The Wolves Of War

by Greg Curtis

  “This has been hard on you both. As it has been hard on so many. You have both suffered for no crime of your own doing. But you have both done well to endure it. Family always endures. And that is my gift to you.”

  “I cannot undo what time and evil have done. But I can end the suffering they bring.”

  “For you,” she touched Endorian lightly on the shoulder and he was a man once more. A tall man with long white hair and a shocked look on his face as he realised what had happened. As he stared at his body in disbelief. “Caliban Street in the village of Ditford. A small house with walls of yellow mud brick. I believe you will find your family there.”

  “And for you,” she touched Briagh on the shoulder. “What people never realise is that just as those who have several forms are my children, so too do their families become my children. And I never let any of my children go. Not in life. Not in death.” She turned him around.

  Briagh suddenly found himself facing two new people. New to the cliff terrace at least. But not new to him. Because he knew them. He had not seen them in fifteen years. And his last memories of them had been too horrible to bear. Especially for a child. But he recognised his parents even all these years later. He just didn't understand how they could be there. They were dead!

  But when he stepped into their arms to embrace them, he realised it didn't matter. He didn't give a damn about how they were there. Or that it could only be for a short time as he was told. Or even that the tears were flowing freely down his face. He didn't care about anything save that they were there, holding him.

  Morphia was right he realised. It was only ever about family. But he could have lived without her final words to him.

  “No more stealing child. It diminishes your family.”

  Chapter Fifty

  The sight of the steam wagon was a welcome one, and Briagh's heart sang as he laid eyes on it. But then he spotted the naked man with tufts of white fur sticking out of his head heading his way in a hurry, and the happiness was stolen from him just as quickly.

  Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done and he simply had to accept the man's greeting as he wrapped him up in a massive hug and apologised to him. And for once Briagh didn't even bother to point out that naked people shouldn't hug. They never listened. But it wasn't right! There should be a law against it! But Briagh told him it was alright and then watched as the man having finally let him go, continued on his way. The man's next stop of course was with the Princess who endured the embrace in dignified silence. Briagh suspected though she probably wanted to kill him for his daring.

  “Another admirer.” Father Argen smiled at him. “It's going to make it very hard to return to your old lifestyle!”

  Briagh ignored his jest. “It's just so embarrassing!”

  Embarrassing just wasn't the term for it though. He wasn't sure what the right term was. Utterly humiliating? But there seemed to be nothing he could do about it. It had been like since a few days after their descent down the mountain and they had met the first wolves now transforming back into people. Apparently there hadn't really been a battle in the forest. Of course, since nothing else had been as it should have been from the moment the battle hadn't happened, why should that be any different?

  The sky had been a brilliant blue when he'd finally said farewell to his parents. The sun had been shining, Celes apparently deciding to beam down on the terrace. Farewells said, Briagh had turned around to find that the globe and stand had gone, as had the vineyard. The Princess was still with her family by the altar, all of them busy talking in hushed tones, laughing and crying, but none of them happy. Everyone else had been standing around in small groups, talking.

  As for the Goddess, she'd gone, taking Barachalla with her. She had however left behind a feast which had been laid out on the altar. Good food, plenty to drink, and even some medical supplies. An antidote for the witch bane. Some bandages and salves. Naturally he'd had no clue as to what had happened. Even days later he still didn't know all that had transpired.

  The others had told him some of it as they ate. About how the Goddess had gone on to lecture them all in more detail about all the wrongs of the world while he had been talking to his parents. She had been angry about the treatment of her children and followers. As she had said, for her it was a matter of family, and people needed to remember that the morphs were her family. Something that to Briagh had sounded a lot like a warning save that there had been no one to hear it.

  Of course, it turned out that he had been wrong about that too as the presence of the naked man attested to once more. People had heard. A lot of them.

  His first hint that things weren't as he had thought had come when they had started descending the mountain. He had found himself walking down a nice, graded stone path without any sort of a rocky overhang to protect them from falling fire rain. But then the sky was blue, the fields of fire that he'd witnessed, the burnt out fields and the forest beyond were gone. Instead the land had been in perfect order and the only thing out of the ordinary had been the number of wolves lying on the ground sleeping, as they began their transformation back to normality. There had been no fire rain. Just an illusion of it, but one so real it had burnt him.

  The wolves of course had been the next hint. There had been so many of them lying around, all sleeping peacefully when they'd reached the ground. Out on the grasslands surrounding the mountain. More of them dotted among the trees of the forest. And probably a great many more scattered across Wynde Par and Abylon. All of them were alive and well, but not ready to wake up. Not a one of them looked to have been eaten by the forest or burnt by fire.

