WolfWolf is

by Paul G Mann

  She was intelligent, he could see that from the way she looked at him and sat weighing him up in the same manner as he was doing to her; the intelligence behind the eyes balanced and evaluated the information her eyes sent to her brain. She was also brave, brave enough to leave the cutlass where it was and brave enough to stand up to him despite the considerable difference in physical stature between the two of them. She was no more than five foot six while he was over six foot six. She hadn’t been on Newth long; her skin still had a soft look to it while his was hard and tough from years of living under the Newth sun.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said as he wiped his greasy hands down the front of his coat. ‘What brings you this far out from other people?’

  ‘Other people are dangerous,’ she replied warily. ‘Between them and the Hunki I decided I was much safer out here on my own.’

  ‘For someone who knows little about Rippers, I’m surprised to find you alive,’ he stated with a bewildered shake of his head. ‘You need training young lady and I suggest you get it as soon as you can.’

  ‘From you!’ she near shouted. ‘I could have killed you four times over before you knew I was following you.’

  ‘So you think,’ he replied with a smile, ‘and far be it for me to argue over it. If you have no faith in my abilities I still suggest you look for help elsewhere; believe me a Ripper will rip you to shreds before you know it has seen you. How is it you know so little of the Ripper?’ he asked as an afterthought. ‘How long have you been here on Newth?’

  ‘I was dumped here about four months ago,’ she replied. ‘The first night here I was nearly raped by some dirty crazed pervert who hadn’t had a wash in years. I was put in a small room inside an underground cave; the place stank to high heaven so after fighting off the pervert I stayed awake all night in case he came back. I lasted a week, a week of constantly having to be on my guard against attack from others, in the end I stole that big knife and some food and headed for the woods. I’ve been here ever since managing quite well thank you, I don’t stay in the same place for more than a few days and try to avoid contact with others. If I see someone else I either follow them like I did you or hide if there is more than one of them.’

  ‘You’ve got guts, I say that for you,’ Fred smiled at her, ‘but you must also have the luck of the devil to have survived out here for as long as you have on your own. Granted the only thing liable to kill you is a Ripper, but they’re numerous this far south; I’m amazed you haven’t already run into them. Anyway a more pressing danger to you now is winter, sorry to inform you but it will soon be upon us. Four weeks from now will see snow on the ground; it’s not like Earth here with seasons gently blending into each other. Winter follows summer and summer follows winter, why I don’t know it just does and has done for the last 100 years that I know of. You need clothing that will be warm enough to see you through a winter, and those long skirts of yours will be the death of you; I have some old buckskin trousers and a shirt that with a few nips and tucks can be made to fit you, but you need a top coat, boots, some sort of sock and a hat that will cover your head and ears. You have about four weeks to get them; if you don’t you’ll freeze to death, even this far south.’

  He could see the fear and panic spread across her face as he was speaking. She had never considered the dangers this planet posed to her living alone; the horrendous conditions in the tunnels of Hawkspoint had been enough for her. She had run without looking back feeling herself to be free and without fear of abuse once away from the dank smelly conditions everyone else appeared to accept and live in without complaint. Now forced to face a new array of dangers her resolve began to crumble with tears threatening to well in her eyes. Her biggest fear and question was, could she trust the giant who sat opposite her? She had no illusions; if this man attacked her she would have little chance of fighting him off.

  Fred could see the fear and questions she now had thanks to his dire warnings of Ripper attack and freezing to death. He felt sorry for her. Her misplaced courage would be the death of her if she refused help; either his or someone else’s and he hoped for her sake she accepted his offer.

  ‘One thing I have learned about this place,’ she said, ‘is you get nothing for nothing here; if you help me, what’s in it for you? How can I trust you? Everyone else in this God forsaken place doesn’t care an ounce about anyone else, just what they can grab or steal. Why are you different?’

