Chapter I
Darkness Within
With the trap set, Faellin stepped into the clearing. He carried a large crossbow, notched and fitted with a long steel shaft tipped with a razor-sharp barb. Flickering light filtering through the dense canopy overhead stirred the forest’s shadows, making them dance across the ground before him.
The beast emerged from its den at once, as Faellin knew it would. Heavily muscled and covered in bristling clumps of coarse hair, it towered over him. In one hand, the creature held an ebony staff of polished wood, inscribed with markings of a language older than mankind—arcane symbols of primordial origin. The runes on the staff flared to life, blazing like white-hot lightning. The beast was one of the last of its kind, a creature known simply as the Named.
Six of the Dumea positioned around the vale immediately hurled bolts of energy at the creature. In answer, it lashed out with fire and violence, scorching and tearing the earth around Faellin, then charged at him, rumbling with the chaotic momentum of a landslide.
The remaining six Dumea entered the fray, binding the beast with intangible threads of power that stopped it in its tracks. The air sizzled as wave after wave of energy struck the dark beast, causing it to convulse where it stood. Relentlessly, the Dumea encircled it with invisible cords, pinning the creature firmly in place. Where those immaterial bindings met flesh, skin and hair charred. Even as their captive thrashed, trying to free itself, Faellin watched it stumble and drop to a knee. Rising, it howled at the constraints that held it, but the lashings took their toll. Its eyes began to glaze over, and the black staff grew dull and lifeless in its grip.
Faellin loosed his metal shaft, which struck the beast with a sickening crunch. The thing grunted as the sharpened barb pierced its forearm, shattering thick bones. Its massive head lolled from side to side, and it trembled from its wounds. Shackled in place though it was, the thing could barely stand, and it slumped to the side where it’d been struck. All fight seemed to have bled out of it.
Confident the beast was subdued, Faellin prepared to leave.
“Slay the brute and burn it all, but be mindful not to touch the thing,” Faellin commanded the Dumea. “The forces the beast can draw upon are immense, sufficient to vanquish small armies, I’m told.”
At the edge of the glade, he paused mid-stride, sensing something was amiss. A tightness gripped his gut, and the hair on his arms stood on end as he turned to face the creature.
The space around the beast began to throb, and the air fractured. Faellin leapt forward, grasping for his sword.
“Do not let it move!” he screamed.
In a stunning flurry, the creature lifted two gnarled fists to the sky. Thick drops of black blood pattered to the ground from one. In its other hand, the creature held the ebony staff, brilliantly alit with glowing white runes. All trace of the beast’s prior enfeeblement had vanished, melting away like a puff of smoke in a stiff breeze.
Fixing Faellin’s gaze with bright golden eyes, the creature roared, “Un Dak Caelbrum!”
Shocking blue light, brighter than the midday sun, erupted from the staff. Air sucked in, then pulsed outward, creating a booming concussion that bent trees as it passed. Violent energies crackled through the air, churning debris through the underbrush.
Faellin saw only pale whiteness for a time, and the blast had compressed his chest, making breathing an agony. Doubled over and gagging, long moments passed before his nausea subsided, leaving his mouth tasting sour.
When he could at last raise his head, Faellin blinked hard several times. The center of the clearing where the Named had stood was empty.
“Where is the creature?” he roared.
Many of the Dumea had been battered to the ground. The few who managed to remain standing had raised misshapen hands to shield their lidless eyes, which were sunken deep within the black cowls that always cloaked their kind.
The might wielded by the twelve Dumea should have been, by every measure, incontestable. Yet, despite this, and quite maddeningly, the brute had somehow managed to escape.
What manner of power could defy a score of the Dumea?
Faellin had watched the Dumea reduce entire villages to rubble, leaving only ruin and carnage in their wake. Blood and death and horror. They were beings of incapacitating terror—malevolent and destructive beyond compare. Faellin despised the monsters. Yet never once had he seen one defeated.
“By the twin moons above,” he bellowed, “can you even begin to fathom the consequences that will come of this debacle?”
