Call of the Wolf (The Kohrinju Tai Saga)

by Nelson, J P

  When Jared and I had been working for just over eight years we received an unexpected addition. Hamges was brought in with thirteen other slaves as replacements.

  The bully who had thought to take an easy way out was now just another gelding to be put on line. No one felt sorry for him. He hadn’t been raped and forced, as was Stagus’s preferred method. Hamges had volunteered for his duty. Now that he had passed from his master’s fetish age he had been cast aside.

  Stagus had made an appearance and took the time to look me over. Clearly he was looking to see if I were ready for his pleasure.

  All the rage and hostility came back up inside my being as I saw his eyes glance at my body.

  There was a cruel amusement about Stagus “Damn, boy. You know what it is all about don’t ‘cha?”

  He looked directly into my eyes and I know he saw the fire. But he wasn’t afraid. He was pleased. With a satisfied nod he said “You will be sweet meat to my plate, Sedrick, but not yet. Never pick an apple until it is ripe enough to eat. Sour apples give you a stomach ache.

  “Another four or five years, I think.” He said rubbing his jaw in thought. “Then … then … why, you might even like it. Your mammy did.”

  I bolted at him in retaliation, and played right into his game. His hands moved faster than they had any right to move and his left fist hit me in the face like a sledgehammer. Stopped dead in my tracks and stunned he followed up with a left jab to the face, again, and then a right cross to the jaw. It was totally unexpected and dropped me to the ground.

  He stepped back warily and circled me. Stunned, I got up to meet him.

  I had no real training, no defined skills. There was only the fire within. Blood was in my mouth and my breathing came hard. My nose was broken and pouring blood, it was already hard to see out of my eyes. He knew just how to fight and was good.

  My anger was controlling my actions as I only wanted to destroy this piece of filth. Knowing nothing of how to feint or counter and with a raging roar I charged him again. I could see the welcome grin on his face as this was what he wanted. Desperately I wanted to crush the insolence from his life.

  As I closed to tackle him his right knee came up hard into my chest and then he clubbed me solidly in the kidney. Grabbing my hair he pulled back and down, yanking me hard onto my back and I felt the wind leave me with a violent rush. He followed up with a stomp into my solar plexus and as my knees came up in reflex he rolled me over and kicked me in the kidneys twice.

  I was beaten but didn’t know it. Only my rage existed and I staggered to my feet.

  From the guards I heard all manner of exclamations. In my blurred vision I noticed that Stagus had turned to walk off. I tried to get to him but my feet wouldn’t respond. He turned and I saw a look of amazement on his face. With an astonished shake of his head he looked around at the guards and said, “What is this? Doesn’t he know he’s beat?”

  Then Stagus walked toward me and I swung at him. He easily side stepped and I swung again. He then began to slap me over and over. I could feel him using all his strength to try to slap me down. But with each blow I refused to lose my footing.

  He was yelling at me then, with each slap he yelled for me to accept him as master and go down. The whole world was quiet when finally the sledgehammer fists came again. He clubbed me hard in the head three of four times and the world went black.

  When I awakened I was still on the ground. Stagus had left orders for me to stay there as a testament to everyone else. No one was to touch me. I remember fumbling to find my way to the water barrel. I kept trying to stand but my legs wouldn’t cooperate, so I stumbled, fell and crawled.

  Splashing my head with the cool water was relieving. Then I slid down the barrel and rested with my back up against it. Both of my eyes were swollen almost shut and my body was one constant source of dull pain.

  Nothing but my nose seemed to be broken, which was yet another sign of Stagus’s skill. Apparently he was expert in battery, which lent an indication of how he liked to work his play boys.

  As I sat beside the barrel I tried to focus on breathing like Sym had taught me. Slowly I found my center. Then I reached down, down deep into So’Yeth like a young tree extending its roots. As I relaxed I imagined inhaling from So’Yeth into my body. It took a few minutes, but I felt something gentle and warm wash up into me. The warmth flowed into my abdomen, and then it reached throughout my body and reminded me of my momma’s gentle fingers.

