The Wolf On The Run (The Wolf of Corwick Castle Book 3)

by Terry Cloutier

  I closed my eyes, wrinkling my nose at the lavender smell, then jumped as I felt the old man’s hands on me, rubbing the powder into my skin.

  “The Mother and The Father had skin the color of newly-fallen snow,” the old man explained, grinning his blackened gums at me. “You have been in the sun your entire life. To start this sacred journey, they must see you as you were meant to be.” He frowned. “Where is your pass?” I opened my mouth, unsure what to say just as the old man waved his hand in the air. “Never mind. My place is not to question.” He began to mutter to himself as he worked the powder into my skin. Finally, when he finished, he stepped back and surveyed his handiwork. “You have the look and muscles of a god, Pilgrim,” he said in admiration. “What I wouldn’t give to be young again and look like you.” He grinned and winked at me. “I’d bed every pretty woman I could find, and even some of the ugly ones.”

  The old man’s grin faded as a sudden knock sounded at the back door. “What’s this, then?” he grunted, looking annoyed as he headed for the door. He swung it open and gasped in surprise. “My Lady,” he said, bowing repeatedly. “An honor, Lady. An honor.”

  “I understand you have a late arrival here with you, Larret,” Shana said. “I wish to speak with him.”

  The Lady of Calban stepped into the room dressed in a shimmering cloak of red and green that fell to her ankles. Her long black hair had painstakingly been plated with golden twine, and it hung like a thick, elegant rope down one side of her chest, almost reaching her waist. Our eyes met across the room and her lips twitched in amusement when she took in my white-powdered nakedness.

  “Rorian of Afrenia, my lady,” Larret said, glancing between us uncomfortably. He frowned and indicated the tunic on the desk. “Please clothe yourself, Pilgrim.” He turned to Shana. “My apologies for the unseemliness, my lady.”

  “I’ve seen naked men before, Larret,” Shana said with laughter in her voice. “Though rarely have they been this handsome.”

  I moved to the desk and grabbed the heavy tunic, dropping it over my head. The wool felt scratchy and uncomfortable.

  “Please, leave us, Larret,” Shana said. “I wish to speak with the Pilgrim alone.”

  Larret looked as though he might protest, then he silently crossed the room, exiting through the main door.

  “I wasn’t sure if you would be able to come,” I said as I cinched the belt around my waist. I took Shana’s hands in mine. “I’m glad you did.”

  “Kylan told me what’s happening,” Shana said. I could see worry in her blue eyes now. “If they catch you—”

  I put a finger to Shana’s lips. “They won’t,” I said. “I’ll find the codex and end this war, I promise.” I had asked to see Shana despite how busy I knew she was for one specific reason. I lifted her chin, marveling once again at her staggering, almost mystical beauty. I took a deep breath, willing myself to say the words. “And when the war is over, there won’t be a need for us to hide anymore.” I looked at her, letting her see in my eyes what I felt in my heart. “I’m a simple man, Shana, good with a sword and quick to anger. That’s about all. I have land and title right now that aren’t mine. When the war ends, I will be left with exactly what I had when it started, which is nothing. You are one of the highborn, with the blood of kings in you, and I am a wanted man and the son of a peasant. I have little to offer you but devotion and love. Yet, even so, will you consider becoming my wife?”

  Shana blinked at me in surprise. “Of course I will,” she said without hesitation. I could see tears welling in her eyes. “Being your wife is all that I have ever wanted since I met you, Hadrack.”

  I grinned in relief. “Then, that is what we will do,” I said, feeling my heart soar. “The moment the war is over, we will marry.” I drew Shana to me and kissed her deeply, stopping only when Larret knocked loudly on the door behind me.

  “My lady,” the old man called through the thick wood, sounding anxious. “The Pilgrims grow restless beneath the hot sun and the music has begun. You must hurry.”

  “You have to go now,” Shana said softly as we held each other. We drew apart reluctantly and I moved to the back door. “Hadrack,” Shana called as I reached for the door handle. I stopped and turned. She was playing nervously with her fingers. “Please be careful, husband-to-be.”