The Dumea let out a screech that made his skin crawl. But Faellin understood their sudden terror. The master they served did not tolerate failure, even in the slightest. Dread took ahold of him and his mouth tasted of ash and bitter brine. A tic below his left eye made him grimace, and his head began to pound.
Still, he had standing orders to sow discord elsewhere, an inviolable mandate for chaos and destruction at every turn. Villages and towns would be torn to the ground, the people in them slain or scattered. His once-self would have wept at the depravity of his deeds and the suffering he would cause… but not now.
“Move,” he commanded the Dumea. “Do not fail our master again.”
Sighing, he mounted his enormous black warhorse and left the now-quiet glade. Faellin wished he could be different, but that possibility had long since been stripped from him.
Leuk padded silently through his home in the fading darkness of the early morning. It was comfortable and warm, the way a dwelling becomes after many long years—a place of safety and routine and contentment. The peace that filled it had less to do with the absence of noise and more with the memories that echoed quietly through it, memories of joy, laughter, and gentle words of comfort. It had more to do with the solid, seemingly endless sense of belonging and purpose.
In the dim light of the coming dawn, Leuk looked out over the fruit trees and the wide fields of grain that dotted his family’s farm, and he shook his head, briefly dispelling the many demands pressing in on him. It could be said that no one in his small village had an easy time of it, for the work was physically demanding and took up most of the day. But neither did they want for anything, for there was much and more, and the village looked after one another. A simple, predictable flow girded their lives.
At this hour, his ma was the only other person awake. She sat quietly in a sturdy wooden chair by the last dying embers in the old kitchen hearth. The wooden floorboards creaked as he entered the room, and he breathed deeply, taking in the familiar scents. He smelled the remains of last night’s supper, mutton stew with carrots and potatoes. Lilia, his baby sister, had prepared a lovely drink made from early-spring melons and bright sunshine—or so she’d said, clapping her hands together in delight. His younger brothers had argued over the last few bites, and his ma promptly sent them out back to end the bickering. His pa had just smiled and puffed on his pipe, sending long, twisting curls into the air.
A gust of wind rattled the window, and his ma’s chair groaned as she shifted in the waning darkness.
“Are the sheep all in and ready for shearing?” she asked as Leuk reached for his bow and quiver.
“It took me a full day to track down the last three. They’d found a quiet spot all to themselves, out beyond Still Creek. But I’ve got them all settled now,” he said.
“Of course you have. I needn’t have asked,” she said. A smile lit her face, which he could feel more than see in the early-morning shadows. “Well, off with you, then. Bring us home something good to eat.”
Leuk nodded. His ma always chose to believe that, somehow, he’d get things right. She always seemed to see the best in him, even when he didn’t deserve it. This was one of the things Leuk cherished most about her. It did bother him, if he was being honest, that she didn’t seem to recognize how it chafed him most days to be stuck at home. Nevertheless, he leaned in and gently kissed her cheek, grateful for her goodness. She reached up and brushed his face with a hand rough from living.
“I’ll be back before midday tomorrow to help set the fence posts,” he said, turning to leave.
Leuk felt her gaze follow him until the door shut behind him. He carried the warmth of her touch as he trudged through the chill and bleakness outside.
As he made his way to the outskirts of the village, Leuk passed Short Tam, the town’s drunk, curled up in a ditch a few steps from the tavern. Caud and his boys were already up, milking their cows, and a light glowed in Widow Tess’s kitchen window. No doubt she was baking bread to sell later that day.
A few others stirred, but this early, a sleepy tranquility cloaked the valley.
Edan’s twin moons, Certa and Rione, lit the night sky, one shining pale yellow and the other blue, casting a pallid glow over the village of Pallidor below.
Passing into the first fringes of the old forest, he paused to examine his surroundings. Even at the edges of the wilds, a basic, essential rhythm lay beneath and wove through the normal woodland sounds. It was always present, constantly stirring, and almost beyond detection. And it could only be felt in your bones once you knew what to look for. Oddly, Leuk could not feel it now.
