Son of hell: Blood of wolves

by Michaela Burdová

"I need them," Neran said, folding the map and looking around the village. Elves were walking around with small pots, taking shiny stones out of them and placing them beneath the windows or at the entrances to their cabins. The snow around the stones melted immediately.

  "What are they doing?"

  "It is the Oka-Zaju ritual. The stones from the forest hot springs have miraculous powers. We are asking the Midnight Gods for protection against the Darkness that is rising up."

  "You mean the Thirteen Demons? You have no idea what happened to the Thirteenth, right?"

  "Only the Gods know that."

  "Sure," Neran gritted his teeth again. The elves and those confounded Gods of theirs! The Gods are useless! What good is faith in something you've never seen and have no proof of that it exists? Perhaps some force tied up the demons, but if they were Gods ... Neran doubted it. The best belief was to believe in yourself. A man could really only rely on himself.

  "You know what the Tears of Étarlina tears are used for, don’t you, young man?" the chief continued.

  "Yes. The flower will cure any illness, even imminent death."

  "Étarlina itself has no such power. It is the dew on its petals, its tears, that is the miraculous nectar."

  "That's what I thought."

  "Do you also know that if you touch the evil Étarlinayou will perish?"

  Neran froze. That he didn´t know! "Where did you hear that? Surely, it´s just superstition."

  "The knowledge has been handed down over the centuries."

  Neran clenched his fists. How was it possible to have such bad luck? What was he going to do now? He finally had some idea of what to do, only to find out that he couldn´t actually touch the flower.

  "For whom do you need the nectar?" Kei-Sai inquired.

  "That’s my concern."

  The chief held his hands behind his back. "If you want my advice, here is one. Rumour has it that only a pure soul can pluck the Étarlina flower and get its tears. If you find such a soul, who is willing to help you, you’ll be closer to your goal."

  With that he turned and disappeared into his cabin.

  Neran stood surrounded by babbling elves with shiny stones. His head was a mess. Pure soul ... soul ... Then it hit him. Who had been talking so much today about their soul? It was Liadel. She also knew where to look for the Teardrop Forest. She alone knew the hiding place of the flowers. Moreover, the ancient elven magic still worked on her, and if Neran asked for help, the elven had to comply.

  There was only one but, Neran would have to believe that Liadel had a soul.

  He headed off to her cabin, hoping, praying that the elven would still be there. When he caught her scent his fears subsided. He pulled the curtain too and immediately caught a whiff of pleasingly warm elven magic.Liadel was standing by the window, apparently gazing into the forest.

  "I thought we would never meet again," she said without turning around.

  "I hoped that, too. Actually, I wanted to kill you tonight."

  She turned her head, her back still towards him. "Something obviously changed your mind."

  Her hair is amazing, he thought suddenly. It reminded him of fiery flames. Maybe that was why he was so fascinated by her. After all, his ancestors had come from the depths of hell.

  "You didn´t tell me everything," he answered and leaned against the wall. "You forgot two details. Firstly, the forest is invisible, and secondly, I cannot touch the flower!" he growled.

  Liadel finally turned to face him, looking completely calm. "You didn’t ask me."

  Neran was furious: "You said that you have a soul, right? And you know how to find the forest. So it's simple isn´t it: you can take me there and pluck the flower."

  "I owe you nothing, I ..."

  "You owe me a lot still!" he shouted. Liadel was silent, but kept her eyes on him. They were cold and inaccessible. Neran suddenly understood. She really did have a soul. If she didn´t, she would have attacked him long ago and also ... Well yes, Neran had to admit to himself that if he had really disbelieved it, he should have been more vigilant.

  "It's simple. You´ll go with me because the magic obliges you to, or I will kill you."

  With those words Liadel strode over to where he stood. Her gaze was so dark that Neran thought for a moment that he had been mistaken and that she didn´t have a soul.

  "I regret that I don’t have the power to kill you," she said.

  Then she turned her back on him. "Now please leave."

  Neran hestitated on the threshold. He didn´t like to be given orders and didn´t want to obey her, but decided to move on.