  I grinned back at her. “When am I not, wife-to-be?”

  13: The Walk

  Sabina was waiting for me when I got outside, dressed in a belted, bulky tunic similar to my own and somehow managing to look impatient and annoyed at the same time. I’d exited the building into a small alcove hemmed in by the towering castle walls that stood less than ten feet back from the door. An alley led off to my right, and I could hear the sounds of cheerful music and excited voices coming from the shore's direction. Two young girls, both about ten years old, stood beside Sabina, each holding a single, bright yellow flower in their hands.

  I was glad Sabina and I weren’t allowed to talk to each other at the moment, as I could tell by her dour expression that she wasn’t happy about how long I had taken inside with Shana. I could only imagine what her reaction would be, should she learn that the Lady of the castle and I were to be wed. Sabina’s face and arms were powdered as mine were and it clung to her hair like a white veil. I frowned as I felt the small clumps of whiteness in my own hair, wondering how Juliax could identify us looking the way that we did.

  “The skin of the gods will wear off in a day or so, Pilgrim,” the closest girl to me said, reading my thoughts. “It is tradition that you begin The Walk in this fashion.”

  I nodded to her in relief. The girl had shiny black hair that fell to her shoulders, and she wore a brown, long-sleeved dress with a high collar. Stitching’s of ducks adorned the hem and the sleeves of the dress. I thought she looked vaguely like Betania, who had been murdered by that sniveling coward, Carbet. I smiled warmly at the black-haired girl as she handed me her yellow flower. Her companion wore a similar dress, though hers was white without any stitching. She gave her flower to Sabina.

  “These flowers represent all life within the First Pairs’ domain,” the girl that looked like Betania said in a practiced tone as she and her companion held hands. “Born from seed, they pushed their way out of the darkness and into the light, struggling to prosper and grow strong before blossoming into the glory that you see before you.”

  “But, as with all things,” the second girl chimed in, “the day will come when these flowers will wither and die, returning once more to the earth-womb from whence they came.”

  “But not to be forgotten,” the first girl said solemnly.

  “No, never forgotten,” the second girl agreed.

  “So too shall you both grow strong and prosper in this world,” the black-haired girl said.

  “To bloom just like the flowers,” the second girl added, “as you reach for the sun and Mother Above, while the roots of your feet remain planted firmly in the soils of Father Below. A true balance of love and harmony that all beings must learn before moving on to the next realm.”

  “Until finally, many years from now,” the first girl continued, “you will wither and die like these same flowers, returning to the Mother’s womb from whence you came.”

  “But not to be forgotten,” the second girl said.

  “No, never forgotten,” the first one agreed.

  The two girls bowed their heads, falling silent, both with tears in their eyes. Sabina and I waited, unsure of what we should do, until finally, the girls looked up.

  “Please, Pilgrim,” the black-haired girl said to me. “Hold the stem of the flower in your right hand between your thumb and finger.”

  I did so clumsily, trying not to crush it accidentally.

  “Please, Pilgrim,” the second girl said to Sabina. “Hold the stem of the flower in your left hand between your thumb and finger.”

  Sabina did as she was asked.

  “Now,” the black-haired girl said, her eyes shining. “We must hur
ry. Join hands and follow us.”

  The two turned together, striking off down the narrow corridor between the castle walls and the building. I held out my hand and Sabina took it, her small fingers lost in mine.

  “Are you all right?” I whispered in her ear as we followed after the girls.

  Sabina barely nodded, not looking at me. The girls disappeared around the corner of the building as we hurried to catch up. People were milling about near the keep and they began to shout and wave brightly-colored strips of cloth over their heads when they saw us.

  “Bless you, Pilgrim!” an older woman cried as she ran to embrace me. There were tears in her eyes as she kissed me heartily on both cheeks. Her breath smelled strongly of onions, I noticed absently. “Bless you for your courage to take The Walk during these terrible times.” She clutched at my arm desperately as I started to pull away, staring up at me with film-covered eyes. I noticed her lips were frosted from the powder on my cheeks. “Please, my son disappeared at Pond’s Drop. I’ve heard no word from him since. Please, Pilgrim, will you ask the First Pair how he fares when you reach Oasis? His name is Kreech.”

