A Wolf in the Dark

by S E Turner

  The old man tilted his head in appreciation. Lyall wiped away a tear .

  'I am shocked, not angry.' Lyall stifled his quiver and let out a sigh. He was totally moved by Namir's words. 'Just now, I wanted to run away. I couldn't understand why you kept it from me. All this time you knew, my mother knew, and never told me either. But you both have always made the right decisions and I have to respect that. When Namir found me, the first thing he said was that you would know what to do… and you did. You took me in and gave me a new life with new friends and protected me when I was threatened by Suma and Targ. I have to accept that you were protecting me with this revelation.' He looked towards Namir. 'We have the same parents, Namir, but I had grown to love you as a brother long ago. I had always felt there was something special between us—a connection, a bond, call it what you will—and I always wished you were my brother. And now, I couldn't be happier.'

  A gentle breeze lifted the smiles and words of affection as Laith spoke again. 'Thank you, boys. Thank you for your understanding and maturity beyond your years. We are truly blessed.' He pondered as he digested the vista. 'Life is full of challenges, you know. Like climbing a mountain: some parts of the mountain are treacherous and unforgiving while other parts are smooth and allow you to stand a while to breathe. Just like this mountain range before you—the Giant's Claw.' The brothers followed his gaze. 'It holds so many memories and secrets, but more importantly, it represents one's life. These are your mountains, boys. These are your challenges. Your lives are amongst these glaciers. Be more like the wolf and the leopard, listen to the mountains, listen to your heart, and then you will make the right decisions.'

  Namir and Lyall listened with a numb respect, totally moved by the triumphant speech.

  With this accolade, Laith found his strong voice again. 'I believe that the gods are working together now. There will be dark times ahead—times when you will face death and defeat—but never give in, boys. Never give in.' He paused as he thought about the fallen comrades that had gone before him and continued. 'I have one last request from you both, my sons.'

  'Anything, Father. Name your request.'

  'Avenge Canagan and Artemisia's death, and cut the heart from the man who murdered them.'

  The boys looked at each other and raising their hands together to seal the pact declared, 'We promise.'

  Chapter Ten

  'Your mother went through the cave when she was with child?'

  'Yes, she did. Twice,' answered Namir. 'The first time, Laith took her through when they left the castle, and a second time when she had to go back.'

  Skyrah embraced the amazing feat with a gasp and shook her head in disbelief.

  'Amazing what you can do when you have to,' Lyall responded to Skyrah's reaction. 'She kept telling me that it was safe and that nothing would hurt me because she knew. She had been through there herself.'

  'A truly remarkable woman,' sighed Namir.

  'And you are twin brothers, I just cannot get my head round that one,' continued Skyrah. Her expression hovering between various stages of astonishment. 'I know there are many coincidences, but I never thought you could actually be long lost twin brothers. I mean… twin brothers! '

  'I know, it took us by surprise, I can tell you,' exclaimed Namir.

  'A good surprise, though, brother,' said Lyall. 'Just when I thought I had lost my entire family, I am given a new one. It doesn't get much better than that.'

  Laith had eased a heavy heart and the trench lines seemed to fade miraculously from his face. Zoraster hailed to the skies and thanked the gods for finally giving Laith the strength to tell his boys the truth. And several days later, Ronu and Clebe finally came to get the brothers back on track.

  'Come on, you two,' said Ronu, eager to get the practice sessions started again. 'Your stag hunt is just round the corner, and as brothers, you will doing it together. But you must accomplish the penultimate ritual before we can let you lose with a stag.'

  'I know. We have to kill a boar.'

  'Not just kill a boar, Namir. It has to done quickly and honourably. These animals are giving their life for you. They must be blessed and prayed for so they can give you their spirit.'

  'We will be quick,' Lyall assured him.

  'This will be a real test for you both. You have to be swift and know what each other is thinking. There is no time for hesitation.'

  'Ronu is right,' said Clebe. 'Only the most accurate hunter will be acknowledged by the gods.'

