WolfWolf is

by Paul G Mann

  ‘I’m still not sure what you want me to do,’ Fred said quietly as the head mans words sank into his mind. ‘Why don’t you just kill these parasites and have done with it?’

  ‘We did. We killed the first judge that made demands on us after he had killed a young woman. We left his body in the woods for the Rippers to have. Two months later four of them turned up looking for him, they didn’t believe us when we said he had left and they captured one of our hunters, tortured him until he told them what had happened. They beheaded him and stuck his head on a pole outside the village before coming into the village and killing six people in revenge.’

  ‘I’m still not sure what you want me to do,’ Fred said in his quiet voice. ‘Killing them would only bring retribution on you and besides which, I’m not an assassin that can be hired for gain.’

  ‘I know that,’ he replied hastily. ‘To be honest I don’t know what we expect you to do. We sent word out to bring you here only because of something that was said early last summer. John Forsythe overheard two of them talking about you and how they don’t want you knowing what they do. For some reason known only to them, they’re scared of you. Maybe if you move here your presence will make them leave us in peace,’

  ‘Maybe so and I’m not saying you’re right, but even if you are I’m sorry but living the way you do is not my idea of living, I prefer the woods, these tunnels would suffocate me. Even if I was here when they came back I could no nothing more than frighten them,’ he shrugged his shoulders in apology, ‘I’m sorry but once I leave you’ll be on your own again and back where you started.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry to have brought you here with winter setting in,’ the head man replied resignation evident in his voice and stance. ‘People here thought you were their only hope, especially after what John Forsythe said about them and you.’

  ‘Which was what?’ Fred asked knowing instinctively that by asking the question he would be trapped and compelled to somehow help these people.

  ‘He overheard two of them talking as they left laden down with the goods and supplies they had taken as their tax. One said it was a good job you weren’t in the area; the other asked why and was told by the first one that if you had been here gathering a tax would have been impossible. He said you moved like a ghost and could creep up on someone to within a few inches of them without them knowing you were there. He then went on to describe your expertise with a bow and how you could pluck the eye out of a bird in flight at two hundred yards. Basically he was terrified of you and warned the other judge to stay well clear of you if you were anywhere near a village they were trying to collect taxes from.’

  ‘Let me think on it,’ Fred replied slowly. ‘I’m not sure what exactly I can do if anything at all. I need to speak to my companion to see what her plans are. I’ll let you know tomorrow what I can do.’

  Four

  Compared to Haroldstown and Hawkspoint, East Harbour was to Liz’s mind a revelation. It was clean for a start, had fresh water readily available, didn’t stink of human waste and once the people there found out who Fred was they treated her with a kindness and respect the Hawkspoint residents could do well to copy. Given the circumstances it was also well set out inside the tunnels with escape hatches never more than a hundred feet away from you. Rough furniture was provided by carpenters that matched anything she had lived with before being brought here. The only real thing lacking was anything made from metal; cooking pots, knives, forks all that sort of thing was made from either stone or animal bone. Clothing was also made from animal skins, bedding was made from rough wool made from the hair of the native sheep, it wasn’t really a sheep but for the want of a better word that’s what the locals called it. All in all the trappings of the civilisation she was used too was not far removed from here; the notable difference being it was underground not above it.

  With these circumstances in mind she was happy to stay here when Fred broached the subject to her. As a sweetener he promised to take her out each day to continue her education in living outside in the woods and forests. Winter wasn’t an ideal time to learn these skills but with shelter not too far away in the tunnels of East Harbour it made learning easier and a lot less hazardous.

  With Liz’s agreement Fred was good as his word and informed the head man, (a former poacher from the valleys of South Wales called Gethin Jones) of his intention to stay with the proviso that when he left Liz would be given accommodation and looked after by the community. Agreed to without any haggling Fred began to wonder how he was going to handle the situation. He still had no idea what he could do to deter these so called judges and if or when they came back he decided to let the situation unfold as it would. After all if what Gethin said was true in relaying the tale John Forsythe was reputed to have told, he only had to utter his name to have these judges running. Time would tell he decided; besides it wasn’t worth worrying about now, winter was here and only a fool would travel across country at this time of year.

  The ‘season’s’ on Newth were similar to the seasons on Earth. In any given year there would be a hard winter such as the one Fred and Liz were experiencing now followed by a short spring, then a hot summer before a short almost unnoticeable autumn brought about the hard winter once more. Not really ideal for Earth vegetation but the Earth fauna that flourished had adapted well to the conditions while others had died off after only a few years. Fred had no understanding of why the seasons behaved the way they did, he cared little about it; he was only sure in the knowledge of how to exist in Newth’s climate and was convinced beyond all reasoning that it would be a while before the judges came calling. The harsh winter would also keep the Hunki away; they didn’t like the wet or cold, a fact Fred was more than happy about as he wouldn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder. Winter may be harsh here on Newth but it was the one season the human population could relax.

