Wolfeater

by Anthony Mitchell

  As Radok spat the last word out, Talak sensed a movement in the air around him. If he'd lingered a moment longer, Talak knew it would have been the end of him. As it was, he brushed aside Radok's last hammering blow, spun to the Wolfeater's side, and slashed his own sword across the Wolfeater's sword arm. Cutting through flesh, muscle and sinew, Talak watched as Radok's sword spun from his arm and clattered into the snow at his feet. Still following the guiding hand, Talak pirouetted behind Radok and slashed his blade across the back of the man's right knee.

  The Wolfeater fell to his knees, his eyes wide with horror. His friends cried out in dismay, but their voices were lost to the fury of the Seven. Talak's smile was so wide it felt like it might split his face. He had never felt so glorious, so at one with the greater power of the Eighth.

  Stepping around to stand before Radok, he tilted the man's face up with the tip of his sword. They looked into each other's eyes. There was no fear there, much to Talak's annoyance. Perhaps the Wolfeater was ready to die after all?

  Well, let's not disappoint him.

  Talak drove his sword through the Wolfeater's chest and leaned in close, driving the blade ever deeper and getting close enough to watch the life fade from those dark eyes.

  Then the unthinkable happened. Radok smiled. The expression unnerved Talak, who let out a yelp when Radok grabbed him by the wrists. The Wolfeater's iron grip crushed down on Talak's bones, sending a wave of agony up the shaman's arms. Radok pulled himself up to his feet using Talak as a crutch, grimacing as the action drew the blade even deeper into his chest.

  Talak realised his mistake then, as Radok straightened to his full height. The Wolfeater had not shrunken away so much; he still towered over Talak, was still as strong as ever. And now there would be no dancing away from him, no escape from this trap…

  The wind blasted them as they wrestled with each other, and for a brief, flickering moment Talak felt a swell of hope. It was the Eighth, trying to tear him free.

  But the Seven were there too, of course, and they threw their weight behind the Wolfeater. Radok's grip held tight.

  'You should have known,' he hissed through bloodstained teeth, 'not even the Eighth can kill a dead man.'

  Without warning, Radok released Talak's wrists and switched his grip to the shaman's head, where he locked on with an equally crushing force. Talak screamed as Radok forced his thumbs into his eye sockets. The shaman's vision blurred at first, then turned slowly to darkness, as the soft organs were pushed back into his skull. The pressure proved too much and Talak's eyes burst with two wet pops. The sound was like thunder inside Talak's head and his agonising scream turned into something more primal.

  The sound did not last long. It was cut short when the Wolfeater smashed his forehead into Talak's face, shattering nose and cheekbones. Talak sagged backwards. He should have fallen, but instead he felt like he was floating.

  Was that a hand at his throat? At his crotch? Lifting him? There was no way of knowing for sure, not in the sea of pain in which Talak found himself drowning. He tried to open his eyes, but there was only darkness waiting for him. Was this what it was like for the girl, he wondered distantly? A world of eternal darkness, with nothing to cling to but the memory of light? Did she feel the same pain?

  They should have killed her, he thought absently. Better that, than a life of this.

  And then he was falling. In his mind's eye, he saw Radok hurling him out over the crevice, and then the wind was rushing through his hair as he plummeted to the rocks below. It was not the Seven or the Eighth he found, but the dead, empty wind of speed. That was when he knew it was over.

  The Eighth had promised him death by fire, but the only fire was the one of pain raging in his head. That would soon be over at least. And then his bones would rot away alongside those others rejected by the All Song. It was a bitter end, for one who had given his life to service.

  Before he could dwell upon it any further, Talak's body hit the rocks at the foot of the Blackstone's high perch.

  He hit them hard.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Answer

  Senya let out a breathless sigh as the Wolfeater hefted the wiry shaman into the air and launched him into the abyss waiting below the Blackstone; all with the shaman's sword still buried in his chest.

