by Jim Galford
A roar reverberated through the trees, and even Greth came to an abrupt stop. All eight men looked at him, but he stared ahead in confusion. “I…guess that’s him?” Greth said, giving Ilarra a look that she could tell meant he was concerned about the roar all the same as the humans. “Maybe we should go?”
Another roar drowned out the last of his words, followed by a crashing sound of something hitting a tree.
No more than fifteen feet from the group, Raeln came running, tumbling as something tore through the branches where his head had been. Pine needles flew in all directions, and he slid to a stop, slashing at whatever was behind him with his sword. He moved again, using another tree for cover as a ten foot black shape swung at him again, tearing away a huge chunk of the tree’s bark.
“Bear!” shouted one of the ranchers near Ilarra’s ear, dropping her arm and backing away.
The remaining men stood transfixed, as did Greth. Ilarra managed to support her own weight, but she could not make herself move. Her feet felt like they had frozen to the ground and her heart was pounding again, this time without the feeling of exhaustion. She could not take her eyes off Raeln as he darted through the trees, slashing at the bear once or twice before diving for cover again.
The bear rushed at Raeln, missing him as before, but this time spraying the group with snow and twigs from one of the tree’s branches. The cold snow hitting them seemed to jar the group into motion, all of them looking about for escape routes.
Then, nearly cornered against a pair of trees, Raeln punched the bear squarely in the face when it tried to bite at him. In obvious confusion, the bear reared back and stared at the wolf before roaring and charging him again.
“See…” Greth announced, sounding almost numb as he gestured toward the ongoing fight between Raeln and the bear, “…werewolf. What other idiot would fight a bear with fists?”
The ranchers were already running before he finished talking, nearly trampling Ilarra in their haste. They had barely gotten past her when Raeln came flying into a nearby tree, hitting it hard enough she thought she heard either bones or wood crack. He slumped in a groaning heap only a few feet from Greth.
“Wishing I was as smart as those humans right about now,” Greth muttered, yanking the bow off his back and grabbing a handful of arrows from a quiver one of the men had dropped.
Greth put most of the arrows in his mouth, holding them while he put one to the bowstring and aimed carefully. A second later, he let the arrow fly and drew another, then another. In rapid succession, the arrows thudded into the bear’s neck and upper chest, staggering it but certainly not killing it. The beast turned on Greth, roaring again.
“We are so dead,” the man told Ilarra, backing up several steps as the bear began marching toward them. “Run. I’ll try to slow it.”
Ilarra knew she would not get far, as tired as she was from the illness. If she ran, Greth would be dead in seconds and Raeln likely soon thereafter, assuming she got away at all. They might all wind up dead together. Escaping without Raeln meant she would die anyway, so her options were incredibly limited.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Ilarra raised her hand and began concentrating on a spell her father had taught her. The symbols were simple and might be easy enough that she could manage them without passing out. Should she manage to finish casting before the bear tore her head off, the stones at the bear’s feet should pummel it, hopefully distracting it briefly. She hoped it would be enough.
The moment Ilarra closed her eyes and began concentrating on the magical symbols she would pull energy through to create her spells, dozens of symbols she did not recognize flooded her mind. Many were far more complex than those her father had taught her, appearing in her mind’s eye as though she were being offered her choice of options. She barely knew what they might do, but felt as if they were all better suited than the spell she had intended to cast.
Trusting that her mind knew better than she did, Ilarra chose a particularly complex spell and began pouring magic through it. Her stomach knotted instantly and her heart raced, but she focused on the nagging fear of Raeln dying. The power at her disposal suddenly seemed boundless, coalescing into flame in her mind, and when she opened her eyes, she released the spell, recreating the flames in the tangible world.
Fire erupted all around the bear, engulfing the screaming animal as the trees nearest it burst into flame. Before her vision washed out in the abrupt light, Ilarra saw a column of flame reaching high into the sky as though the heavens themselves had opened to destroy the bear. Blinded by the flames, Ilarra could only wince as she smelled flesh and fur burning and heard the popping of melting flesh.