As he wound his way up the slope, the sun broke through the trees. Morning birds chirped as they flitted from branch to branch, and the scent of flowers in bloom filled the air. Water cascaded down as melting snow from above swelled the streams’ rocky banks. Loamy scents and vivid greens pressed in all around, and the breeze rustling through the leaves made a kind of music that mingled with the warble of noisy birds.
He always experienced a profound sense of euphoria whenever he wandered among the trees, a carefree joy that drew him away from the mundane duties at home. It was as if an earthy presence called to him in the forest, whispering of bigger things. Most days, he worked hard at tasks around the farm—at seventeen, he was nearly a man, after all. But whenever he could find an excuse, Leuk took up his hunting bow and followed the game trails up into the old forest, far from the farm’s constant chores and responsibilities.
The sliver of self-reproach Leuk might have felt for shirking work at home he’d pushed down deep inside, buried so far he could almost forget it was there. He reasoned that the responsibilities expected of him would be answered by a lifetime and more.
Climbing higher, Leuk searched carefully for any sign of game. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a narrow gap between towering granite walls. The opening was almost completely hidden by thick foliage, but a glimmer beyond had caught his eye, and he pushed through the dense underbrush that blocked the entrance. Wiry branches tore at him, and thick trunks initially thwarted his efforts. When he at last broke through, Leuk stared, mouth open, at what lay beyond. He thought he’d explored every ragged boulder and burned-out stump on the slopes above his home, but the old wood was vast and clearly still held some secrets.
Past the notch, Leuk saw a hollow filled with strange shadows and diffused light. The air inside was charged, as before a thunderclap strikes, and its touch sent a shiver down his spine. He leaned forward, straining to make out a strange noise within. It sounded almost like the melody he always heard in the forest.
But more primal and intense. So very… curious.
Leuk held very still, hardly breathing, worried he might disturb something he should not. Why was his heart pounding, and why were his palms slick?
I should probably go. Something strange is happening there.
But of course, he just couldn’t help himself. It was as if he had been summoned to this very place by something that had been calling to him for a long time.
He squeezed through the gap into a glade hedged on all sides by the sheer stone of the mountain. The space felt heavy and dense, as if something pressed on his chest, making it harder to breathe. A peculiar sensation niggled at the back of his head, an elusive thought struggling to take shape. Rising above the normal woodland noises, he heard a low hum, like a hundred insects’ wings buzzing all at once. Or like leaves on a tree, shivering in the breeze.
The song and the thickness and the sound all had a dizzying effect, and he had to concentrate to move further into the space.
In the middle of the ravine stood a large boulder, polished smooth on one side. Writing covered the flat stone face. Leuk traced the markings with his finger, captivated by the detail and beauty of the flowing script. Although he’d been taught to read, the characters on the stone were unlike anything he’d ever seen. And though he couldn’t decipher their meaning, the markings felt familiar. He sensed a pattern to them.
Again, something glistened in the sunlight, and Leuk stumbled toward it. Beneath an overhang of rock, Leuk swept aside a tangle of weeds and pulled the decrepit remains of an ancient longsword from a messy pile of leaves. As he raised it, a curious prickling washed over him, making his whole body shiver. Leuk stared open-mouthed at the blood-red stone embedded in the sword’s hilt, astounded by the liveliness it exuded.
This is what I saw, flickering in the sunlight.
The gem beckoned to him like a familiar song echoing from afar. It whispered of life and boundless vitality—of the loamy earth in the fields at home and of the wily wolf that hunted by moonlight. The melody was a familiar one.
As Leuk held the ancient weapon up to examine it more closely, the blade began to crumble. He clutched frantically at the flat end, desperate to preserve what remained of the relic, but the sword was well and truly ruined and fell apart in his hands, leaving only the hilt.
The red stone in the pommel glowed warmly in the bright sunlight, and the humming grew louder. He repeatedly knocked what remained of the hilt against a rock to loosen the gem, hoping to preserve it. Picking at the flawless stone, he tore his fingernails, and twice he bloodied a finger on a ragged shard of the blade. When he at last plucked it free, a sudden calm fell over the glade, and the always-present sounds of the wild fell silent. At the same moment, the strange humming ceased. The ensuing silence reminded Leuk of the stillness that had filled his home earlier that morning, of memories, long and power-filled. Almost, he could hear something.