  The fight had been majestic at first, with the skills of both swordsmen clear to see. Even unhealthy as he was, Radok's attacks were dizzying and ferocious, as though everything Senya had seen before was just the quiet before the storm. Yet the priest proved to be a match for all of it, always seeming one step ahead, until, finally, he cut Radok down and drove his sword into the man's chest. Senya almost felt exultant at that, as though it were her own blade jutting from the Wolfeater's torso.

  That should have been the end of it. Radok, consumed by disease and driven through with a sword, should have bowed his head and died. But he didn't. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet and ended Talak more savagely than any of them could have imagined. Senya shuddered at the memory of it: the sight of Radok's thumbs disappearing into Talak's skull, and the priest's screams as his eyes popped. Senya would hear those screams until the day she died.

  Now, Radok lingered at the precipice for a moment, gazing down at Talak's broken body far below. Then he staggered back from the edge and collapsed. The Basillians rushed to his side, the young girl throwing herself upon him, tears flowing from her broken eyes. That's a blessing, thought Senya. She wouldn't want to see him like this. Radok had been pale and withered before Talak's sword found its home, now he looked every inch as dead as his opponent.

  'You… have to… stand,' Nyana told him through broken sobs. 'The Blackstone… it's right there.'

  Radok smiled, blood at his lips. 'Let me catch my breath, Little Sparrow. You go first, eh?'

  'No,' the girl said with cold certainty. 'It has to be you first. You can't come this far and stop.'

  Radok stroked her cheek affectionately. His thumb, which still glistened red with the pulp from Talak's eyes, left a streak of blood as he wiped away a tear.

  'Don't cry, Little Sparrow,' he soothed, holding her to him. His voice remained strong, despite it all. 'I understand now. The Seven gave you nothing when they brought you screaming into this world. They gave you nothing… and then they took your folks, and your eyes, and everything else you ever valued. They chewed you up and spat you out… and still you found the strength to crawl. You have never once questioned the Will, nor doubted your part in the All Song. You're a better person than I am, Nyana Little Sparrow, and I'm proud of you, girl. More proud than you'll ever know.'

  Jian dropped to her knees at Radok's side. She was crying too, Senya saw, as was Tess, who stood beside her. Only Mikilov watched the scene through clear eyes, though even he wore the expression of a man bearing witness to the passing of greatness.

  Senya punched him in the arm as she stepped up beside him. 'What's wrong with you?' she hissed, keeping her voice low. 'This is why we're here, isn't it? We've hunted this man to the ends of the earth, and now his time is done. It's a moment to savour not lament; to celebrate not mourn!'

  'Do you truly believe that?' Mikilov's own voice was little more than a whisper. 'Even now, after the things we've seen and heard, you think he's nothing more than the enemy?'

  Senya looked down at the dying man. Jian was getting ready to pull the sword from his chest, but Radok reached out and stayed her hands. He gave a shake of the head. It's over, that gesture said. Leave it be.

  Senya shook her head, driving the pity away. 'What else can he be?' she asked. 'He killed Velimir, just like he killed so many others. What else can he be?'

  Mikilov shrugged. 'Just a man doing the best he can with the life he was given. You know he was a boy when the Basillians found him? Can you imagine that? Can you imagine losing everything you ever loved and being washed up on the shore of some strange world? Can you imagine your skin being a different colour to everyone else, marking you as an outsider e
very single time they look at you? Can you imagine fighting for those people, knowing at least a small part of them hates you? Can you imagine rising up through their ranks anyway, gaining their respect and admiration? And can you imagine, after all that, that their gods reward you with a terrible wasting disease?'

  Mikilov nodded his head at the dying man. 'That's been his life, girl. At any point he could have rolled over and died, but instead he fought tooth and nail to be here. He crossed the Whitelands and climbed this bloody mountain for a chance to speak to his gods. And now that he's here, at the very end of that journey, disease ridden and weak, he has given his life for his little girl. Basillian or not, you tell me that's not a man worthy of the Great Hunt.'

  Senya couldn't, and the dawning of that truth broke her heart. If she hadn't been there that day, all those moons ago, it was more than likely Radok and Velimir would have shared a hot drink and made a trade. But she was there, and first Velimir and now Radok were dead, and the world would be a darker place without them. 'I wish I could…' she heard herself whisper.