  Even the trees had been different on their return. No longer was there any sign of the killer trees that had attacked him. The trees he now saw were perfectly normal trees, the forest was far more open and light than he remembered, and the ground had never once tried to suck him down into its embrace. Even the smell of decay was no longer present. It was actually quite a pleasant place to be.

  It had all apparently been some sort of illusion. Actually there had been multiple illusions. He had seen the fire rain. He had even been scorched by it as he ran. Those following him who were barely an hour behind had seen the aftermath of a great fire that had obviously burnt out at least a day or two before. And Callum had told him that he and Barachalla had seen nothing but a normal forest as they travelled, though their army of wolves kept vanishing without trace. Obviously they'd simply been falling asleep. And they had only been an hour or so ahead of Briagh.

  Their three wizards had been completely useless at explaining that. How an illusion could be one thing for him and something else for those who were following him and different again for those he was chasing. But Briagh had accepted that. He was beginning to realise that wizards didn't know nearly as much as they pretended and that as long as they didn't seem to mean him any harm, that was all that mattered.

  Father Argen, much as he hated to admit it, had been the one to make the most sense of things. He couldn't explain the magic, but at least he could tell him its purpose. The illusions had been about timing and guidance. They had all entered the forbidden forest at different places and times, and the Goddess had planned for them all to arrive at the altar at the right time. So she'd provided a motive for him to rush because he'd presumably entered furthest from the mountain and so had the longest journey. She'd slowed the technologist and Callum presumably because they were travelling too quickly. And made the journey a little easier for the priest and his companions.

  That made sense to Briagh. And really his main concern at the time had been the wolves, as he had worried that they might suddenly wake up and attack. But that hadn't happened. Or not the attacking part anyway.

  A few days later they had started waking up, partially transformed back into their human forms, and his humiliation had begun. At first most of them had barely been able to speak. It took longer than just a few days for their mouths and throats to come right. But they had still been able
to run up to him and hug him. Many of the women seemed to want to kiss him. Actually, sometimes the men did too. And they all did it naked! Naturally they were of every age, shape and size, and of every race. Sometimes he just didn't know where to look, and he couldn't put his hands anywhere!

  The trouble was that while they'd all been wolves at the time, lost completely in their transformation, Morphia had somehow made sure that they witnessed everything that had happened on the terrace. Actually, she had given them more than just a bird’s eye view into what had happened on the terrace. She had also let them feel what had happened to him, Endorian and the Princess. She'd let them know everything.

  Briagh wouldn’t have minded any of that if she hadn’t also let the wolves experience a part of Briagh’s life. The most painful and personal part. That which he never spoke about. She had allowed them to feel his emotions the moment he had found his parents sacrificed on the crosses. They felt his pain almost as if it were their own. And when they awoke they seemed to believe that they owed him somehow for their being transformed back into people. It didn't matter how many times he tried to tell them he'd done nothing – actually it was worse than that as he'd tried to do something and failed – they didn't seem to care.

  So everywhere he went the transforming wolves got up and came to him so that they could both thank him profusely for saving them, and apologise for killing his family. Despite the fact that he hadn't saved them and these people hadn't killed his parents. But it didn't matter. They understood his suffering. It was a part of them. And so they felt the need to do something about it. To tell him that they were sorry. To let him know that he wasn't alone. Some of the women even wept as they hugged him.

  But this was the most personal and private part of his life. It was something he had never shared with anyone, and never would have. It was probably unfair. They wanted to give comfort and all he wanted to do was run away. But it was just who he was.

  Still he supposed it gave the others in his party something to laugh about each time it happened. He was also beginning to think that there was a lot to be said for clothes. Careyn was going to laugh when he admitted that.

  “You think this is embarrassing for you? Just imagine what it must be like for Endorian!” Father Argen managed a chuckle. He'd been in a surprisingly good mood since they'd begun their journey back. “I mean he's somewhere out there suffering this and completely naked himself! You've at least got some clothes to wear!”

  That was true and Briagh could only hope that he wasn't completely alone in suffering this ongoing indignity. But he didn't know. Endorian had left, shifting into the form of a hawk and flying from the mountain only a few hours after everything had happened. Briagh didn't begrudge him that. He would have done the same if he could have. And the man had truly suffered. He had a right to want to be with his family. Still, it would have been nice to have had someone to share this humiliation with. The Princess wasn't talking after all.

  “You really think he's suffering this indignity too Father?”

  “By the Great Sage I know he is! How many people were transformed by the globe? Hundreds of thousands? Millions? More? All across Abylon and probably much further afield as well. And all of them now released from that curse by the Goddess are aware of your story. They are probably aware of Endorian’s too. They all witnessed it. The chances are that when Endorian reaches Ditford there will be a crowd waiting for him!” The priest managed another laugh.