  I had to breathe through my mouth because of my busted nose, but my breathing became easier and the pressure inside my head began to ease. Unlike before, when I had done the thing with Jared’s leg, this time I didn’t stop. I kept trying to reach deeper and find more of this warmth. Suddenly I felt a strong pressure behind my nose, and then it crackled and popped back into place. Whoa! I sneezed four times and blood mingled with sinus mess emptied from my head. Gross, but strangely my headache was gone and I could breathe perfectly.

  Now that was interesting!

  As I became more intense the flow of heat seemed to stop. Great, it was just enough to curb the edges; okay, maybe more than just the edges, but how to make it heal everything? As I opened my eyes I noticed that my lids weren’t swollen shut. And my lips, they weren’t busted open any more. Nor were my teeth jiggling. This was something I would have to learn to control and develop. And I couldn’t tell anyone about it, ever. Well … maybe Jared.

  It was dark when I finally made it into the shack. I knew everyone was watching me and you could tell most didn’t expect me to get up like I did. A couple of the guards looked at me like I was crazy, others were simply in awe.

  In the shack, Jared was clearly worried. As soon as I stumbled in, he and another fellow called Bug helped me to a woven, cloth-backed chair.

  “Cherron’s Beard, Sed … I thought he killed you,” Jared exclaimed.

  “Next time, stay down,” another fellow offered. That was Geoff, an obnoxious human who had been around a couple of years.

  A new voice, someone I didn’t know and had just been brought in said, “You fight like shit.”

  To that I heard Jared’s ire get raised, “Back off, Dharl. Back off and shut up.” Jared didn’t anger very easily and never panicked. But this fellow seemed to already be under his skin. Not a good idea, whatever Jared grabbed a’hold of usually moved. And in this camp the slaves needed to trust each other, or else they didn’t last. What’s more, with Sym’s departure, Jared had become the Lead Bull of the camp, and he did it without any bloodshed.

  A man named Coak had declared himself the new Bull, to which Jared immediately said, “I don’t think so.” To which Coak threw a sucker punch, to which Jared caught the fist in his hand and squeezed. Coak dropped to the ground with a scream of pain.

  In a congenially polite way, Jared asked him, “Do you concede?”

  Guards instantly were there, after all, if Coak’s wrist was broken it would cause for a liability.

  “Yes-yes-yes!” Coak wailed. Jared let him go and stepped back and looking around asking with hands outstretched, “Any others?”

  The whole situation caught everyone by surprise, me in particular, and it was breakfast time.

  Another chaingo took a run on Jared’s back, and Jared just turned and dipping low, caught the want-to-be-bull by the torso and crotch, then lifted him up and over and into a water trough which shattered on impact. A third contender grabbed at Jared who quickly reversed positions and wrapped the man in a full-nelson, and then stepped his foot around the locked-up man and in front of his feet. Jared bore down hard as the man yelled mercy, all the while watching around the circle of slaves and guards. Finally Jared just let go and the man crumpled.

  No one had been injured, let alone killed. Jared looked around with his hands out again and asked, “Can we go eat now?”

  As simple as that, Jared became Lead Bull. I just shook my head, and then he realized what he had done. It wasn’t that he wanted the position; he just wasn’t go
ing to let a rapist and murderer become number one, as in the case with Coak. Personally, I thought it suited him well.

  In a deferred tone, Dharl responded to Jared, “I was just sayin’ that if he’s goin’ to fight he needs to learn how, damn.”

  Jared cleaned off the blood and good ol’ Ghyd brought a cup over and handed it to me, “Heh you doh. Drink dis. It be dood foh you.”

  I took the cup and it was a tonic filled with herbs and such that he collected. Ghyd knew a lot about herbs and I sometimes would talk with him about farming and plants. It seemed he had an herbal solution for everything. The mix was bitter, but I drank it because I knew it could only help.

  They got me in bed and I just slept.