  Liz would never become as proficient with a bow and arrow as Fred, she didn’t have his immense strength for a start but she was patient in the hunt and had a good eye that could down a quarry over fifty yards without any trouble. When it came time for him to leave he knew she would be able to look after herself and that pleased him. The locals also showed her great respect; he wondered if that would be the same after he left but judging by the way they revered him he somehow doubted they would give her a hard time or suffer the abuse she had received in Hawkspoint.

  The harsh winter came and went; time Fred used well in stocking up travelling supplies and trading his wares for a host of other stuff including a well made one man portable canvas shelter, erected with stone smoothed wooden poles that would be ideal for him in the forests of Newth. With winters end Fred resumed his perpetual glance at the sky when out in the open, he also took to the trails leading out of East Harbour looking for the signs that would mean danger is near from either Ripper or Human. Three weeks later he saw signs in the distance that East Harbour was about to have Human visitors.

  Two hours after sunrise the following day he saw them; three men walking out from the tree line; two pulling a small rough made cart with wooden wheels, the third striding along in front, full of misguided self importance. Fred stepped out from behind the bushes he had used as his lookout point; he took four arrows from his quiver and pushed three of them head first into ground in front of him. The fourth arrow he knocked in his bow and stood waiting until the men approached to within two hundred feet. He pulled back on the bow string and let the arrow fly. True to his aim it imbedded itself into the ground inches in front of the lead man.

  ‘Turn around and go away,’ he shouted, ‘or the next arrow will be used on your grave marker.’

  ‘Just who the hell are you,’ he shouted back as he pulled the arrow out of the ground and snapped it in two over his knee. ‘We’re judges from Stonehaven here to collect taxes and you are interfering with our lawful duties.’ As he spoke he continued walking towards Fred.

  ‘Your lawful duties don’t concern anyone here,’ Fred replied in
his raised voice. ‘Save yourself a lot of grief my friend, turn around and leave while you can.’ As he finished speaking he picked an arrow out of the ground and knocked it in the bow.

  As he expected the judge increased his gait, quickly covering the ground between them raising a crossbow as he did so, his two companions still pulling on the hafts of the cart followed him. Fred never hesitated he sent the knocked arrow true and straight into the arm of a man pulling the cart. He barely had time to scream before the next arrow was on its way to take his companion in the arm. The judge turned, took stock of the situation and turned back to Fred who by this time had the bow drawn with the final arrow pointing directly at the lead mans chest.

  ‘The first two arrows were warnings; this one will take you in your heart. The choice is yours.’

  ‘We’ll go,’ the lead man said releasing the tension on his crossbow string and slipping the weapon over his shoulder, ‘but we’ll be back. I know who you are now and believe me; I’m going to take great delight in plucking the eyes out of your head for this.’

  ‘You might as well know my name,’ Fred smiled, ‘those that know me call me Fred. For your own sake, don’t come back, if I see you near here again I’ll kill you and leave your body for the Rippers. Now go! And for your own sake don’t return.’ He pulled back on the bowstring and let the final arrow fly. True and straight it flew, brushing high up the inside of the judges’ thigh before it landed with a resounding thud between the legs of the astonished would be official.

  Fred waited, a half smile on his face as he watched the judge turn with a scream of fright and push his companions back along the trail with the cart discarded in his panic to get away. The cart was a poorly constructed box on wheels the contents of which could be discarded without worry. They might have been collecting taxes but it was clear the judge didn’t know gold from garbage, broken stone knives, old and worn pelts and an assortment of half finished carvings made up over 90 percent of the carts contents. The only thing of note as far as he was concerned was a finely finished and well made leather knife scabbard ideal for the steel knife he had purloined off Billy Johnson last summer.

  If what the Elders of East Harbour said were true and previous attempts to rid the village of this scum had failed because the judges would hide outside the village and kill people as they tried to go about the daily lives, he knew his small victory was a fleeting one.

  Leaving the cart for the villagers to pick over, he returned to the village, quickly entered the tunnels and ran to an exit he knew would bring him out some fifty yards of the tree line on the opposite side of the village. Once in the trees he moved like a ghost soundlessly slipping from one tree to the next until he had an uninterrupted view of East Harbour and any cover the trees near the village could afford a judge with murderous intent against him or any of the residents.

  The wait wasn’t a long one. Three judges, two with blood soaked coat sleeves crashed through the trees below him and took up stations overlooking a semi concealed tunnel entrance. All armed with wicked looking crossbows; they rested their weapons on convenient tree branches and waited for a victim to leave the safety of the tunnels. A crossbow is loaded easily enough with one arm and the use of a foot for leverage, a bad arm and a wounded leg however makes the use of these weapons near impossible. He slowly moved his position until he had all three of the judges in an uninterrupted field of vision. He placed his quiver of arrows upright against the trunk of a tree next to him, selected one, knocked it in the bowstring, took aim and let it fly at who he assumed was the head judge. As soon as it was in flight, another was fitted to the bow and fired at an assistant; both arrows were still in the air as he pulled back on the bowstring a third time and aimed at the remaining judge.