As abruptly as the flames had come, they snuffed themselves out, leaving the area in what felt to be far more deep darkness than before and colder than Ilarra remembered. It took Ilarra several blinks to see again, and when she could, she saw a charred crater with the burned bones of the bear piled up. Nearby, Greth stared at her in awed shock, his eyes wide with fear.
“Tend to Raeln,” she ordered Greth, the words coming without thought. “Next time, do your job and keep yourselves alive so that I don’t have to intervene.”
Greth’s mouth worked wordlessly, then snapped shut. He nodded and ran toward Raeln, his posture telling Ilarra that he was thrilled to go anywhere that took him away from her. Filthy uncivilized wildling, she mused, shaking her head and wondering why she bothered to keep him alive.
The anger vanished from Ilarra and she felt her fear return like an icy wave. With it came worry for both men and dismay at what she had done to an animal that had only been defending its hunting grounds and disgust at her passing thoughts, demeaning the two wildlings.
With a coughing choke, Ilarra collapsed and began vomiting. Her body wracked itself, trying to purge something, though to her it felt like she was trying to get rid of all the anger and unwarranted confidence that had filled her moments before. She gagged and puked until her stomach was long-since empty and kept retching until her body slowly began to relax.
Ilarra panted on her knees, trying to catch her breath. Her heart was no longer racing, but she felt hot and dizzy. Opening her eyes, her fear grew deeper as she saw the snow in front of her was dark with blood that she had vomited. There was so much, she could not imagine how she was still conscious. Despite that, she felt stronger than she had in a long time, though she wrote that off as fear overpowering her body’s recognition of how bad off she really was.
Looking around, Ilarra saw one of the pine branches that had fallen during Raeln’s battle with the bear lay nearby. She grabbed it, pulling the thick green needles over the blood to hide the dark snow from Raeln. He had enough to worry about without seeing that.
Ilarra stood, smoothed her cloak, and walked over to where Greth knelt by Raeln, attempting to examine a wound on his head. From what Ilarra could make out, the gash overlapped the one that he had received saving her near Lantonne. Raeln was conscious—something she had not expected—and was fighting to keep Greth from touching him.
“Sit still, you oaf,” Greth told him, slapping away Raeln’s hand. “I can see skull through the blood and fur. I don’t care how tough you think you are, this needs tending.”
Raeln growled and tried to stand, but Greth caught his arm and slammed him face-first onto the ground. Had Raeln been in any shape to stand, Ilarra doubted Greth could have even attempted to hold him.
“I said, sit still,” chided Greth, planting his knee between Raeln’s shoulder blades to keep him down. “I think I can sew this shut, but it won’t be pretty. The more you wiggle, the more it’ll hurt.”
Once Raeln was sufficiently pinned and had stopped struggling, Greth relaxed and fished a large, curved needle from a pouch on his belt. He fumbled around some more, keeping one hand on Raeln, then finally found a spool of silk thread.
“Give me ten minutes,” Greth told Ilarra over his shoulder. “I’ve patched myself up from worse, and if he sits still, he’ll be fin
e. Keep an eye out for more inbred furless while I work. Mairlee can clean up my work, but if I don’t stop the bleeding he’ll be a dead idiot.”
Ilarra stepped closer, eyeing the thread and needle while trying not to look at the bleeding wound on Raeln’s head or the bloodstains that covered much of his back.
“Did you steal those in Hyeth? The seamstress used thread just like that…” She trailed off as Greth glanced at her from the corner of his eyes as he began stitching the wound shut.
“She said I could have what I needed. No one said that meant only clothing. You can thank me for taking it later. Right now, this moron needs all the help he can get or he’ll pass out. Mairlee can’t heal stupid or dead.”
Sitting down nearby where she could see both men but not have to look at the gruesome work Greth was doing, Ilarra gave him a minute before she spoke again. “You called him a werewolf,” she noted. “What prompted that? Raeln’s been called that a few times by people in Hyeth, but I wouldn’t have expected it from you.”