  The next morning Jared was paired with Dharl and I was put to peeling potatoes. I wondered if I had been relegated to menial chores when the cook said, “You need to keep them hands up. And don’t fight with your rage. You’re letting it control you.”

  I just looked at him with my glare.

  “Hey …” he put his hands up into the air, “just makin’ a comment.” He nodded at the basket of spuds. “But if you ain’t a’goin’ to stay down, you need to learn yourself what to do.” There was something of a grin on his face as he started slicing onions with fast, gliding movements of his knife.

  Ames had been cook for as long as I had been there. No one seemed to know if he was a slave or hired help. But he cooked some good table fixings. He was always clean, medium build, and around fifty or fifty-five. When we were attacked one time, I saw him throw a meat cleaver forty-five feet into a brigand’s forehead then turn and throw a butcher knife into another one’s chest.

  I had the reputation as being standoffish with little to say to anyone. There were only a few I would talk with and for the most part minded my own business. More than occasionally I heard the reference to ‘that slink’ or ‘the slink.’ Jared, of course, Ghyd, Bug, and a couple of others I would speak with. But I really needed to keep my hatred of humans intact. It was all I had to live for.

  You would probably call me a racist. I hated humans, but if any elves had been around I would have hated them too.

  Ames, however, had always been friendly to everyone, guard and slave alike. His was the first important voice we heard in the morning and he made it a good one. As friendly as he was, though, he never talked personally-like about himself. That was fair, a lot of us didn’t, especially me.

  The words that started to come out of my mouth I held back. Looking at Ames I could tell he wasn’t being obnoxious. So I held my anger in check and tried to politely ask, “What’s it to you? Why do you care? I mean, really?”

  By his face it was clear the questions amused him, “Because, Sed, regardless of who is what … I like to see it fair and even. And because I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Stagus before.”

  “Oh?” I watched the way he flipped his blade to make short work of the vegetables.

  He saw my glance and slowed his movements down real slow. Then without saying a word to indicate it, he showed me how to do what he was doing. I studied his motions carefully. He was an artist with his blade and every motion was done with his wrist. I was amazed at how much wrist work was actually involved. Up until then I thought cutting vegetables was a matter of hacking and slicing. Momma and I weren’t allowed to have a real knife, we used pieces of wood she hardened with fire.

  “If you beat a man’s mind, you beat the man. It’s the first rule of combat. The second is that you don’t let your emotions control you, you control your emotions.

  “I heard what he said about your momma. I don’t know your story and it ain’t none of my business. But he knew what to say and he said it for a reason. You fell for it and he tore your house down.”

  I kept peeling those potatoes, but I was trying to imitate his motions. As he spoke I kept stone faced, but attentive.

  “He whipped you, but you don’t have to like it. And it don’t mean he has to do it again, although he might. He might whip you a couple of times. Just you take time to learn from your mistakes. He won’t show it, but you done got into his head.”

  “But …” I started to ask him a question.

  “You can’t learn to fight talkin’ to me in one day.” He casually looked from side to side, “But if you carefully go over what he did to you and how he did it …” Ames let the words linger in the air.

  “You’re strong, Sed, real strong. I hear the boys talk. You ain’t an ox, but pound for pound you’re as strong as they get. I’ve seen grown men not able to swing a pick like you can. You’re how old, fifteen or sixteen?” I said nothing, not wanting to get into the different aging rates of humans and elves. He continued, “And you’re the first I ever seen get up after Stagus nails you with that left hook of his.”

  He smiled as he drew and quartered a green squash and then started to rapid slice it into small pieces. “They were betting on you, you know; about how long you would last.”

  I just looked at him unbelieving.

  “Got twenty to one odds. Made me some change.” He suddenly flipped an onion at me and I snatched it without thinking.

  “Don’t worry about your strength. Strength don’t matter if you can’t hit ‘em. Use your speed and hand to eye coordination. Get the strike in there with control and precision, then learn to use your strength to follow through. It’s all about timing, Sed.”

  “You know fighting?” I asked.

  “I’ve been in a fight or two.”