  Oasis was a sacred place in the heart of Mount Halas itself, where the First Pair had lived during their time in this world. It was there that a Pilgrim’s prayers had the best chance of being heard. I patted the woman’s shoulder to let her know that I would do what I could for her. More people were reaching out to me now, and I could feel their touch on my skin, hair, and tunic. They were reaching out to Sabina in much the same way. The hands upon us were gentle, though, almost reverent, and finally, soldiers appeared to move the people back.

  We hurried on through the barbican and down the incline into the lower bailey, then out the front gates. The music was deafening now that we were outside the castle as the notes echoed off the stone walls behind us. Our guides continued along the rock-chiseled road, heading for the long wooden bridge that led to the southern shore. Sabina and I hesitated, startled by the hundreds of pairs of eyes that had turned to focus on us.

  Hordes of people stood along the sand-covered beach, with musicians of every stripe perched on an extended wooden platform playing their instruments. I could see drummers, pipers, fiddlers, harp, and lute players swaying and dancing with the chaotic rhythm. Ropes attached to posts that had been pounded into the sand cordoned off a pathway down the beach, holding the people back from a long line of Pilgrims that were dressed identical to us. The Pilgrims stood in rows of two—a man and a woman per row. I could see the line stretching to the horizon. I whistled, impressed.

  “Pilgrims!” the black-haired girl hissed anxiously. “You must hurry! The speeches have already ended. If you are not inside The Walk when the music stops, they won’t accept you!”

  I felt a sudden thud of dread in my chest and I dragged Sabina after me as we sprinted toward the bridge. I could hear the crowd urging us on as our sandals slapped against the rough planking. I glanced toward the platform where the musicians were dancing in a frenzy as they banged their drums, blew on their horns and flutes, and plucked at their stringed instruments.

  Don’t you stop yet, you bastards, I thought as we reached the halfway point of the bridge. We caught up to and passed our guides as they hurriedly stepped aside to let us go around them. The black-haired girl and I exchanged a quick, worried look, and then we left them behind. We must have made quite the sight, Sabina and me, running hand in hand as we were, covered in white powder with our tunics flapping in the wind and each of us holding a dainty flower in the air.

  We were three-quarters of the way across the bridge when the music reached an ear-splitting crescendo, with the deep, rhythmic beat of the drums dominating. People along both sides of The Walk began falling to their knees, one hand held to the sky, one hand plunged into the sand as they swayed and contorted in religious fervor. Some of the Pilgrims inside The Walk knelt as well, losing themselves to the moment, as one by one, the instruments began to go silent. I ground my teeth as we ran, terrified that we weren’t going to make it in time.

  “Faster!” I gasped at Sabina, taking a chance that none could hear me over the music and cheering.

  “I can’t go any faster!” came back the breathless reply.

  I cursed, then in one quick motion, I flung Sabina over my shoulder, not losing a step or my grip on my precious flower as I kept running. The people on the beach began to cheer louder, caught up in the drama as I raced with my burden for the end of the bridge. I could see out of the corner of my eye that only half a dozen drummers at the front of the platform were still playing now. A short woman with enormously fat legs and wearing a ridiculous, plumed hat sat near them plucking on a harp, while a thin man with bulging cheeks stood behind her blowing on an ox horn. That was all.

  I reached the end of the bridge, gasping for air and tasting blood where I’d bitten into my lip. I looked ahead. I had perhaps a hundred yards to go through thick sand to reach the ropes. Eager hands pushed me onward as I ran, even as the woman with the harp and the man with the ox horn stopped playing, leaving only a single drummer left, who sat alone, striking a lonely beat on his drum. That man was squat and round, with rosy cheeks and hair shorn close to his scalp. I glanced at The Walk, where the rest of the Pilgrims had turned to watch. Seventy-five yards to go.