A voice? Almost, he could make it out.
Gawking at his prize, Leuk tried to guess how the sword had ended up in this hidden place and who might once have possessed it. Even the half-drunk storytellers at the tavern never sang of heroes fighting in the hills above their home. Such things didn’t happen in the Khor Valley… nothing as spectacular as the old stories from distant places and from long ago.
Looking around, he was surprised that twilight had descended upon the peak. He had been so focused on the sword and the stone that time had slipped by unnoticed.
So, no meat tonight.
He sighed and stowed the red gemstone in an inner pocket of his shirt.
Nestled among the white-barked aspens in the mountaintop wilds, Leuk should have been at peace, as he always was at such times. But on this night, he slept fitfully. Grey wolves howled at the bright stars scattered amongst the two glowing moons, their plaintive calls echoing among the shadows. Rising early, Leuk found himself unable to shake off a vague sense of unease as he made his way down the mountain.
Whiffs of smoke on the breeze were the first sign of trouble, and he knew at once that something was wrong. He scurried recklessly down the slope, sliding on loose gravel and weaving through the underbrush. His heart raced, spurred by a creeping dread he could not name.
Crossing the shoulder of a slope, Leuk looked down at a scene out of nightmares. His vision blurred, and his mouth went dry. For as far as he could see, every building in Pallidor was razed to the ground or in flames. Livestock lay slaughtered, their carcasses already bloated in the midday sun. And fields that had, just yesterday, stood tall with new growth were trampled underfoot.
Stumbling through the outskirts of the village, he stared in horror at all the human bodies. People he knew, folks he had grown up with. Old Man Caud lay crumpled, as lifeless as the cattle scattered around him. Widow Tess’s home was a burnt-out wreck.
Struggling to breathe, he called out several times, but no one answered. The silence was not merely a poverty of everyday sounds; it was the stillness of golden stalks of grain cut down, or of ice that glistened bitterly on the surface of a pool, absent all warmth of living and love.
He staggered down the dirt road. His head began to thump. Leuk at last reached the bend in the river where his family’s land lay. The smoldering frame of what had been his home loomed through the haze. The kitchen hearth was all that remained, bare and blackened.
A horror distilled from out of the soot and smoke. His two younger brothers, Cedric and Forl, must have run out to meet the danger before it reached the farm. They had always been brave. Now he saw their bodies, bloodied and cold, slumped over in the mud. A lifetime of living cut short.
As Leuk shuffled forward, his father’s broken figure emerged from the gloom. He still clutched an old wood-handled ax. Pa would have fought with the ferocity of a wild bear. But his chest was crushed in, and his limbs sprawled out at impossible angles.
Just beyond, Leuk saw his mother with a ragged gash across her side. He remembered her smile the morning before, her unfailing confidence in him. He wanted to turn away, to pretend what he saw was not real, but he was compelled to press on by a need he could neither contend with nor deny.
A few steps farther, he saw his little sister lying in the dirt by the front porch. Beautiful, sparkling Lilia, now ashen and still. How many times had she made him laugh? Made them all laugh? Infusing sunshine into everything she did, her smile alone could light up the day. But she wore no smile now and never would again.
Home and family. All that was familiar. Everything that mattered.
Leuk collapsed among the ashes, cradling Lilia’s small body in his lap, stroking her pallid face with trembling hands. He stared at the burning rubble around him. Why kill everyone? Why raze the whole village? This had to be a terrible dream. The blood and smoke couldn’t be real.
From a dark place within him, an accusation rose that Leuk would not refute: You might have protected us… The voices in his head suddenly swirled with demands for which he had no answer, for indeed, how could there be one? Nevertheless, he could not still their reproach.
The sun reached its highest point, and the shadows began to lengthen. Tears welled up and tumbled down his cheeks, then, as the afternoon wore on, ran dry. Ash covered him, coating anything exposed, and the tang of burning things filled his mouth.