  The whole day we worked and I asked him questions. Mostly he just talked to me. I learned something about cooking too, and a little about spices.

  As the day came to a close and I was relieved to return to my quarters, a guard spoke to me. “If you’re going do any bare knuckle fighting, that’s the one to learn from.” He nodded to the cook’s tent, “He was a coliseum fighter in Dahruban.”

  I just looked at the guard. He was an older human, who looked perhaps sixty or seventy years of age, named Hoscoe, who we saw from time to time. I asked, “Was he any good?”

  The guard looked back at me, and a slow grin came over his face, “If you fight in the coliseum, you either win or die.”

  I looked back at Ames’s tent with a new respect.

  That night, and every moment from then on, I began to study what Ames had told me. I thought about how Stagus had known just what to say to rile me. In that way he had controlled me from the beginning. I realized that I was very much an impulsive individual. Everything in my life was based on my hatred of humans and my circumstances.

  The site boss had been told to keep me in the kitchen until I was healed up. Figuring what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, I made out to still be pretty banged up. If it weren’t for Jared having to work with that punk-mouthed Dharl, I’d have milked it longer than just two weeks.

  Every day Ames taught me a new principle and discussed scientific fighting. He taught me the right way to punch and how not to wind up with your shoulders. “Most folks like to roll that elbow up and use that shoulder. It ain’t the right way to do it. Looky here,” he said. And he put both fists under his chin, like he was going to do a chin up, and then he rolled the fist outward as if he was hammering a nail sideways.

  He said, “You gotta train those triceps muscles. That’s what you use to hit with, your shoulder muscles follow up for power. It’s kind’a like in battle, the arrows and crossbow bolts are first, and then the ground troop muscle. Ya gotta learn to snap that punch in …” and he whipped a flurry of punches and jabs. His hand speed was amazing, and you could hear his sleeves pop in the air.

  I tried to put what he had said with what I had learned from Sym. Don’t let your emotions control you, control your emotions. The Form is not the Art, the Art is in the Form. It went together. Fighting was in itself an art, but how to practice or learn? So I lost myself in my thoughts. When meditating I would replay every movement, every angle I had seen. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something.

  Wh
en I went to relieve myself I practiced jab and cross punch moves. Every chance I got I would punch my pillow or other substance which would give, if only a little. One night I would do hand stand push-ups against the wall or push off the floor, and the next I would pull myself upward with my feet resting on a chair. I became obsessed with such things and most of the others thought I had finally broken my shovel handle.

  Hoscoe became the chief guard at the point and I learned he held a grudging respect for me. Every now and then he would try to make a little conversation and it turned out he spoke Elvish fluently. He showed me no favoritism, mind you, but he began to give me little encouragements as well as pointers when no one was around. It turned out he was a master swordsman.

  Strength was not power, Ames had said. Power was strength multiplied by speed. Speed was the core element, speed and footwork. Ames said if your feet weren’t right then nothing else mattered.

  “Size has only a little to do with it in real combat. Ever see a hornet chase a grown man?” he said with a chuckle. I remembered seeing that very thing many times on the estate.

  When we would take meals he would sometimes exaggerate some motion of his spoon or fork to me as he put food on my plate. I figured what he was doing and caught on quick. The way he would spoon potatoes into my plate taught me how to slap and parry a punch or block a low strike. The way he thrust a fork into my serving of beef or venison taught me the right way to under-hook a punch or thrust a sword. It took a few times, but I got the idea how he retracted the meat knife was the way to retrieve a blade from a torso so it wouldn’t get hung up. He was a genius and I learned.

  My backdoor training went on for almost two years. Then while we were out at point a band of orgs attacked the camp. Seven guards and five slaves had been killed. Twenty-six org corpses were left and evidence of several more wounded and carried off. Ames had accounted for seventeen orgs himself before he was transfixed by four spears. One of the surviving guards told how Ames had jumped over the serving tables with a butcher knife and cleaver. “He got right into the middle of it, and quick,” the guard said.