  The squat drummer finally stood up and grimaced regretfully at me, striking the stretched calfskin over his drum one last time. Fifty yards to go and I felt my lungs burning in my chest, certain that my legs were about to give out beneath me. I felt horrible defeat rising in me just as I saw Malo jump onto the platform. The House Agent stood out in his bright Cardian garb even among the musicians. He ran to the squat man and ripped the drumsticks from his hands and then struck the surface of the drum with one of them. Malo glared at me fiercely, nodding for me to continue as he hit the drum again, and again, over, and over in a steady rhythm.

  I felt relief wash over me as I half-staggered, half-ran to The Walk barrier while people of every shape and size cheered me on, slapping my back and rifling my powdered hair good-naturedly. I heard Sabina yelp in outrage as some of the bolder men pinched and squeezed her bottom as we passed.

  I set Sabina down by the ropes and grabbed her hand, relieved to see that my flower was still intact, though a petal was missing and the stem was lilting to one side. I lifted the flower to the crowd in triumph and motioned with my eyes that Sabina should do likewise. We stood there for a moment, basking in victory as Malo beat his drum and the crowd whistled and cheered.

  Finally, I lifted the rope over our heads, and together, Sabina and I entered The Walk.

  Two days later, the euphoria, pomp, and pageantry of The Walk was long gone. Replaced instead with the grim reality of what we were up against. We marched from the moment the sun came up, until long after it went down and darkness fell, with no rest or letup. At night, we slept on the ground, huddled together in our meager tunics against the chills. Each Pilgrim was allowed a small hunk of bread and a little water at midday, but that was all. I was told this was necessary to cleanse our bodies of weakness and impurity before we reached Mount Halas. I considered the idea utter nonsense, of course, though many of my fellow Pilgrims seemed quite content, even happy with the arrangement.

  I believe myself to be as pious as the next man, but, even so, I couldn’t understand what difference it made to the First Pair whether my back hurt or not, or that my stomach grumbled unhappily. I wisely kept those thoughts to myself, however. Juliax hadn’t contacted us yet, and Sabina and I had decided to keep our heads down and our eyes open until such time that he did.

  “How long until we reach the mountain?” Sabina asked.

  I glanced over the heads of the line of Pilgrims in front of me. We were picking our way through a rock-strewn valley, with thick forestlands rising to either side. I could see the many ridges of the Father’s Spine mountains far in the distance, dominated by the majestic, white-tipped peak of Mount Halas. As far as I could tell, the towering mountain s
eemed no nearer today than it had yesterday.

  “Another week at this pace, I think,” I said, taking a guess.

  Sabina sighed unhappily. “I don’t think my sandals can make another hour, let alone a week.”

  “Mine too,” I replied in agreement.

  A bald man walking ahead of us turned at our words, smiling in a friendly fashion. His name was Emand, a cordwainer, which he had explained to me was a maker of new shoes. I couldn’t even imagine what it must be like to own a pair of new shoes. His wife walked beside him, tall and thin as a broom handle, with the dour personality to match.

  “The Watchers will replace them, my good man,” Emand said jovially. “You need only ask.” He was short, plump, and always smiling—the exact opposite of his wife. Emand gestured behind us to the seven covered wagons that trailed the line of walkers. “Your tunics as well, should that be needed.”

  I turned to look back. The Watchers were here to care for the Pilgrims, and it was they who gave us our meager food and water each day. I snorted as I studied the wagons rolling slowly along. So far, I would say our caretakers were not living up to their name. Grizzled-looking soldiers rode attentively to either side of the ox-pulled wagons, keeping wary eyes on the hills above us. The threat of bandits was real, I knew, though the soldiers seemed more concerned about an attack from the forces of the Sun than anything else. I thought those concerns groundless, however, as The Walk was sacred to both sides. More soldiers rode to either side of the procession, and even more rode ahead of us. Malo and my men rode somewhere far to the wagons' rear with the other retainers of the wealthier Pilgrims.

  I’d had an opportunity to talk to Malo on our first night and he told me that my men were being well-fed and were in good spirits. It seemed we Pilgrims were meant to wither on the vines of the First Pairs’ love, yet our caretakers and guards could eat and drink as much as they wanted.