Then, from beyond the smoke and the stench of death, came the sound of footsteps. At first, Leuk couldn’t make out who approached, but he was resolved to exact retribution for his family’s suffering. That, or he would perish in the attempt. Leuk had never craved vengeance before, and the taste of it now made his stomach turn. But what other course could he take? How else could his dead find rest unless they received justice?
Emerging from the haze, an old man strode purposefully toward him. He held a silver rod in his right hand. He was not tall and had a slightly rounded middle. His hair was thin and grey. His countenance was open, even friendly, though he was clearly moved by the destruction around him. He stopped a short distance from Leuk. For a time, neither moved.
Softly, the man asked, “Were these your kin?”
Leuk nodded.
“I am sorry,” the old man said. He quietly picked up a shovel and began digging.
Seeing the old man labor thus released something that had a hold on Leuk. Silently taking the tool from him, Leuk dug until a large hole was formed. Then, together, they gently lowered five broken bodies into the loamy earth. Leuk covered them with soil, sending them back to the dirt. He wished he could cry for them in that moment, but he found his tears had all dried up, leaving only an aching emptiness inside. When he finished, the old man offered him a tin cup filled with water from the river. Leuk drank, hoping to soothe the dryness in his throat and to wash away the bitter taste that remained.
For a while, they sat in silence.
“My name is Thaern—”
“I know who you are.” Leuk did not look up as he spoke. Throbbing filled his head, and his eyes stung from the lingering smoke. He couldn’t help but notice that, despite everything, songbirds still chirped merrily in the afternoon light.
“I live in the hills north of the—”
“I’ve passed by your place on the way to hunt,” Leuk said, interrupting again. He fidgeted with the tin cup, turning it slowly. “I’ve seen you in town for supplies, and I’ve listened, from outside the tavern window, to the old stories you tell.”
The tavern was now a blackened heap of debris, and only the stone chimney still stood.
I have lost everything.
He looked up to find Thaern studying him. The old man’s hair might be grey, and his face might look soft, but his eyes glinted with an immutable strength. And Leuk sensed a kindness in his gaze that surely could not be feigned.
“I heard a commotion last night and came down from my home as quickly as I could,” Thaern said. “By the time I arrived, it was over. There was nothing I could do. I am very sorry.”
Leuk rose slowly. You might have protected us… The voices thrummed in his head, growing strident, clamorous even. He stared down at Thaern, a new fire kindling within him.
“Who did this?” he demanded. “Did you see them? Where did they go?”
“Dumea attacked the village,” Thaern replied, shaking his head. “Long ago, I witnessed the aftermath of a similar attack. Last night, even from my home high on the slope above the village, I could tell who it was that had come to Pallidor. When I made it down the mountain, those who did this had already left. I tracked their passage for a brief time, hoping to discover the reason for their attack.”
“Who?” demanded Leuk again, his voice rising. The word echoed harshly across the desolate landscape.
The voices inside raged louder. You could have…
Leuk shook his head, trying to dispel them. “What did the men who did this look like? What town are they from?”
“Dumea are not men. They are dreadful creatures, tall and bent. They walk with a twisted gait, and their faces are shrouded in shadow.” Thaern’s gaze locked with Leuk’s. “Terror pulses around them like heat from a red-hot forge, and death piles up in their wake.”
“Murderous brigands did this, not monsters. They’re only in fairy tales meant to frighten children.”
“The creatures responsible for this are malevolent beyond reckoning.” Thaern’s voice remained steady.
“I’ve listened to your stories of fallen kingdoms and ancient heroes. But this is Pallidor. There are no monsters here. If such terrors ever truly existed, they are from a time long past and a place far from this one.” Leuk felt empty and worn out. “We are simple farmers.” His shoulders drooped, and his hands trembled. “We’ve no monsters in Pallidor.”
“It’s true that the Dumea have not been seen in this part of the world for a very long time, but they are very real. You have but to look around,” the old man said, gesturing with his hands, “to see the ruin they leave in their wake.” Thaern looked sternly at Leuk as he bent to collect his bow and quiver. Leuk turned and started down the only road out of the valley.