  ‘Trust is easy,’ he smiled at her. ‘If I wanted you dead or wanted to rape you, you would be dead or raped by now. As to what’s in it for me? Not a lot if I’m honest, except maybe for a bit of company on my journey to East Harbour. Think on it and before you make your mind up, I suggest you backtrack and pick up your pack while I make a more secure and comfortable camp here. We can stay the night here and you can let me know what you want to do when you decide what it is you want.’

  Her name was Elizabeth Freemont and Fred had done her a discourtesy, she was only twenty four years of age, not the thirty he had imagined. She was a poacher’s daughter and knew better than him how to lay a trap to snare rabbits but lacked the skills with a longbow that would bring down a deer or the native sheep. She had also been wise enough to save the rabbit skins she had caught; too late to tan before the winter but perfectly good to trade for a halfway decent hat and coat.

  His old buckskins soon fitted Liz (as she liked to be called) and within a day of their meeting the pair set off for Mossybanks, a small village at the southern end of the Inland Sea. There Fred hoped to be able to get winter clothes for her and a few essential supplies they would need on their trek north. Mossybanks was a detour that Fred knew they could well afford as it would still take six or seven weeks of a difficult and tiresome journey to reach their final destination. They would be cutting it close with the onset of winter but if they got the clothes for Liz it would be worth it.

  Fred was as good as his word teaching his young companion the art of noiselessly moving through woodland and forest. It would take a long while before she would be as good as him, but she was a quick learner and Fred was impressed by the seriousness she displayed following his footprints and mimicking his every move. She was also a talkative young woman who kept up a constant flow of inane chatter about everything and nothing and Fred wished at times she would be quiet. Instead he explained how quiet let the ears become attuned to the forest about them taking great delight in teaching her how not to talk when moving through the woodlands. Evenings around their campfire was a different matter however, he couldn’t think of a good enough reason to keep her quiet.

  Three

  Mossybanks is a small hamlet with less than two dozen people living there. Strange really Fred thought; it was close to the tree line and gave people the chance to run to the trees and cover when the Hunki came. He did ask about it from a Mossybanks resident who agreed with Fred but explained that if the village was any bigger, people would be trapped when the Hunki came as not all would be able to get out with any degree of safety. Those left would be at the mercy of the Hunki, as it was however, people had more than a reasonable chance of escape before the Hunki began to discharge their weapons at them.

  Being small the place had little in the way of stored provisions, what they did have they would need over the winter. They were lucky enough however to get the clothes for Liz, her old skirts and heavy brocade tunic more than enough to trade against a ‘sheepskin’ coat and a pair of deerskin boots that Fred carved and fixed wooden soles to. The rabbit skins were traded for a rabbit skin hat and a small Ripper claw was traded for a pair of warm mitts. In all Fred thought they had traded well especially as the Ripper claw also bought them a roast chicken dinner. Not much really but chicken was becoming scarce on Newth, the idiots would rather kill and eat what they had as they got it rather than breed them for eggs and meat.

  He understood their mentality; the Hunki would obliterate anything they considered to be civilized. That included buildings of any kind, cultivated fields and any
sign of farming, but given the fact the Hunki only came hunting every ten years or so, Fred was bemused why once they had finished the hunt and repopulated the hunted areas people didn’t farm in between hunts. Each to his own he had often thought when thinking about this over the years, he preferred the way in which he lived, and he supposed the people in the likes of Mossybanks and Haroldstown preferred theirs.

  The journey north to East Harbour was tedious and difficult over rough terrain. The way people lived here without horse and cart made trade between villages’ none existent. In turn there was no road structure or well defined tracks; they had never evolved to make travel between communities easy. Each step had to be taken with care; one wrong step that brought a foot down on a lose rock could lead to a twisted ankle at best, a broken leg at worse; if that happened to you, your fate was sealed out here in the wilderness of Newth’s northern climes.