  Radok grabbed Nyana by the shoulders, and eased her away from him, gazing into her eyes. 'Will you do me one favour, while you're out there?'

  'Anything,' she said, her eyes shining with tears.

  Radok produced a leather satchel from the folds of his fur coat and handed it to the girl. 'Cast Jorn's ashes to the Seven. Set him free. Send him back to the All Song.'

  The girl almost broke again, but Radok held to her shoulder. 'I was there at your beginning, Little Sparrow. Fitting, you should be here at my end. Go now. Let me see you have your moment.'

  The girl touched his hand and kissed his cheek. 'I love you, Papa.'

  Senya closed her eyes. She felt tears flowing down her cheeks as she remembered another young girl saying the same thing to her father.

  'I love you too,' she heard Radok say. 'Now go. Test your mettle against the Will. Walk the ridge and touch the stone, and you will find your place in the All Song.'

  This last was spoken from memory, no doubt the same thing they were all told when they came to this insane place, but it was spoken with such sincerity it felt unique.

  By the time Senya opened her eyes again, Nyana was already crossing the narrow ridge of rock leading to the Blackstone. The wind battered at her tiny frame from all sides, threatening to spill her to the distant rocks below, but she strode on regardless, somehow keeping her balance. Senya felt sick watching her go, knowing it was only a matter of time before the girl fell, yet she could not tear her eyes away.

  'That's my sparrow.' Radok's voice was laboured now, but he was smiling as he spoke, watching Nyana's progress. 'I knew she could fly.'

  ✽✽✽

  It had taken Radok two hours to cross the ridge when he was a boy. Two hours, and three fallen friends. Nyana had only heard the story once, but she could remember it in vivid detail, as though she'd been there herself.

  The ridge was no more than twenty strides long, Radok had said, but with the wind cutting across in both directions, carrying the whispers of the Seven and the Eighth, it may as well have been twenty miles.

  You take your time with every step, he told her. One slip and it's over.

  Back then Radok could see it, of course, just as he'd seen three of his companions lose their balance and fall to the rocks far below. Nyana did not live with the same fear. She saw nothing, save for the painting conjured in her mind's eye by the whisperings of the Will. The voices were gargled and distorted even this close to the source, perhaps especially this close to the source, with the sheer force and volume of the wind that came rushing from the Cave of Voices. The Seven and the Eighth were there, dancing around the Blackstone and sweeping back and forth across the narrow ridge, before crashing against Nyana at the other end and washing over her.

  Taking a deep breath, Nyana focused her mind. She strained her ears to pick out only those voices sharing the same words. Those voices belonged to the Seven, and their combined urgings gave form to the Will. Nyana listened, and obeyed.

  She stepped forward confidently, untroubled by the uneven rock that formed the ridge. In Radok's story, the boy he'd been had taken his time. With the wind howling in his face, violent gusts trying to sweep him from the ridge, he'd had to pick his footholds carefully. Nyana had no such concerns. She walked on almost carelessly, confident that every step she took would find its mark. The wind pulled and tugged at her of course, but for every swipe of the Black Wind, Nyana felt the Seven balance her out. She would sway heavily to one side, then catch herself and straighten, her next step carrying her forward.

  Radok had spoken of how the ridge had been slick with ice, how chunks of the rock would break away beneath him and fall into the chasm below. But Nyana found none of that. She found only solid ground beneath every step, somehow avoiding ice like a mountain goat. The truth was clear enough. This is the Will.

  Without thinking, she took out the bag Radok had given her and loosened the leather thong. She held the bag over her head and shook out the contents, staring up as grey powder filled the air over her, swept in every direction by the torrent of wind. So went Jorn Redclaw, cast back to the All Song as Radok had promised. Nyana let the bag fall and pressed on.

  What took Radok two hours took Nyana less than a minute. She knew she was standing in the shadow of the Blackstone when she could no longer feel the wind licking at her chapped lips and numbed face, when her useless eyes blinked the snow away and could feel again, in that strange unseeing way of theirs.

