Wolfeater

by Anthony Mitchell

  In her mind's eye, she pictured Radok's face floating before her, dark and handsome and sharp-edged. The man had worn the mantle of husband and father without even knowing it, never expecting a thing in return. That was a rare gift among the men of the Grey Crow, who usually took whatever they wanted.

  Jian sighed. In another life, Radok had said, I would have made you my woman. A part of her wished that he had. She loved Tess with all her heart, but Jian had always favoured a man's touch. Now she would always wonder what could have been…

  'We have to burn him.'

  Turning back at the sound of the voice, Jian found Nyana standing tall beside the body. The girl had wiped away her tears and Jian noted a remarkable change. The quiet, timid girl who had travelled with them since their encounter with the kragan had suddenly blossomed into something else since touching the Blackstone. There was an air of confidence about her now, a certainty not just to who she was, but to what she was doing. And why not, thought Jian? She is Ashan Tay.

  Those were four words that had never belonged together before today - nor ever would, Jian had thought. Perhaps Radok was right; perhaps the girl would change the world.

  'There's no fuel,' Mikilov told her. 'And much as I respected the man, I don't fancy carrying him down a mountainside.'

  'We could throw him down,' said the She-Wolf, who had made no effort to hide her disdain for Radok. 'He's just meat and bones now.'

  'We burn our dead,' said Nyana, fixing Senya with her unseeing eyes. 'And if you throw him down, you throw me down.'

  'No one's throwing anyone,' said Mikilov, stepping between the scowling pair. 'We'll burn him, if that's what you want. But I still don't know how.'

  Nyana smiled suddenly, visibly relaxing. 'Ask, and the Ashan Daru shall provide.'

  Jian flinched as a bag of twigs and branches landed in the snow beside her. She turned in time to see a hand join it at the top of the cliff, followed by an arm, and then the hooded head of the Ashan Daru. Stepping over, she helped the holy man up the rest of the way and hauled him to his feet.

  He stood for a moment, hands on hips, breathing heavily. He'd at least dressed this time, wearing a heavy, fur-lined jacket and pants. He smiled at Nyana, offering a little bow of the head. 'Congratulations, Ashan Tay. You have found your place in the All Song.'

  'Did he have to die?' she asked.

  'We all must die someday, just as we must make the most of life while it lasts. That is the balance. Something the Seven have always appreciated more than the Eighth.'

  Nyana nodded. 'That is the Will.'

  'Then we burn him?' asked Jian. She could barely look at Radok's body now, without the grief overwhelming her. The disease had left him a shell of the man he once was; an empty, shrivelled husk. The sooner it was done, the better.

  'You'll need more wood than that,' put in Mikilov.

  The Ashan Daru flashed him a wicked grin and winked. Picking up the bundle of kindling and fuel, he found a length of rope tied around it and traced it back to the cliff top, where it disappeared over the edge. There, he began to reel the rope in. After a few moments he drew up a second bag of fuel, then a third, and a fourth, the branches and twigs giving way to larger cuttings and small logs.

  'What about Talgar?' asked Tess. She was standing off to one side, pulling her fur coat tight about her. 'We should burn him too, it's only right.'

  'Don't worry about him,' said the Ashan Daru, and Jian thought she saw a twinkle in his eye. 'He's taken care of. Now, who will help me build a pyre?'

  Jian was the first to step forward, eager to see it done, but there was none among them who refused to help. Not even the She-Wolf.

  ✽✽✽

  'You were right.'

  Mikilov raised an eyebrow in Senya's direction. They stood away from the others, watching the small pyre burn. The flames roared up in the wild wind, flaring violently as they licked and danced around the corpse in the centre. It was quite a sight under the darkening sky, and the smell of burning flesh was sickly sweet.

  'Right about what?' asked Mikilov.

  'About this,' she said, nodding at the fire. 'It's not what I thought it would be.'

  'And what did you think it would be?'

  'I thought there would be some satisfaction in seeing him dead, for what he did to Velimir. But this? I just feel empty.'

  Mikilov took a moment before replying. 'It always tears a hole in us, losing someone we love. There's never been a death can cure that ill, no matter who they are.'

  Senya looked unsure. 'Perhaps I needed to kill him myself?'

  'Or perhaps his death showed you a side of him you weren't prepared for? More than just the monster, the Wolfeater, you saw the man, Radok. A man who gave his life so that we might live.'

  Senya grunted. 'He gave his life for the girl. I doubt he gave two shits about the rest of us.'

  'Even so,' said Mikilov, 'he showed his worth.'

  He could see the girl wanted to argue further, to reclaim some of the hatred that had slipped from her heart, but she could find nothing to back it up with. 'He died well,' she admitted after a moment.