  Over the next few weeks what was in the beginning a reserved relationship grew until the two travellers were firm friends. Like everyone else on Newth you didn’t speak of your past before coming here other than a cursory mention which in Fred’s case was ‘I was a farmer’s son who ran away to sea.’ Everyone here was in the same boat, there was no aristocracy, no Dukes or landed gentry to tell you what to do; each had only his or her own wits to live on. It was a surprise one evening as they sat back after eating for Liz to announce out of the blue that back home she had been married and had left her husband alone with two children, both daughters to bring up.

  The news initially took Fred by complete surprise. This wasn’t something that was usually discussed and about to say something akin to that he was only stopped by the tears that began to run down her face. Fred was clumsy when it came to women; for all his size, physical strength and confidence in hunting, when it came to women he was at a complete loss. He knew she was missing her husband and children; he knew she was vulnerable and one wrong move by him could be misunderstood and lead to her never trusting him again. He knew, but it never stopped him moving over to her and taking her in his powerful arms to comfort her. The rest as they say is history; they were lovers before the day was out.

  A month after leaving Mossybanks Fred ambled down to the water’s edge to fill the canvass canteens with enough water for the days march northward. It was early in the day; with dawn only a half hour gone. Liz was busy cooking a breakfast of the fish he had caught the night before and flat bread made last night from the last of the flour they had picked up in Mossybanks. He was looking forward to it, the smell as it wafted on the breeze making his stomach rumble with anticipation. As he bent to fill the first canteen he glanced out across the huge lake that was known as the inland sea. About a mile away he could make out the distinctive shape of a triangular sail and stood open mouthed at the unexpected sight. A sail here on Newth was unheard of and if seen by the Hunki would be unheard of again.

  Gathering the filled canteens he made his way back to camp. Grey clouds hung low in the air and it was getting colder each day. Snow wasn’t far off and while that posed a slight problem with travel he assumed walking along the shore would be safer footing when the snow fell and became heavy forming a white blanket on the ground. Now with the sail on the lake he wasn’t so sure. Whoever was in the boat was out there for a reason. What the reason was he could only guess at, but if the boat hugged the shore he and Liz would be seen by the occupants and that could lead to complications for them both. Complications they could do without especially if the occupants where antagonistic towards them.

  Liz was far more trusting than Fred. To her a boat meant transport; she hadn’t been on Newth long enough to understand how rare a boat was or how unsafe it could be if it had been built by an idiot without the right tools. Fred cast his mind back to his own knowledge of seamanship. Boats made of wood needed caulking to make them watertight, they needed proper ropes for rigging and proper canvas for sails, anything else and the first strong wind would rip the sails to shreds and bring the rigging down around the heads of those on board. It was a dilemma that Fred wanted to leave alone; he knew the dangers of sailing even on a well built ship well maintained by an experienced crew. Whoever was on the sail boat on the lake was an amateur, he had to be by the very fact that to Fred’s knowledge it was the only ship in existence on this God forsaken rock. In the end his arguments won Liz over and they decided to let the boat sail on its merry way ignorant of their presence on shore.

  Two days later the temperature plunged to freezing and the snow began to fall. Within twelve hours it was knee deep making walking difficult in the extreme. Newth had no moon and therefore little in the way of tide movement but as the water in the lake was warmer than the surrounding air, the snow near the water’s edge was only an inch or two deep. With Fred taking the lead the two companions made slow but steady progress along the lake shore. Thankfully as far as Fred was concerned the boat didn’t show again, not that he thought it posed any danger to him or Liz but whoever the sailor was it would draw attention to him and Fred through years of experience knew on this world attention was the last thing anyone needed, if not from the Hunki then from others of their own race who would see attention seeking as an excuse for robbery or worse.

  The thin even layer of snow made progress slow and Fred was concerned their meagre provisions wouldn’t last the month or so needed to reach East Harbour. Finding shelter in a small cave he decided to make camp for a few days to hunt and make good their supplies. The cold weather made the smoking and curing of any meat they caught superfluous; once skinned, gutted and cleaned any meat would freeze within the hour. Three days later laden down with rabbit and venison from a young buck the pair resumed their slow journey north only stopping to make camp to eat and sleep of a night.

