could see nothing through the darkness, and the only sounds to be heard were those of the crackling fire and the soft breathing of his comrades. Nothing.

  'It's this friend of yours,' a gravelly voice whispered near his ear. 'This Talak?'

  'Damn, wolf,' muttered Radok, casting a glance at Mikilov standing beside him. 'You move like a ghost.'

  'Only when I need to.'

  Radok nodded. 'You can feel it too?'

  'Aye. He's watching us. Scar would have dealt with him by now… if he was here. Who is he?'

  Radok mulled the question over. Who is he? Not a friend, that was for sure. But a man to be respected. Radok had always favoured Ilgor when it came to council from the Will, but the tribe preferred the talents of Talak. While Ilgor, the Ashan Tai, appeared fair and wise in his dealings, the Ashan Tay, Talak, was far more rigid and strict in his beliefs. That made him the natural choice for the elders.

  'Do you have those who preach the message of your gods among the wolves?'

  'Priests?' Mikilov raised one bushy, grey brow. 'Not for a long time. Hard to keep faith when every day is a struggle.'

  Radok grunted. He'd never lost faith in the Seven, only his desire to serve the Will. But he could understand why a people might turn from the gods they once worshipped, especially when dark day followed dark day. 'A priest,' he muttered. 'Aye, that's Talak. A warrior priest.'