  "I'll be keeping an eye on you."

  Chapter 10

  Pack, Witchcraft, and Magic

  Loyalty,

  A wolf’s gift and your destruction

  They come driven by their attraction

  Loyalty

  Weak is the spell

  Once she-wolf bit you, Liadel

  Shortly after dawn, they parted company with the chief. As a parting gift Neran was presented with a magnificent sword. It matched the style of the Northern Elves. The blade was made from a bright white alloy, its handle covered in green mottling. Neran thanked the chief for everything, walked towards the outskirts of the village and rendezvoused with Liadel. Only Élia came to see them off.

  Liadel looked ravishing, if not a little withdrawn. Her body was wrapped in a white cloak that blended in with the surrounding landscape. Neran looked at her through the corner of his eye and noticed that she was carrying no weapons. She was holding only a decorated stick in her hand.

  "Are you perchance leaving unarmed?" he remarked mockingly. Liadel gave him a cold smile.

  "I have my stick."

  Neran scoffed at her. "You want to crush your enemies with that?"

  Liadel took a step towards him and pressed the end of the stick to his chest. "Do you doubt the effectiveness of my weapon?"Neran gritted his teeth.

  "I could make chips out of your stick."

  Élia intervened. "I'd like to say goodbye to you."

  Neran felt awkward in his new clothes and winced as they pinched him. The fabric was too soft and smooth and the long warm coat looked too elven. At least, he could adjust the embroidered black gloves. One by one he tore off the fingers. The gloves suddenly looked shabby and exactly to his taste. He could hold his sword better now too.

  "You could have at least given her a small bow," Neran admonished Élia.

  "We offered," Élia replied, "but Lady Liadel would hear nothing of it."

  "That’s overconfidence," Neran remarked with a smile. Liadel replied in a flash: "Says the man who cannot stand criticism."

  Neran gave her an irritated look. He hated it when somebody had the last word. Élia smiled at both of them.

  "I bid you farewell. May you find what you are looking for."

  “Goodbye, Élia,” Liadel smiled. Neran came closer to the elven from Neiwlur. He cleared his throat. He really hated goodbyes. “Um, well ... see you again soon.”

  Élia smiled. "With the Gods´ will, our lives will be long. I'm sure we'll meet again." Suddenly, unexpectedly, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. Neran tried to quickly conceal his surprise.

  Liadel raised her eyes to the heavens and shook her head.

  "Is something bothering you, perhaps?" he snapped.

  "You men are such cowards when it comes to women," she said with a sigh. "It's obvious that you like Élia. Why didn’t you take your chance yesterday to show her your affection?"

  "Because there was nothing to show," Neran muttered grumpily.

  "I saw your face when she kissed you on the cheek."

  "So what?"

  "You like her."

  "No I don’t. I don´t care about women, and certainly not about elvens!"

  "Do you like men then?"

  Neran paused, completely perplexed. "You´re trying to make me angry, aren’t you?"

  "Oh no, how could you think that? I just asked you a simple ques
tion."

  "I'm not into men," Neran growled. "Occasionally I like to have fun with women, understood? That's all."

  "I see. You don’t want to get attached. What's the reason?"

  "Hey, stop poking into my personal life!"

  Liadel shrugged.

  "As you wish."

  Neran fumed silently. Women were simply annoying, even at the best of times! When she was torturing him, she couldn´t have cared less about his life, but now, of all times, she wanted to dig deeper into it!

  "How come you're in such a good mood?" Neran responded sharply. "Yesterday you regretted the fact that you couldn’t kill me."

  "You forced me to go on this journey with you. Of course I was angry."

  "And now you're not?"

  "I was full of resentment and hatred for centuries. It's not good and doesn´t get you anywhere. I cannot refuse to help you, so what else can I do? It makes no sense to hold the anger inside."

  "You think about it too much. When I’m angry, I’m mad. The best way to get rid of it is to take it out on someone."

  "That´s really very useful advice," Liadel replied sarcastically.