Greth grinned and chuckled, tugging at the thread to tighten his stitch, while Raeln growled and tried unsuccessfully to stand. “While you were out, one of the old wolves was saying that ‘Little Raeln’ was well on his way to earning that nickname,” explained Greth. “The male asked me what I thought of it and I told him that Raeln was no werewolf…not even close. The fool argued with me about whether werewolves even exist, trying to say I had no idea what I was talking about.”
“They don’t. They’re a legend, like dragons, fae, and anything else the ancients worshipped,” Ilarra hurriedly countered.
Greth stopped mid-stitch. Looking up at her in confusion, he asked, “Who worshipped werewolves?”
“I think some of the tribal people.”
“Idiots,” he replied, shaking his head and resuming his work. “But they do exist.”
“Please tell me your people aren’t so superstitious…”
Greth snarled and shot her a glare that warned Ilarra she had gone way too far. “My pack leader’s kit is a lycanthrope,” he snapped. “Seen it with my own eyes. That female tore through an entire pack of hunters and walked away without a scratch. Don’t ever tell me that were-creatures don’t exist, girl. There’s more out in the wilds than you’ll ever understand.”
Knowing better than to argue, Ilarra simply nodded and kept quiet.
“That’s all I can do for him until we get to Mairlee’s place,” Greth said at last, cutting the thread with one of his claws. He shook his head and began poking around the fur on Raeln’s head and neck. “He’s out cold. Have you ever looked at this moron’s head?”
“No…”
Greth pointed at one spot, then another. “Scars everywhere,” Greth noted. “I’ve been mauled by my own people as often as the animals of the woods, but I’ve got half as many scars as he does. How is he even still alive if he gets hit this much?”
Ilarra smiled at thoughts of the many fights Raeln had won in the village to prove himself and to shield her from bullies. He had even risked himself a half dozen times fighting off tribal raiders that had come too close to the village. Never had he complained about his injuries.
“He likes to fight,” she said eventually.
Shaking his head, Greth pulled Raeln up into a sitting position as he said, “Then he should learn to not get hit so much. The boy needs to be more picky about who he fights, or something will take his head off one of these days. I like fighting too, but I like keeping my hide even more.”
“He never backs down from a fight.”
“That’s stupid,” Greth replied quickly, hoisting Raeln onto his back with a grunt despite their difference in size. “Survival means knowing when to run with your tail tucked. People who never run end up being talked about in the past tense by those who did run.”
His paws digging deep into the snow with each step, Greth struggled to march toward the house he had pointed out in the distance earlier. He did not stop once on the way, pushing on with Ilarra following and watching in amazement at his strength and endurance. The man might not be Raeln’s equal, but he seemed to do far more with less muscle.
It was far into the night before they reached the small cabin. A single candle flickered through the window’s shutters, giving no indication if the occupant was awake or not.
“No time for civilities,” Greth muttered, kicking the door open. Before he could take a step inside, the cabin lit up from dozens of candles that seemingly had not been there a moment earlier. “Mairlee, it’s your least-favorite wildling,” called out Greth as he marched inside. “For once, I’m not the one who’s half-dead.”
Following cautiously, Ilarra leaned into the cabin, trying to get an idea of whether they were welcome there. Greth seemed unconcerned, but she had no desire to intrude even with the wounds Raeln had suffered.
“Always the polite one,” came a woman’s voice off to Ilarra’s left where a hall left the main room. “I believe I told you that you would need to knock the next time you came, or I would drag you back outside by your ears and shave you.”
From the unlit side room, a slight human woman emerged, dressed in nightclothes. The woman was old, her long, unruly hair grayed and wrinkles covering the area around her eyes. She crossed her arms over her breasts as if she were about to scold Greth, then seemed to notice Ilarra and Raeln. “I see, for once, you keep better company,” Mairlee noted, smiling at Ilarra. “Please tell me that you have taught the boy some manners, child.”
“You know me better than that,” countered Greth, setting Raeln down hard on a cot that creaked and appeared ready to collapse under his weight. “The elf girl couldn’t resist my charm and followed me out here. The big male is just plain stupid.”