  It was still there, the wind, roaring over and around the Blackstone as it flowed into the world from the Cave of Voices, but the stone sheltered Nyana from its wild wrath.

  Calmly, as though she had not been waiting for this moment her entire life, Nyana pulled the glove from her right hand, reached out slowly, and pressed her palm to the Blackstone.

  The stone was as smooth as glass to touch, but Nyana could feel veins running along the surface like thin strands of hair. It was warm too, as Radok had said it was. She smiled then. He would be bursting with pride watching her touch the stone. It seemed somehow fitting that it should be the last thing he ever saw.

  With that thought, and with the Blackstone working its magic, Nyana's world changed forever.

  ✽✽✽

  Radok's heart swelled with pride as he watched her touch the Blackstone.

  He would have died a thousand deaths to see her live that moment; to see her stand where no woman had stood before; to see her stand there longer than any man before her; to see her become one with the Will.

  'This is it,' he said, his cracked voice barely a whisper.

  'What's that?' Jian was only half listening. She was too busy watching the girl; they were all watching the girl.

  'This was my purpose,' Radok said with a smile. His vision began to blur, but he could still see her standing across the chasm from them, her hand pressed to the stone as all the might of the Seven and the Eighth swirled around her. 'This,' he said. 'Her.'

  Jian took hold of his hand and squeezed it tightly, but Radok barely felt it. He barely felt anything now. Perhaps that was a sign the end was close, or perhaps the pain was just dulled by the euphoric joy of watching Nyana defy the expectations and wishes of all those wizened men who thought themselves above her.

  My Little Sparrow has surpassed you all, he thought joyously. And this is just the start of her journey…

  He felt a hand shaking him by the shoulder and realised he had closed his eyes. Forcing them open, he found Jian leaning closer to him, all her attention on him now. 'Not yet, Wolfeater. She's on her way back. It's your turn to touch the stone.'

  Looking past the woman, Radok tried to catch a glimpse of the girl, but his eyesight was too far gone and the world was fading to black. 'Not for me,' he breathed out. 'I don't need them anymore. I have my answer.'

  'You rest then,' she said, and there were tears in her eyes. She bent forward and kissed his brow. 'Thank you, Radok. You're the best man I ev
er knew, and I owe you more than just my life.'

  'You don't owe me a damned thing,' he told her, returning the squeeze of the hand. She'd barely feel it too, he knew, but it was important he tried. 'It was an honour to know you, Jian. In another life, I would have made you my woman.'

  She smiled, the kind that melted hearts. 'In another life, I would have let you.'

  'Will you look to Nyana for me? She's something new now and the tribe won't know what to do with her. None of them will. But she can change the world.'

  'I'll keep her safe, I promise you that.'

  That was good. Radok closed his eyes again. There was peace in the darkness. Peace, and no pain.

  He thought he heard the girl's voice as he drifted deeper and deeper into the darkness. He smiled. There was never a sweeter sound than that.

  Through all the years of blood and death, she had been there waiting for him, ready to welcome him back from the darkness, with an easy smile and a ready laugh. He had been her hero, and she had been his.

  It was just a shame that it was only now, with his part in the All Song fading away, that he realised the truth of it. The Seven had given him the greatest gift they could and Radok had never realised it. He sighed sadly. At least that voice would be the last thing he ever heard…

  Farewell… Little Sparrow.

  ✽✽✽

  Radok was dead by the time Nyana got back to him. Jian watched his eyes slide closed for the last time, his last ragged breath smoking slowly from his mouth. And then Nyana was on him, arms flung around him, sobbing against his stilled chest.

  It was too much for Jian to take. She pulled her hand from Radok's death grip and pushed herself to her feet. Tess moved in to comfort her, but Jian pushed her away. She loved Tess, she truly did, but there was something special with Radok… and it was gone now.

  'I just need a moment,' she heard herself say, as she staggered away from the group, her thoughts a whirlwind. Eventually, she found herself at the edge of the cliff they had climbed earlier, looking out over the Whitelands far below.