  "I am glad you think so. Now let´s turn the tables. I´ll ask the questions. Agreed? So, why did you get your soul back? How did you become Karnelos’ wife? Who enchanted you and why? How is it possible that you're the only one who knows about the Tears of Étarlina? Shall I continue?"

  Liadel looked completely calm. "Under the deluge of questions, I seem to have forgotten what the first one was."

  "I’ll be only too glad to remind you," Neran snapped.

  "Fire away!"

  "Why and how did you become Karnelos’ wife?"

  "I am sure that wasn´t the first one, but so be it."

  Neran rolled his eyes.

  "I was enchanted. It was supposed to be a punishment. Karnelos was known for hating elves. For years he had longed for a wife, but none of the noble ladies wanted to marry him. My beauty and the idea that he would have an elven under his power caught his attention. I therefore became his prisoner."

  Neran was caught a little off guard. He hadn´t expected her to answer. "Why did they enchant you? And who did it?"

  "Our Supreme Gods did. They gave me my soul. Twenty-five years ago, when I had overcome the curse of bondage, I started to gather my strength and garnish my powers again. I eventually became a more powerful demon than before. I became immune to being put to sleep and the Gods were not powerful enough to destroy me. So, they gave me my soul."

  "I don’t understand. Receiving your soul is surely a gift? It should be earned. It just doesn’t seem like a punishment."

  "Yes, but it is only an illusion. They could not have chosen a worse punishment. My soul tied down my demonic self and I became mortal again. I became a being, one which I used to be centuries ago. That was before a dark force tore my soul apart, destroyed my earthly body, and ascended to a higher plane of existence. I have now returned. Although some of my memories are hazy, I remember all my deeds. For the first few years, I thought that I wouldn’t survive the agony of remorse. I wanted to jump from a tower. In the end I decided that I would have to live with it."

  "So it's true. Before becoming a demon you used to be an elven."

  "Yes, we all were. Did it never occur to you why there were thirteen of us? Doesn’t it seem odd to you that almost two centuries ago, the Elven Nation was ruled by the Council of Thirteen? Coincidence? No. I was one of the highest among the elves. We made decisions on everything. Not even the Queen could oppose us. Then the First discovered a new source of power. He was the only one of us who was able to maintain a clear mind, the only one of us who never stopped believing in his destiny. It was not until much later that he discovered that the source of his strength was the source of pure darkness."

  "You almost exterminated your own people."

  "The First War of the Elves was a long one. We’d have destroyed them, had the Gods not intervened."

  "Why were you so strong after awakening?"

  "That's another story."

  "I’d like to hear it."

  "Not now."

  Neran put on a little grin, but did not insist. His thoughts returned to Karnelos. "You lived with him for a long time," he mused. "He didn’t treat you very well, did he?"

  He looked at her. She was walking beside him, staring straight ahead. Her eyes were cold and her face expressed no emotion. Yet Neran sensed tremors of pain inside her. He could feel human emotions like fear, pain and suffering. It was exactly these emotions that represented the pleasure of killing to werewolves.

  "His favourite toys were a whip or knife. Sometimes I wanted him to kill me, but he was careful."

  Neran swallowed. He knew how it must have hurt. She herself had shown him years ago. He was suddenly flooded with anger again and couldn’t guess where it had come from. He wanted to kill the bastard all over again.

  He decided to change the subject. "So now we’ll travel to Yviel."

  “Yes.”

  "Is that where the Teardrop Forest is?"

  "That’s right."

  "And you can find it because ...?”

  "I don’t want to talk about it," she replied coldly. Then she looked at his face. "What do you actually need the Tears of Étarlina for?"

  "That is my concern."

  "I’ve answered your questions."

  "True, but it doesn´t mean I have to answer yours."

  "You're incredibly selfish."

  "You know I'd do anything for you," he said, pulling a wry face.

  They continued to travel in silence. The only thing that could be heard was the snow crunching under Neran’s feet and the sound of an occasional winter bird flying through the branches above them. They soon broke cover, leaving the forest behind them. For the rest of the day they travelled across the frozen plains and snow-covered hills. The majority of the conversations throughout the remainder of that day consisted of mutual bickering and arguing.Several times, Neran was tempted to stick Liadel’s head into the snow to make her finally shut up.