“To go after these creatures would accomplish nothing but your own death,” Thaern called after him. “I’ve had dealings with these monsters. You cannot fight them and hope to survive. They would sense you and slay you long before you came within bowshot, and they would spare you no mercy. Besides, they are already long gone from this place, and even on horseback you’d not overtake them.”
Leuk turned back, eyes flashing, barely able to keep from shrieking. “What other choice do I have?” Tears, since dried, had left tracks through the soot on his face, and he furiously scrubbed them away with hands caked in grime. “My village is destroyed. All those I love have been slaughtered. How can I not pursue those who did this? What else remains?” His head felt like it might explode, and his heart seemed like it might break. “There are voices in my head, my pa’s and my brothers’. People I knew. They blame me for not being here, for not fighting off the attackers. I can’t get the shrieking to stop.”
Thaern’s face softened, and he stretched his hands out to Leuk. A slight tremor shook them. “Boy, you are not responsible for this. There was nothing you could have done.”
Leuk howled, slamming down his bow, the very thing he valued most and the last vestige of his life before. The voices inside screamed.
Then, unexpectedly, a moment of calm settled around him, and Leuk’s breathing slowed. His hands no longer trembled. He could not tell where it came from, but whatever the source, the sudden change was a true respite. It was like a gulp of air for one near drowning, a spark of light for one without hope.
“Come with me,” the old man replied at last. “I had reasons for living near Pallidor. After what happened last night, I must set a new course. Another town, very much like yours, is now in danger, and I must warn them.”
His voice was laden with an urgency that stung Leuk. Glancing at the wreckage before him, Leuk allowed that nothing like this should ever befall others. But his own loss was too raw, the voices too loud. He was trapped, bone-deep, in the shackles of his suffering, as surely as a rabbit caught in a snare, unable to shake free.
“They must be told of the Dumea,” Thaern urged, sensing Leuk’s uncertainty. “Otherwise, more lives will be lost, and a bright hope spanning centuries will be undone. If you come with me, perhaps I can help you find a measure of healing. At the very least, I know those who might offer you some answers.” Thaern looked him in the eyes. “Boy, you simply cannot remain here. The needs you feel tugging at you now will not be answered here. There is nothing left for you here.”
Leuk hesitated. “What of the dead? Who will tend to them?” The pleading in his words echoed across the lifeless landscape.
The farm was a smoking ruin, the cattle were slaughtered, and the crops and orchards were trampled or burned. Every person slain. Still, he didn’t know how he could leave the only place he’d ever known.
I needn’t have asked. Of course you have. His ma’s last words to him rang in his head. She had been so sure of him, always trusting he would do right. But what was the right thing now?
Turning in all directions, Leuk knew he could not stay here, among the dead. He simply could not. When he plumbed the depths of his heart, the simple truth suddenly became clear. He desperately wanted to be gone from this place, had always wanted to leave. But now, he also wanted to be away from what it had become. Anywhere away from here.
And if what the old man said was true, these monsters could not be opposed, not by him on foot and alone. He would need help. These two realizations broke the snare’s grip on him, and it felt as if a great weight had shifted. It had not disappeared, but it had moved.
And then there is the other village that needs to be warned. This should never happen again!
All this and more tumbled about inside Leuk, and for a long moment, he could not look up. When he finally met Thaern’s gaze, his rage and confusion had abated.
“I will go with you,” Leuk mumbled at last, feeling in his heart it was what his mother would expect of him. Save another village. There is nothing here for you now.
There was rightly nothing in Pallidor for him. It was a truth that cut deep.
“What do I call you, lad?” the old man asked.
“My name is Leuk.”
With his head bowed, Leuk stood before the mound of dirt and silently said goodbye to those he’d loved. This simple sacrament was a bitter, aching thing. Unspoken promises tumbled about in his mind.
Forgive me for not being here, he pleaded silently. I’ll do what I can to set things right.
The voices inside him quieted for the moment.
Turning stiffly away, he made to follow Thaern, who had stood waiting and watching.
At the old man’s home, high in the hills overlooking Pallidor, they gathered supplies and some old scrolls Thaern would not leave behind, then headed south out of the Khor Valley. As evening approached, they made camp. They shared a quiet meal, neither feeling much like talking.