  'We will honour the gods and the chosen animal,' said Namir humbly. 'We will be focused and vigilant.'

  'Good luck brothers,' called out Skyrah. 'Wish I could come with you.' And she watched Namir and Lyall disappear into the forest with their guides as she headed off to her botany lessons with her mother.

  How tedious that was, she had often thought. Hunting with the boys would be so much more fun. She knew that they had been taught the strokes of the blade and made to throw the spear for many months, killing small game and practising on birds in flight. But now they would be tracking a boar to slaughter and execute the perfect kill. The spear, she knew, had to be placed deeply in the beast's chest, followed by a dagger into the neck. The animals they tracked had thrice the strength of a man, let alone a boy, and only when the boy had succeeded in the final ritual, could he be initiated as a man.

  'A boar can kill you in an instant if you are not prepared,' Ronu had told them sharply. 'He can rip you open and tear out your heart if you don't spear his chest in time, and if you don't penetrate the chest, you have to go in with a dagger or an arrow.'

  'Call on your adult totem. A yearling will be clumsy and make mistakes,' advised Clebe before they departed.

  They had tracked a male boar. Remembering everything they had been taught, Namir threw his spear with precision and caught it full on in the chest. Unfortunately, there was insufficient force and the beast was able to charge towards them. Its small eyes were wild, and it was as angry as a whelped child. The smell from it was overpowering, and the bristling hairs covered cracked skin and dried ground in faeces. Namir then aimed his arrow and fired it quickly into the boar's throat. Still, it came roaring and scrambling with the two weapons protruding.

  Namir had no weapons now, and the beast was upon them both in no time. Without a second thought, Lyall ran in to drive his dagger through the thick hide of its neck. It was not a clean thrust, and the pointed blade merely punctured its skin. The aggravated boar knocked Lyall to the ground, snorting and roaring as it tried to grip the boy's throat, but the lithe youngster wriggled out from beneath him, grabbed the protruding spear, and rammed it down the hog's gullet.

  This time the boar squealed as weak legs scrambled feebly. The boys then threw the full force of their weight onto the animal and heard the life rasping out of it. The hunt was over. The kill was done. The brothers tumbled off the carcass, exhausted, but exhilarated. Covered in blood and sweat, they blessed the animal and hugged each other.

  'You did well there,' said Namir when he had got his breath back.

  'That's what brothers are for. We are a team.' Lyall returned the compliment and sat there contemplating his good fortune—that they really were brothers, and they really were a team, and nothing could get in the way of that. Nothing at all.

  Chapter Eleven

  Another summer had been and gone. This year's Gathering hosted by the Marshland Tribe had been another success, and the Clan of the Mountain Lion had retained their tug of war champions status. A new contender had pushed Lace to second place in the archery competition, and Hali had come in third. Dainn from the Hill Fort Tribe had taken Torré’s crown in the boxing ring. Ronu, at eighteen years of age, had married a girl from a neighbouring clan, and Clebe had married her sister. Bagwa had become a father for the first time. All was quiet from any threats, and no one had heard about the General at this most recent Gathering. Many thought he had been killed in battle or that the Emperor had died. Either would have been welcome news.

 
; But now it was the rutting season, and time for the brothers to execute the final ritual in their sixteenth year—the celebrated stag hunt. Namir and Lyall were the only celebrants in this year's ritual, but that didn't stop the rest of the clan boys having mock hunts and heroic kills.

  'Today is the day, brother,' exclaimed Namir excitedly. 'Everything we have ever learnt and worked for has all been for this moment.'

  'We will succeed because we work as a team, Namir. I have your back and you have mine.'

  They clasped hands and prayed to the gods for guidance.

  'You are good hunters,' championed Ronu. 'You will do well.'

  'Listen to your inner voice,' advised Clebe. 'It is your greatest friend.'

  'Look out for each other, boys,' shouted out Skyrah.

  The two boys embraced, and through an archway of well-wishers throwing good luck charms across their path, they set off for their task.