  East Harbour is a reasonably large village of about two hundred inhabitants. Underground like all the villages on Newth it differed only in the large never ending natural tunnels and caverns instead of the more usual small man made tunnels other villages comprised of. The other major difference was the lack of the overpowering smell of unwashed bodies and human waste most villages purported; it was also cleaner than most places he had visited on his travels. Situated next to the large inland lake with natural flowing springs running inside the cavern network, washing and toilet facilities were readily available with the only real problem being the lack of privacy that over the years had been overcome by the construction of makeshift wooden walls. These facilities were communal but it was the one place inhabited with people on Newth that Fred didn’t mind spending time in.

  Not knowing what to expect Fred cautioned Liz not to mention his identity. This might prove a useless exercise if some sharp eyed local seeing his distinctive size put two and two together, but Fred banked on the fifty years plus since his last visit here making even the most nosey of the local population forget him. He really wanted to spy out the place and see why and what the people here wanted of him before announcing to the world in some sort of grand exposé who he was. Never one for being the centre of attention, he was much more at home in the background watching and waiting, it was what made him the hunter he was, slow when needed but patient and deadly once spurred into action.

  It was made clear to them that their presence here was not wanted; they would be given shelter and food for a night or two but it was expected they would then move on. This was something new to Fred; most villages welcomed new members, God knows enough were killed by the Hunki and other ‘natural causes’ that the turning away of people was virtually unheard of. These people were frightened, of that he was certain, of what he didn’t as yet know. All attempts at friendly casual conversation with the inhabitants were either ignored or sidestepped and while the people weren’t exactly hostile to them, they were left in no doubt that the hand of friendship was not offered either.

  His enquiries got him nowhere except more distrust and he spent a frustrated night in fitful sleep deliberating the situation. He woke with a determination to get to the bottom of things and
ascertaining who the current village head man was he bided his time and approached him when he was alone.

  ‘I understand you’ve sent word out saying you’re in need of my services’ he said quietly.

  ‘And who are you?’ the head man countered after a momentary pause in which he looked Fred up and down.

  ‘Oh’ said Fred in mock surprise, ‘just how many people’s services are you looking for?’

  ‘Only one,’ the head man replied, ‘but he is someone I am led to believe is rather special and while I can see you erm, stand out in a crowd, the situation here makes trusting strangers a dangerous business, so I’ll ask again, who are you?’

  ‘I think we could fence like this all day,’ Fred replied with a mirthless smile. ‘You know who I am as well as I do so unless you start telling me what the hell is going on and what you want me to do I will gladly leave you to whatever fate you think is about to befall you.’

  ‘Two things,’ the head man replied after a minute spent staring at Fred. ‘One is we have an idiot in some sort of boat that plies up and down about a mile off shore. If the Hunki see it they will destroy this place and the people here. But that I suppose is something we can deal with ourselves. Tell me Fred, have you heard of the judges.’

  ‘Judges, only the ones that travel the country arbitrating in disputes,’ Fred replied.

  ‘If that was the case we wouldn’t need you.’ The head man said thoughtfully. I’m afraid those kindly souls have gone, probably killed by the new breed that has sprung up around here. As yet no one knows where they come from, but they are viscous nasty pieces of work who are bleeding us dry. If we kick them out, they retreat to the tree line and kill anyone who tries to leave; many have been killed or seriously wounded by an arrow in the back. They then return offering us protection from the killing, for a price of course; refuse them and they return to the trees and the killing starts again. So far we have lost twelve people, all killed with a crossbow. To stop the killing we agreed to pay their taxes but they are bleeding us dry. We’re running out of provisions and stores; winter has set in and we will be lucky to see it through without starvation. We had hoped you would have got here sooner but we’re grateful you got here at all.’