Again, on this night, wolves howled mournfully among the trees. Exhaustion weighed heavily on Leuk, and sleep came quickly. Even so, terrible images of blood and death and screaming monsters plagued his slumber. Above all, a cacophony of voices shrieked demands over and over.
You should have… You should have… You should have…
The girl, Awhei, crouched beneath the bough of a large, leafy tree, breathing softly. The underbrush around her was still and cast entirely in shadows, the dense foliage blocking most of the afternoon sun. A steady tap, tap, tap of water dripping from the branches above was the only sound. She tried not to shift, even in the slightest, and listened carefully for any hint of movement. No other noise disturbed the quiet dripping, but she wasn’t fooled. Her eyes narrowed as she squinted into the gloom.
The forest is a perilous place.
Within a stone’s throw of Awhei, the great she-wolf crept noiselessly through the underbrush. It stood nearly a head taller than any other grey wolf that hunted this range, even the big males. Its ears twitched, and saliva pooled around its long fangs as it stalked its prey, every muscle straining for the kill.
Awhei tensed at a sharp crack to her right. She tried to quiet her racing heart, but now she could sense the great wolf’s nearness, could almost hear its shallow panting.
With a burst, the she-wolf pounced. Massive jaws clamped onto its quarry’s neck and, with a powerful shake, snapped the wild pig’s spine. The body went limp. The wolf released its grip, and the carcass dropped into the underbrush with a heavy thump.
The wolf sniffed once, then tore open the still-quivering underbelly.
Awhei strode through the tangle of underbrush and bumped the she-wolf’s head aside with her hip. The wolf growled, a deep rumble that sent leaves skittering across the ground. Huffing loudly, it circled close behind Awhei and sat back on its haunches, tracking her every move with steely eyes. Stooping over the now-still carcass, Awhei drew a sharp knife and cut away a patch of coarse hide from the dead sow’s rump, carving out a portion of red meat from the pig’s flank to cook later.
With a grunt, she turned and affectionately cuffed the she-wolf behind the ear. The beast leapt forward and began to gorge, crunching and ripping noisily until nothing soft remained.
As evening fell, Awhei sat against the giant stump of a fallen pine, watching the embers of her cooking fire rise lazily up and then blink out in the night sky. The wolf, Shadow, lay stretched out nearby, sleepy and relaxed. Despite appearances, Awhei was certain the wolf’s faculties missed nothing. She marveled at the creature’s beauty and power, as she often did.
“You are truly Death on four legs,” she crowed, a satisfied grin tugging at the corners of her lips.
Shadow’s sky-blue eyes regarded her, and though the evening was cool, the wolf’s thick coat felt warm beneath her fingers as she stroked Shadow’s neck. Hearing a sound in the brushwood, the she-wolf lifted her enormous head and sniffed the air. Her massive paws flexed, and the muscles in her neck bunched. Shadow was a creature of perfectly honed instincts, a ferocious predator.
“And yet, you love me,” Awhei murmured.
Once the sun had set, the two of them curled up to sleep. Awhei brushed away the tangle of pale hair that had fallen over her face. Her slender arms glimmered in the soft firelight, wiry muscles highlighted in the half shadows.
She thought back to four springs ago, when she’d stumbled upon a mewing ball of fur, shivering and alone on a patch of dirty snow. The day-old carcasses of a female wolf and the remains of the pup’s littermates were scattered throughout the hollow. Somehow, this little one had survived an attack by some ferocious predator. She remembered feeling an instant and mysterious kinship with the orphan. As she approached, the pup snarled and bared its tiny, sharp fangs. But weak and cold, it didn’t fuss much when Awhei pulled it close. Having no milk to offer, she chewed bits of rabbit flesh she’d saved for later and held them under the pup’s mouth. The wolfling gulped them down, then looked up, expecting more. That first night, the tiny wolf slept under Awhei’s arm. The following day, as she walked out of the vale, the pup followed, never far from her side. Amused, Awhei named the wolfling Shadow.