  As they entered the forest on this cool morning, a mist hung heavily over the thicket, twisting itself in spirals through the dense wood, losing itself in crevasses and gnarled roots. The sun's rays lined their path as they edged slowly through cackling leaves and creaking branches.

  Namir followed a set of tracks which he knew to be fresh. The pointed end of the almond shaped prints were leading him further into the brush. Recently devoured foliage from overhead branches and low-lying bushes also signalled the presence of a target. They crouched by an old oak tree and Lyall plied fresh droppings between his fingers. The temperature and aroma told him how recently the stag had passed through there. The stools were still warm, and the pungent smell of digested vegetation was ripe. The target was very close. But they had to remain calm. They had to relax.

  Ronu and Clebe had made them rehearse the call of the deer, thus drawing the stag into the kill. They practised until they could mimic the sound of a doe and the roar of a buck, and in the rutting season this was an excellent ploy. This time though they didn't need to make the call.

  'Listen to the forest, Lyall. it is our friend. Smell the air that makes you strong, listen to the breeze against the leaves, touch the trees that empower you, and wait for the sun's light to guide you. Forget you are a man, think only of your spirit totem, and let the wolf become your eyes.' Namir's outer shell seemed to close as he switched on his senses and intuition. 'Feel the magic of the forest, and it will make you strong and invincible like the wolf.'

  Those words became a mantra that filled Lyall's soul. He chanted softly. 'Keep focused and he will come...'

  The forest added its own harmonious vibrations to the sounds of the dark, overgrown kingdom. As they lay in wait, crouched in the undergrowth, Lyall felt the image of his wolf tattoo with his hand and then ran a finger along the scar on his neck. Both made him invincible.

  Pores of sunlight began to pierce through the glade. Namir gripped the handle of his spear as the palms of his hands moistened with anticipation. Lyall held his dagger close. He was ready—he dared not breathe. The forest was alive now.

  In the silence, a branch fell and a twig snapped. A gentle rustling of leaves underfoot announced an intruder. A cloud of condensation from flared nostrils filled the space in front of them. A grunting cough followed the cloud. The stag trod carefully. He owned the forest. He was the King. The brothers knew that. They respected him and would honour him, for this was not a hunt for fun, and this was not a trophy killing. This was a hunt to show their coming of age.

  The stag stopped. Still. Motionless. Black eyes looked around. Tufted ears swivelled and rotated for sound. The impressive antlers swayed with the weight. He billowed and snorted. He sniffed the air and puffed out his chest. The long neck was gracefully curved, and something of a mane adorned his powerful front. He bellowed out a guttural, deep-throated roar, pushed out from his lungs in blasts as his breath steamed in the chill air.

  As the stag stood impressively tall, surveying his forest, a burst of sunlight broke free and lit up the beast through the shadows of the trees. Instinctively and intuitively, Namir sprang out of his camouflaged position and took aim with coordinated weapon and target. The beast heard the movement. The forest had alerted him, the leaves had sounded out their alarm, and the twigs had signalled a warning. The wind began to spiral in an uncontrollable frenzy and the sun's ray's slid away like a scolded child.

  Hunter and prey locked eyes. Both breathed heavily. Both raised their hackles and prepared to move. Fear induced drool hung in chords from the stag's jaw. Beads of sweat dripped from the man. The beast turned to locate his route and averted his eyes. He stumbled in panic. The hunted had no chance. This time, Namir's spear had a force that rendered the stag immobile. This was Lyall's cue and he ran in to sever the jugular with his dagger for a quick kill. He leapt onto the stricken beast's back, and with a swift movement, the deed was done.

  The Emperor slumped onto his forelegs. Lyall jumped off so he was not crushed in the fall. Namir's arrow was ready, but not needed. A roar rumbled through the air and a squadron of stricken crows took flight in response. The stag fell onto his side. Dust and foliage made way for his final resting place. One last breath left his lungs. Blood trickled from the open wounds, and brown lids closed over the blackened eyes to signify death.

