Time Before the Wolf

by RR Turock

Chapter 17: Forever and Evermore

  Karrazard was never so silent before. Everyone, everything was soundless. It was the end of the Karrazard tune, and it was the most joyous part. It was the moment I always wanted and I always guarded against. This was treason. I played treason. I had exposed the sound only royalty heard to the world. I could share the secret sound of the Piper’s Song with my world, my city, Karrazard, my pack.

  The tune was soft, fast, and gently. It rose to the heavens and everyone heard it. My eyes trailed over the crowds and returned to the palace balcony, where Deion and the King stood, wide-eyed. Deion quickly regained his composure, glaring at me, but not afraid. There was something devious in his eyes and fear formed again in me.

  As my song ended, the King called out weakly. “Where is my son?”

  Before I could answer, my heart stopped. Deion raised an iron sword over the King. His voice rang vicious and the crowds gasped. “I will send you to him!”

  Reaching out to stop him—forgetting I was on a rope—I stepped out into air. Flinging my arms back, I caught the rope barely in time. More determined, I swung myself back on the rope and started for the King. Deion had slashed him and now, in a bold, wide movement, snapped the rope I stood on.

  The tension of the rope vanished and I fell. Chills passed through me as I realized the ground was still a long way down. I reached out and caught a thinner rope carrying the decorative flags. The rope snapped under my weight and momentum, dropping me to the next rope.

  In the brief moment before reaching the third rope, I pulled out my knife and cut it, swing just over the crowds. People awed and ducked down as I came wildly over. Suddenly, the rope slipped out of my grasp and I was flying.

  Two stilt walkers, just ready, leaned in to catch me. It worked, but just barely. As I sunk to the ground, I could hear the crowds yell abruptly, warning us that armed men were coming our way. We dispersed into the crowd, running as fast as we could.

  One militiaman caught up to me, reaching out to grab me. I looked over my shoulder, wishing to move faster. Suddenly, two fire breathers jumped in his path, roaring flames. He fell back, and one fire breath looked back at me. Giving a nod, Mother, the fire-breather grinned playfully.

  I was at the edge of the crowds and moving toward palace grounds when two other armed men charged me. Grimacing, I kept running. The hair on my neck rose, but I remained sprinting in a straight line. The steel-bodied arrow nailed itself in front of the men, stopping them and freeing me. I glanced up at the rooftops, spotting Diomedes, who saluted me.

  I reached the palace wall and started grabbing hold of gnarly branches to scale it. The King. I had to make sure the King was all right. He was Father’s father. He was Grandfather. I heaved myself onto the balcony, where Deion was waiting for me. The King had collapsed on the ground, limply holding his slit throat, eyes staring at me, glazed over. I felt a pang of pain.

  Deion brought his sword down on me. I rolled out of the way, near the ledge. I could do nothing more. Deion hissed at me, swinging his sword at me with agility. “All I have left is you, brat. This could have been prevented if you had just chosen the right heir.”

  I parried one blow with one of my twin blades and worked my way back the wall. “I did choose the right heir. You’re poison for Karrazard.”

  He stood back, stretching back in anger. “And that’s why you have to die. I have ruled this city longer than you have been alive!”

  I sprung from the ledge and caught a branch on the nearest tree. I was too heavy and the branch broke, casting me down. I fell into a roll, and looked up to see Deion curse angrily and start after me. I panicked. I was terrified, but there was also something in me vicious and eager for confrontation. I was furious. I would fight this on my own terms.

  Glancing one more time at the balcony, I felt the grim truth. It was finally time to test how far my fear will let me go. I started to sprint for the iron kilns, knowing Deion was quick on my trail. Maneuvering around the crowds, I took the back alleyways, following the river.

  The moon was still to rise, but the night was bright, lit by festive lanterns. The lights twinkled as reflections in the gurgling river water, and the cool mist of the water refreshed me. The shadows daunted me, daring to hide enemies. My concerns were justified.

  A whip lashed out in front of me, and I cartwheeled over it barely in time. An iron broad-blade angled toward my face, cutting short any thrill of escape. Dropping to my knees and ducking down spared me. Slipping the twin blades in hand, I sliced at the shins of the broad blade attacker. He shrieked in pain, stumbling back.

  The whip lashed out again, and I caught it with my left blade. Pulling the whip tight, I used my second blade to cut it cleanly. In the corner of my eye, I could see Deion round the corner, riding a dark mare. Wasting no more time, I scaled the wall to roof.