  That night, they camped under a small overhang. In the morning, they continued their journey and by the afternoon had finally crossed the border of Breetia in the Arnnolen Kingdom.

  "Where do you actually come from?" Liadel asked him as they walked through the tall grass across a small meadow. Neran enjoyed the warmth and sunshine, listening to the singing of the birds in the nearby flowering tree tops. He was glad to be out of that damn frozen land. He was home.

  "I'm from Arnnolen," he said. "I spent my childhood in a small village in the south of the kingdom."

  "How old are you?"

  He gave her a piercing look. "One hundred and thirty-two. And how old are you?" he replied instantly. Liadel grinned.

  "I’m a few hundred years older."

  Neran knew that would be all he would get out of her. In a way, he was attracted by the mystery of women, but Liadel was annoying. No, he hated her. He couldn´t possibly be attracted to someone whom he had the desire to wring their neck.

  After a while, as the sun beat down on them, the two took off their coats and put them in their bags. After the bitter cold, the warmth was pleasant. They passed through a small grove of deciduous trees and stopped in another meadow. Liadel looked towards the sun and then pointed towards a distant forest. Neran saw a small village nestling at its edge.

  "Zarel the wizard lives there. I need to talk to him."

  "Why?"

  Liadel did not answer and headed off.

  "Hey! I asked you why?" Neran called after her. He caught up with her and fell into step. "I don’t want to stop at any village."

  "But I do."

  "But I make the decisions here."

  She turned to face him. "Oh, really? What will you do to me? Kill me?"

  Neran was caught off guard. "Yes," he muttered.

  "Go ahead then," she snapped, continuing to walk towards the village. Neran stood there for a moment and fought with himself.
Damn, stupid elven, demon, or whatever she was!

  "What do you want from him?" he shouted, reluctantly following her. "Tell me and I'll allow you to stop there!"

  They reached the pine forest and followed the edge of it, enjoying the coolness of the shade, until they came across a narrow creek. On its shore sat a girl in a simple dress weaving a wreath of yellow flowers that grew profusely around her. As she sat and weaved, she sang. Neran noticed that on the banks of the creek there were pies, cakes, bouquets of flowers, as well as field crops, scattered along them.

  "Maybe someone has prepared a feast for us?" he remarked. Liadel shook her head.

  "The people here worship Naiad, the Nymph of Watercourses. They bring her and her River Fairies gifts to seek their favour."

  "I don’t like nymphs," Neran muttered grumpily, "and fairies, too."

  "Obviously, you've already met one. They tend to be treacherous."

  "They're bitches," he added. "The Dryad of the Altar of Flowers was quite eager to rip my head off."

  Liadel gave him a puzzled look. "You've actually met the most powerful dryad of our time? What madness led you to the Altar of Flowers?"

  "I was looking for the answer to my question," he shrugged. Liadel shook her head again.

  "Good afternoon, travellers," the girl called from the creek. She had just finished her wreath. Neran watched as she gently, lovingly, placed it onto the surface of the water and let it float downstream, a smile appearing on her face as it disappeared around the first bend.

  Neran leaned towards Liadel. “She weaves a wreath, and then throws it into the water?”

  "A gift for the River Fairies, Neran," Liadel explained patiently and smiled at the girl. "Greetings to you. Can you tell me, is your village still under the protection of Zarel the wizard?"

  The girl nodded and stood up. "Yes, but the Revered One is too old. Of late, his health has been failing him and his strength has faltered," she complained.

  "I would like to visit him," Liadel said. The girl smiled her overly sweet smile in response. It irritated Neran no end. It looked like it had been permanently etched onto her face.

  "You’ll certainly be welcome."

  They headed towards the village. Liadel leaned towards Neran: “Zarel the wizard is the last of the Wizards of the First Era. People gradually lost their magic when hatred settled in their hearts and the wars broke out. That was the end of the tribe of wizards."