  Namir smiled with pride. He was waiting for his pumping heart to calm down and for his dry mouth to moisten again. The hairs on his neck were still raised from the anticipation. Lyall wiped away the sweat from his brow and kissed his dagger. They both stared at the kill before moving closer to the animal where Namir retrieved his spear. Without cleaning the weapon, he knelt down and paid homage to the spirits for leading them safely to the target. Lyall then placed his hand on the animal and thanked the beast for its life.

  'We work well together, brother,' Namir said proudly. He ran his finger along the wet glistening red blade and painted two strips of stag's blood either side of Lyall's face .

  'We are men now, and the stag has witnessed that.' Lyall held his dagger to the catch the sun's rays and offered the same ritual.

  With the acknowledgement from the great beast, they used all their strength to haul the mighty animal onto a plinth of timbers and twine. The carcass was secured tightly, and they pulled it back to the camp, reliving the hunt and the kill with every slow step.

  The stag's body not only elevated the boy's position to men, the antlers indicated a man’s forthcoming nuptials and would be worn as a ceremonial crown on the eve of his wedding.

  There would be enough skin to cover a small coracle or make a tunic and shoes. The fat and hoof oil would light a lamp. The stomach, bladder and intestine would make good water carrying vessels. Bones were used for flint work, needles, toothpicks, and harpoons. The gut and sinew were used as cordage to make fishing nets. The meat would feed a family for three weeks. The heart would be buried at the head of the stone circles, and the blood would penetrate Namir and Lyall's hut to keep them safe, a sign that the spirit of the stag would always look down on them and give them strength.

  That same evening, the beast's carcass was blessed in a ritual before the megalithic monument. Everyone attended: men, women and children, all witnessing the birth of a new era in the brother's lives. Wild dancing and singing accompanied the chanting and rhythmic beating of drums. Howling and wailing summoned the gods and spirits, for they too had witnessed the transformation and bravery of the brothers. Namir and Lyall stood together in the centre of the circle, dressed in the ceremonial robes with painted marks on their faces. Namir held the blood-stained spear in both hands as high as he could towards the sky to please the gods, and Lyall walked round the congregation displaying the bloodied dagger.

  Zoraster eventually stood up and waved his hands to order quiet and indicate that the spirits were present. He took Lyall's blade to make another incision in the stag's vein, and the blood was collected in a metal drum. The belly was then slit from the anus to the chest and opened to expose the liver, heart and other organs which were ceremoniously removed.

  H
e approached the boys. 'The stag has brought you together as hunters and as men. He will keep you together, and nothing will ever part you as brothers.' He stood in front of them holding the smooth, blood-red liver and cut it in two. A piece was handed to the men who bowed low on receipt of the offering.

  'This is for you, Lyall. We are united forever.' Namir consumed his piece in one go.

  'This is for you, Namir. The gods are our witness.' Lyall devoured his piece with pride.

  The liver was smooth and warm; it seemed to be still alive as it glistened, saturated in the stag's blood. Lyall knew this was the most important organ in the body, and to eat it right after the kill was somehow even more powerful and meaningful. He didn't flinch at all and consumed it in one go, unlike the name giving ritual where he felt sickened to the core and was retching on the side lines. He was a part of these people and nothing affected him now. He would never fear again; he would never recoil from adversity. He would lay down his life for his comrades. And as the two men and the other members of the clan followed in drinking from the goblet of life, the medicine man administered the final tattoo onto Namir's and Lyall's arm—the mark of the stag.

  Laith was restless, though. He could sense a change in the air. He filled his lungs and closed his eyes. The breeze began to whip his face in chaotic movements, and he sensed the fear.

  And now he could hear the breath of a devil approaching. He reached to the skies and summoned the totems.

  When he had finished the tattoo, Zoraster lay down his instrument. He, too, was aware and reached to the skies. The clan stood in the centre of the stones with a wind circling them. Round and round it went, carrying the voices of a thousand totems, whispering to them, caressing them, breathing courage into their veins, giving them strength, and trying to protect them.