All these years later, Awhei and Shadow still ran together, a pack of two. As Awhei lay by the waning fire, the enormous she-wolf pressed close beside her. She reflected on their many seasons together. Everyone Awhei had ever cared for had deserted her, but Shadow never had.
Like Shadow, Awhei had been abandoned at a young age. Her mother died in the act of bearing her only child, bloodless and worn out, forsaking Awhei the very day she was born. Nearly eight years later, her father left her, no doubt overcome by grief. She was certain he blamed Awhei for her mother’s death, though he never said so. Now, almost nine years had passed since he’d gone, and no one else had claimed her until the wolf pup did. They seemed a good fit. Because Shadow had grown so large, it was rare for anything in the forest to challenge them. The pair was left alone for the most part, which suited Awhei just fine. She told herself she wanted nothing more. She breathed deeply, feeling Shadow’s heart pound against her hand, the very essence of life.
“All I’ll ever need,” she whispered.
So Awhei lived on her own, separated from her kin, an Asharen clan that dwelt in the craggy peaks of the Mountains of Korath-Na. She shut herself off from them and rejected their voices in her mind, the Asharen mind-link that secretly conjoined her people’s thoughts.
“I want no voices in my head,” she told the beast beside her, scowling at the notion of anyone intruding on her thoughts.
Shadow watched her with steady eyes that never seemed to blink, her tail thumping restlessly in the underbrush. Just the two of them. Awhei preferred it that way. She needed only Shadow.
Usually, Awhei felt safe sleeping curled beside the wolf. But on this night, monstrous beings plagued her dreams. She ran but had nowhere to hide. The smell of death filled her nose, such that she could focus on little else. Reeling and afraid, she looked about frantically for anyone at all, but even Shadow had vanished into the darkness seeping everywhere. She was all alone.
As the sun rose, she awoke drained, her muscles taut and aching. Her thoughts were clouded, and her mouth was bone-dry. She glanced about, her golden eyes searching for the monsters she was certain must be out there, but nothing disturbed the chirping of the wrens or the squirrels scurrying from tree to tree. Probably just remnants from yesterday’s remembering. I must have imagined it all.
She ran her fingers through Shadow’s coat, then signaled for the she-wolf to lead the way.
Shadow tilted her large head to the side, huffed loudly, then glided out of the glade, all stealth and vigilance.
As she left the glen, Awhei’s heart began to pound hard against her ribs as it had in the night, and her stomach turned sour.
“Something is watching,” she hissed.
The she-wolf froze, slowly turning her massive head as she scanned the forest. Her nostrils flared, her ears twitched, and her breathing grew quiet. She seemed to lean into the shadows themselves.
Then she huffed loudly again and continued down the trail, unperturbed by whatever her senses had detected.
“Nothing there, girl?”
Shaking her head, Awhei followed, her step careful and her senses alert.
Not even three strides further, she froze.
A woman screamed from far away, raw and frenzied. Awhei shut her eyes tight as the echoes of it lingered, stretched thin and pain-filled. She heard it reverberate in the tremble of the leaves and in the sigh of the breeze.
Shadow crouched low and snarled. She bared her long teeth, and her ears flattened. Violence bristled through her like the buzzing of a swarm of bees. Her growl deepened and grew noisier.
Awhei’s heart pounded, and her hands went slick. She cocked her ear, listening for more. Nothing came. A hush settled over the forest, as if the old wood itself was shocked by what had happened.
“Quiet, girl. Let me think. It came from the valley beyond that ridge,” Awhei said, pointing into the sun.
As she stepped forward, a cacophony of voices interrupted her thoughts, clamoring riotously in her head. The mind-link her clan used to communicate, she realized. “No!” she howled, clamping her hands over her ears. “I’ll have no voices in my head!”
Shadow whined anxiously, answering Awhei’s sudden agitation.
“It’s okay, girl,” Awhei groaned, clenching her teeth hard and trying to keep her voice calm. “I’ll be fine. Let’s get someplace safe.”
Shadow bounded down the trail, ears twitching to catch Awhei’s movements behind. The she-wolf was deadly silent now, every sense strained.
The forest is a perilous place. Even Shadow can’t protect me from everything.