  Running along the ledge, I charged toward the iron kilns, Deion following below me. We approached the barrier wall of the iron-kiln field. I held a breath as I leapt the distance between the roof and the wall. I landed, falling into a roll and tumbling over the edge. My hand caught the ledge and I hung on for dear life.

  Panting and sweating, my fingers felt tired and slippery, grating against the filthy, soot-and-dirt covered wall. Below me was the ironwork place. Far below me. I wasn’t certain I could land safely, especially among the sharp and burning tools. Deion had made it to the entrance, and was already on the wall.

  The wall was about two-people wide, but Deion was worth a broad man and a half. This was advantageous for him, and he knew it. There was no room for flashy movements, and my specialty was only flashy movements. He had his broad sword in hand, and darkness gleamed in his eyes. Bracing myself, I narrowed my eyes on his.

  When fighting a man his size and with his strength the method was to not fight him. To avoid him. In other words, I had to make as little contact with his free hand and sword as possible. I nodded to confirm my plan.

  My plan went poorly. I was able to dodge the first swing, but Deion was experienced and agile, quickly redirecting the sword around, slicing across my shoulder, up my cheek and over my eye. The wounds were shallow toward the end, so my eye remained relatively undamaged. Still, blood blinded me and I couldn’t dodge as easily, forcing me to parry the haymaker attack. His strength pushed me far back to the edge, daring to toss me over it.

  I lifted the sword while dropping to my knees, slicing at his shins. The twin blades cut uselessly at his iron-shin protectors. Cursing my luck, I dived into a roll, going behind him. He was still quicker and caught me by the hair, yanking me up and knocking aside one of the twin blades over into the kiln tools below with his own.

  He shoved me to the ground so hard my breath vanished. Using his foot, he trapped my one armed hand and lifted that large, iron, broadsword over my head. Arbitrarily I noticed the moon had risen in the horizon, framing Deion as he brought down his blood blade.

  My mind dashed for answers, solutions. Panic seized me and I let it smooth my movements as I switched hands holding the knife, stabbing his ankle as hard as I could. The pain put him off balance, and Deion stumbled backwards.

  In a twisting motion, I sliced the wrist of his sword hand, cutting tendons. Twirling back around slid my twin blade behind his knee cap and sliced it with ease. Blood splattered everywhere, spraying over my face. He cried out in pain, collapsing backwards as the blood gushed. A mix of joy and rage filled me with my success. I did it. I won. I could kill him now. I eagerly moved on top of him, taking my opportunity to stab him.

  I raised the remaining twin blade over head to bring it down with full momentum. Something flickered in me, it fluttered in my chest. How far was I willing to go? Could I go all the way? I clenched my teeth in anger. I was weak. I drove the knife into the ground beside Deion’s head. Furious, I smashed it repeatedly into the ground until I was too out of breath to do it again.

  Deion seized my moment of weakness, snatching my blade and turning it against
me. Trying to escape, I started getting to my feet as the blade delved between my ribs painfully. I gasped in disbelief, stumbling back. He used his damaged ankle to kick me off the ledge, into the street.

  I was amazed how slowly time suddenly passed. The golden, full moon rose in the distance, and the wind had picked up flower petals that floated scenically in the sky. Deion stood shakily, victorious. Pride, I remarked arbitrarily, was his mistake, as it was for Father. Deion was such large, muscular man his poor, destroyed knee-tendon couldn’t hold the weight. It gave way, tossing him backwards, over the ledge, into the blacksmith tool shed.

  I closed my eyes at the last second before smashing into the ground. The impact knocked the air out of me, and I choked for breath. I could hardly move, and my hands shakily touched the imbedded knife painfully. I was amazed, everything really did hurt. I wasn’t numb. I could feel and hear everything. Iron-flavored blood filled my mouth; I suffocated with dry, broken lips.

  A shadow fell over me, at first too vague to make out. My one open eye distinguished the gold stare, making me think of a wolf prior to my vision clearing. Asaph kneeled over me, checking my injuries gently. I could see others coming around. I could make out Mother, Malec, crewmembers, and Diomedes. Two other figures stood closer, smiling. I roughly made out Father’s casual clothes and Owl’s soft, flame-resistant cloak.

  Asaph distracted me, kissing my lips quickly, speaking hurriedly. “Can you hear me, Flower? You’re going to be alright.”

  I winced, beckoning him to lean down so I could whisper. “Ouch.”

  He smiled nervously, waving a doctor over and everything fell into darkness.