  'He did. Better than most I've known.'

  'What will you do now?'

  The question came from one of the Basillian women, striding across the mountaintop toward them. It was the younger one, Tess. Mikilov noted that her bow was strung across her shoulder, but a hand rested on the dagger hilt at her waist. He had been waiting for this moment; when the task at hand was done and the old rivalries returned. Looking beyond the woman, he could see that the others remained close to the pyre, watching Radok's remains turn to ash. The youngster's silhouette stood in the centre of the flames, flanked by Jian and the strange priest.

  'Don't worry about them,' said Tess. 'This is sacred ground. No more blood will be spilt on our part. I just want to know your part.'

  'We go home,' answered Mikilov. 'Or at least what's left of it for the both of us.'

  The woman nodded. 'It's changed for all of us, I suppose.'

  'What will you do?' asked Senya.

  Tess looked back towards the fire. 'The girl is Ashan Tay now, which means she serves the Will. She'll go wherever it takes her, for the good of the Grey Crow.'

  'And Jian?' asked Mikilov.

  'Radok's dying wish was for her to protect the girl. That's what she'll do, for as long as she lives.' Tess smiled fondly. 'And I'll be there to protect her. That's what we do for those we love.'

  There was a flash of anger in Senya's eyes at that, and Mikilov groaned. 'Sometimes we can't protect them,' she said softly, though her words carried a hard edge. 'Sometimes vengeance is all we have.'

  Tess smiled. 'I like you, She-Wolf. Perhaps we'll meet again, if the Will commands it.'

  'You'll know where to find me,' said Senya. 'And I'll be waiting with cold steel.'

  Epilogue

  Fire burned atop the Käda for the first time since the Forging Days, when the Blackstone was born. The flames lit up the sky over the barren wilderness of the Whitelands like a burning star, its fiery light seen for a thousand leagues in all directions.

  That was the mark of Radok the Wolfeater.

  In his wake, he left behind Nyana the Blindcrow, the first female to touch the Blackstone and to be blessed with the calling of Ashan Tay. On her tiny shoulders rests the fate of all Basillian tribes, not just the Grey Crow, for she alone has seen the face of the true enemy.

  Yet she does not carry this weight alone. With her goes Jian the Breaker and Tess the Bone Arrow, who will guard her life with their own.

  Their work done, Mikilov and Senya return to their own people, knowing that their journey to the Whitelands has changed them forever. The loss of Scar leaves Mikilov a broken man, but he may find his fate more entwined with the Grey Crow than he realises. Senya, meanwhile, must decide which song of the Wolfeater she keeps in her heart: the man, or the monster? Her decision could shape the future of the Valor in ways her father never dreamed.

  … and thes
e stories shall also be told.

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  My grateful thanks to the First Reader, Jenni Mitchell, for encouraging me to walk the White Waste.

  To Dyrk Ashton, for the enthusiasm and sage advice in the early days, as well as the regular reminder that the Godsbane have unfinished business.

  To the cover artist, Félix Ortiz, and designer, Shawn King, for making it look so good.

  And to my editor, Jonathan Oliver, for helping it all make sense.

  About The Author

  UK fantasy writer Anthony Mitchell is the author of several stories set in the world of Domanska.

  He lives on the Wirral with his wife, Jen,

  daughter, Penny, and their dog, the mighty Thor.

  By day he works in IT, but by night he can be found in a world of swords and sandals, working towards his next novel.

  You can find out more about both him and the world of Domanska at his websites:

  www.StoriesFromTheCave.com

  www.AnthonyMitchellAuthor.com

  You can also connect with the author on:

  https://twitter.com/oldmanmitchell

  https://www.facebook.com/storiesfromthecave

  https://www.instagram.com/storiesfromthecave

  Books By This Author

  The Ember Child

  In a world where gods hold dominion over the lives of mortals, two men have the strength of will to forge their own destiny.

  The first is Halasan; the determined, sixteen-year-old heir to a fallen kingdom. Believed to be the Ember Child spoken of in prophecy, he has spent his life in hiding, training for the day he can return home and reclaim his father’s throne.

  Set against him is Coren, the Lucian Emperor, who once forged the greatest empire the world has ever seen and now spends his days trying to hold the fragile union together. He dreams of a world united in peace and prosperity, but Halasan's existence presents a danger to that ambition. The boy’s claim will mean war unless Coren can stop his rebellion before it takes hold.

  Thus begins the race for the city of Danara, where one man hopes to free a nation, the other to save an empire. Only one can succeed, but not even the gods can say who it will be.

  For these men are the Godsbane, and their actions will shape the course of history as gods can only dream.