  He waited until his first two arrows had found their mark; both imbedding themselves high in the thigh of each victim. His last target moved as soon as he heard the screams from his companions, Fred knew he would, the only uncertainty was in which direction would he go? Once he knew, he let the arrow loose to find its mark some ten seconds later piecing the skin and hitting the bone in the same place as his previous shots.

  All three judges were now screaming and lay writhing on the ground trying to pull each other to safety, each of them with a yard long flint headed arrow buried in the muscle of their thighs. As a fighting force they were finished, without medical aid they would die as soon as a wandering Ripper caught the scent of their blood. Fred was a killer but not a murderer; the enemy here was the Hunki not each other and most people on Newth abided by the unwritten law never to let a man die without trying to give aid. No matter what these judges threatened or what they did, up to now they had given him no real reason to kill them out of hand. Stealth was no longer needed; he made his way down the small hillside to his three victims. Once there he quickly quietened them down, built a small fire and from his pack brought a small jug he had made years ago from a smooth rock he had found on the shore of the western ocean, half filled it with water and sat staring at his frightened victims while waiting for the water to boil.

  He cleaned the wounds of his victims as best he could but not before carefully removing his arrows for future use. Once done and the wounds wrapped with the healing leaves of the native yellow berry bush he sat back and looked at his victims.

  ‘I told you to leave and not come back,’ he said quietly. ‘This is your last warning. Go back to where you came from and tell whoever is in charge back there that East Harbour is off limits. Come anywhere near here again and I will kill you, is that understood?’

  ‘Understood,’ the main judge replied, wincing as he moved his leg. ‘Although friend I think you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. The judges in Stonehaven are not going to be happy with today’s events. They’ll send others to kill you because they don’t allow anyone to go against their laws, and you, one man against the hundreds in Stonehaven, I’m sorry, I thank you for my life and your help, but your days are numbered.’

  ‘The warning is there,’ Fred replied. ‘Tell whoever you have to my name. Tell them for a living I hunt Rippers and tell them I’ve survived two Hunki hunts; the last one I had them running from my arrows, so tell me FRIEND what exactly is in Stonehaven that I should be frightened of?’

  ‘Numbers, sheer numbers will overpower you,’ he smiled.

  ‘Those numbers will have to find me first,’ Fred smiled in return. ‘The warning is there, ignore it by all means but if you do, tell whoever comes looking for me they won’t be returning home, they’ll be dead. That said I leave you to hobble back to Stonehaven, take your weapons with you, you will need them against the Rippers and to hunt. I hope I never see you again, for your sake.’

  He packed up, stamped the fire out and watched as the three judges made their slow painful way towards Stonehaven. Satisfied they were well on their way he followed them down the hillside and turned to the tunnels of East Harbour.

  It would be some time before the judges returned to test Freds warning. Stonehaven was over two hundred miles away from East Harbour; travelling overland meant a journey time of about four weeks and that providing the weather remained fair and no storms came in. Ill equipped as the judges were, wounded and having to hunt as they travelled and Fred thought the four weeks estimate would double. If he was right and given the time needed to travel back here it was going to be at least 3 months before he could expect some reprisal.

  To pass the time he opened a small workshop in one of the disused tunnels. There he sat for hours on end carving wood, bone and flint into knives, arrowheads, spear shafts and arrows. It wasn’t long before word got around and he began making goods to order, needles, scissors and knife handles being the top priorities of his customers. Liz helped him of course whenever she could; she had learned a lot from Fred in the short time she had known him and realised very early in their relationship she needed teaching. The lady like skills she had learned before coming here were all well and good, but what use is the art of needlework if y
ou haven’t got a needle?

  The change in the judge’s behaviour worried him; until now they had moved from village to village arbitrating in disputes for no more reward than a bed during their stay and meals. Villagers looked forward to them coming; it was a chance to do a bit of trading and catch up on some gossip or news from other villages. Disputes had always been settled fairly and people abided by the decisions made; now it seems judges were no longer the arbitrators but the instigators of trouble; killing and stealing for their own ends, taking without giving anything back.

  If he could believe his adversary, weight of numbers could overwhelm him. He needed a plan to counter them, something that would not only keep them away from him but leave the inhabitants of East Harbour alone. It was something he thought long and deep on while he whittled and carved in his small workshop. After two months of frustrated thought he put his whittling down and with a smile as wide as the Inland Sea set off with bow and arrow, steel knife, a cart borrowed off a villager and as much rope as he could carry.

  As he left he gave instruction to the village head man to make a strong wooden cage approximately ten foot square, and assembled so that any ropes used in the construction could not be reached from the inside. Once made it was to be left topside of the East Harbour tunnels close to the main entrance. With that done he had one more stop to make before setting out to put his plan into action. Deep in the woods he searched for the blue mint tree, a plant native to Newth that had properties not a lot of people knew about. The root crushed and boiled and mixed with the juice from the plants leaves made a concoction that would lay a man unconscious for days. If he could get his quarry to drink it, once captured he would water it down to keep new pet docile.