  “But why? That's what I still don't understand. We didn't do anything! We failed! I failed!”

  Briagh had asked the question many times before and never got an answer that made sense. He suspected there was no such answer. The gods did what the gods did. You weren't meant to understand it. But Father Argen had been silent on the matter to date. Perhaps he was in communion with his Lord? Others he had spoken to had no clue either. In fact, most of them were wrapped up in their own troubles.

  The Feldmights were now restored to their right minds but were coping with the death of the king and the likelihood that they could never retake the throne of Abylon. Not when tens or even hundreds of thousands of their people now knew of their crimes. It was ironic really as they had done what they had done simply to enshrine their power, and in doing so had lost it.

  The Princess was coping with the reality that her own family had been complicit in their fall and that all those years ago they'd left her out of their plans for greatness. While it had undoubtedly saved her a lot of suffering it must also surely have felt like what it was – a rejection. How much did it hurt to be betrayed by your own family?!

  That too must have been a bitter irony. To grow up hating and angry because you believed that someone had harmed your family only to discover that they had done it to themselves and that all those you hated were innocent. And more than that to recover your family who as a child you had always believed were wonderful, and then discover they were anything but.

  As for the wildred, they were coping with their failure to return to how they had been – or Callum was. Master Zo'or had not expected nor wanted such a thing. But the Goddess had helped them, or at least restored a measure of health to them, so that they could live more easily with their problems. She hadn't restored them to how they had been. He wasn't sure why. But she had eased their suffering.

  Meanwhile Callum was calmly awaiting his trial for his various crimes. He claimed to be at peace with the arrangement. But when he could end up on the end of a noose Briagh wasn't completely sure he believed him. And when half the man's face was wood that didn't move so easily as skin, he wasn't sure he could truly read his expressions. Maybe he would try one last chance to escape? He certainly had the power to.

  Of the wizards, only Abel – the young light bringer – had no great weight on his life ahead. In fact, he seemed to be happy to now have two wizards teaching him. Well, at least until Callum’s trial. After that, Briagh understood that Abel would seek out his family.

  “Actually you succeeded in doing exactly what you set out to do. You were called and you answered the call. It was just that somewhere along the way that task got changed a little in your thoughts, and you thought you were supposed to stop Barachalla and save Endorian.”

  “I still failed to do it.” Briagh pointed out the obvious.

  “But you were never meant to do those things. Barachalla was always going to be stopped and your friend didn't need saving. You were never in any danger.”

  “You don't know that.”

  “Of course I do. When was the last time you went to a trial and saw the witnesses harmed? Never. It's not allowed.”

  “Trial?” That was new.

  “Of course. Morphia has been angry for a long time about how her followers and her children are mistreated in the world. She wanted to send out a message. And the best way to do that was to have a trial. A public trial where the guilt of the wrongdoers could be seen by all. So when her former bard went mad, stole the globe and began this journey into chaos, she drew up her plans. She began by her calling three witnesses.”

  “Three witnesses?”

  “You, Endorian and Elan.”

  “Elan!” Briagh couldn't help but raise his voice a little. But it didn't seem right. Not even if everything else the priest had said was true. She was no witness in a trial. She should be the one on trial! She'd tried to kill him – twice! And yet he had to remind himself she had apologised, an awkward and uncomfortable thing that neither of them had welcomed. Her voice had been stilted, her words uncertain. And the only thing he had truly understood in her apology was pain.

  In truth it would have been easier for him to accept if she had attacked him again.

  She was broken. Damaged in some way he couldn't completely understand. But then her entire adult life he realised, had been a lie. Not hers. A lie forced on to her by the actions of her own family. And now she didn't know how to cope with the truth. With what her family had done. With what she had done because of them. He suspected she had a
great many more apologies ahead of her.

  “Her too.” The priest nodded at him. “You are all victims – of different crimes. But all crimes against Morphia, her followers and her children. Her family.”

  “So you were all called. You by your dreams. Endorian by Racha who somewhere in his twisted thoughts was given the idea that he needed the morph. The Princess, first by her hatred of you and then by Barachalla. It didn't take much. Everything that happened, led or brought you in one fashion or another to the place of trial at the appointed hour. Your footsteps were guided even though you chose where to put them. Three parties entered the Forbidden Forest, all at different places, and travelled by different means at different speeds, yet all somehow arrived at the same destination within an hour or so each other. And once you were all present the trial began. Or should I say the trials.”

  “Trials?” Briagh didn't remember even a single trial.

  “Three. The first of course was that of her former Bard. He was shown to be guilty but also to be too crazed to be truly responsible for what he did. And mercy was shown.”