Mairlee studied Raeln briefly, then returned her attention to Ilarra. “I called you stupid the last three times I found you unconscious on my land,” she reminded Greth while watching Ilarra. “I will tend to the wildling friend of yours, but the girl is a different matter entirely. Where did she come by her condition and why would you bring her here?”
Ilarra’s skin went cold, realizing that the woman was somehow aware of what might be wrong with her. She had not seen Mairlee attempt to use any magic and the woman was still ten feet away…how she could determine anything was a mystery to Ilarra.
“I promised them you’d try,” Greth told the old woman, then walked to a nearby shelf. Searching it, he grabbed two bottles. “Clear bottle for injuries and green to keep me quiet, or did you change which bottle has which alcohol?”
“As tempting as it was to put something toxic in the one you tend to grab before asking, I realized long ago that it would not change your behavior, even if I had to heal you every time you stole my mead.” The woman sighed, finally looking to Greth rather than Ilarra. “Sit. Both of you, sit. I will tend to your friend, and then I will see what can be done about or to the girl.”
Greth seemed to be ignoring the woman entirely, gathering jars and tools Ilarra could not identify from shelves around the tiny cottage. He placed them near Raeln and worked to better situate Raeln on the cot, making him look somewhat less like a corpse.
Ilarra, on the other hand, searched the room for a chair in which to sit. Finding none, she realized Mairlee was watching her and immediately sat down on the floor near the door.
“You should bring guests more often, Greth,” Mairlee said pleasantly. She walked over to the wildlings and shoved Greth out of her way. “The girl knows her place. I don’t have to housebreak her.”
“She is an elf. I can’t really complain about one curling up at your feet and fetching things. Besides, if you really want me to piss on your floor…”
Mairlee’s backhand very nearly took Greth off his feet, either by surprise or unexpected strength. He hurriedly moved to Ilarra’s side and sat down on the floor. He gave her a somewhat apologetic wince, then pulled his knees up under his chin and watched Mairlee work.
“Have you learned nothing at all?” muttered th
e old woman as she bent over Raeln. She picked at the bloody fur on the back of his head and frowned deeply. “These stitches could have been made by a blind and fingerless troll. I’ve seen straighter seams done by goblins.”
“I…” began Greth.
“Shut your yapping jaw,” Mairlee cut in. She took a wet cloth and dabbed at Raeln’s head. “I can fix your friend.”
“Not my friend…”
“Greth, I’ve saved your life five times in two years and your father’s twice as many times. I know you well enough that I can see that you care for someone. His lifeless corpse—or hers—would not have been found until spring if you hated them. For all your words, your actual thoughts and feelings are far different. Now close your mouth before I stitch it shut.”
Ilarra stifled a snicker, which Greth seemed to realize. He met her amused glance with a glower and crossed his arms, pouting silently.
The two of them remained by the door until the sun had begun to shine through the room’s shuttered windows. Throughout the night, Marilee remained at Raeln’s side, keeping one had on the wound while mixing several of the liquids Greth had set out for her and dabbing them to the cut with a rag that quickly became stained red.
“If the dragons are willing, your friend will be fine in a few days,” said Mairlee at last, sitting down on a chair that Ilarra swore had not been there when she had looked for one earlier.
“Dragons?” Ilarra inquired before she thought better of it. “You’re…a dragon-worshipper?”
“The ancient ones,” the woman added, closing her eyes. “It is their power that lets me help your friend…”
Again, without thinking prior to speaking, Ilarra blurted out, “There are no dragons. Everyone knows that. Dragon-worshippers are practically a cult. The only people who are serious about that belief live far from civiliza…oh…”
Mairlee smiled but did not open her eyes. “You found yourself another unbeliever I see, Greth,” she noted, smiling. “As I find myself often having to tell people like the both of you, until a generation ago nearly every person in these lands worshiped either the dragons, the fae, or the elemental lords. A few wizards here and there preached about the merits of more arcane things, but you would both have been executed for speaking as you do. That or fed to a dragon as tribute.”