  I woke up to Asaph talking quietly. “So, you’re leaving with the next caravan?”

  Diomedes replied, shrugging, no doubt. “I’ve had my share of this city. It’s beautiful, but honestly, it’s time I find my own path.”

  Moving my hand, I realized Asaph was holding it. He looked over to me, standing from the barrel he had set beside my bed. “You’re awake, Flower.”

  I grinned, wincing as the wounds on my cheek tightened. Feeling it with my free hand, I motioned. “Water, please.”

  Asaph hastily retrieved it as I sat up, feeling sore and prickly all over. I took a sip, looking around. We were back in my normal room, overlooking the iron kilns. Asaph filled me in. “You’ve been asleep for a few days. Deion died when he fell into a vat of molten iron. There’s hardly anything left of him. Everything else is still in chaos, but your mother, Lady Shadiah is tightening every rope she has. She’s forming a new court now or so I’ve heard. It turns out, you really did change everything. Their holding another feast in your name.”

  Knocking first, Malec stepped into the room with a tray full of cut fruits. Seeing my state, he shoved the tray at Diomedes and rushed over. He felt my forehead, checked my pulse and grinned widely. Kissing my forehead, he joked. “I was gonna get some wada to splash ya if ya didn’t wake up sometime soon, Missy.”

  I shrugged, wincing as all my wounds screamed in resistance. “At least I got to sleep in.” More serious, I queried. “Have the funerals been performed?”

  Malec’s expression fell as he shook his head. “Afta da attack, we went back and collected da bodies. Everythin’s ready, we were just waitin’ for ya. Even da King’s funeral’s been postponed.”

  I nodded, cringing when I moved to get out of bed. I wore a different tunic now, a mirror reflection of Mother’s previous design in white rather than dark grey with scarlet flowers. Asaph helped me stand straight. I instructed, “Let’s perform the funerals today. It’s not respectful to put things off for too long. And let’s mark Father’s grave properly. I think a small stature of stone for him and Grandfather should be right.”

  Diomedes commented. “Are you sure today? You’re still injured.”

  Scowling, I lifted my chin proudly. “It looks worse than it is.”

  Asaph walked me to the door and out of earshot before he spoke into my ear. “Let me get you a horse rather than walk. It will still hurt, but less. Are you ready?”

  I grinned. “I’m always ready.”

  It wasn’t long before we were mounting my steed, the same horse I used to ride to Karrazard. People followed us with the caskets, some in urns, some decorated in foreign styles. The King’s royal guards carried the stone casket and statue at the end. We walked past the city walls and along the river, making our way to Father’s grave. Someone had already dug out holes and all we had left was to bury them.

  We stopped ahead of the holes and Asaph dismounted first to help me off. They place the King in his enormous hole, along with artifacts of his life. Owl was second, and the rest of the fallen crew followed until we reached Father’s unmarked grave. I stood over it, still as a statue myself.

  Small plants had sprouted with tiny flower buds. Tears rushed uncontrollably down my face and I fell to my knees. He was there. He came to the Feast, he watched over me. Asaph kneeled beside me, his arm over me and the remaining crewmembers kneeled as well, mourning the loss.

  I didn’t know how long I kneeled there but, in the corner of my tear-blurred eyes, past the grave, across the river, sat a faint outline of a wolf, staring at me. It yawned, stood, and walked away, giving my one last glance. Vibrant green shrubs grew after each fading footstep.

  Sniffling, I laughed under my breath, “I forgot how beautiful Karrazard really is.”

 

  Epilogue

  The girl smiled back at the wolf. Seeing a batch of flowers, she walked over to them. She spoke to the wolf, saying, “I do like flowers.”

  The wolf queried. “Then do you choose the path of needles?”

  The girl picked the flowers and showed them to the wolf. “My grandfather and father before me must have chosen the path of gold, great wolf.”

  The wolf wondered, looking at the flowers. “And how is it that you determined this?”

  She answered, “There is only desert sand around me and that sand is the statues of their glory. The road may be painful and there are those who will try thwart me, but I want flowers to surround me one day. If you await me after all, then I will know I must be a wolf at the end as well.”

  The wolf asked one last time. “Then what path is it that you choose, little girl?”

  The girl offered the flowers. “I choose the path of needles that turns to flowers.”

  The wolf concluded with a wide grin. “Then you have entered the time before the wolf, Little City of Music, oh, little Karrazard.”

  About the Author

  R.R. Turock is a student living in California. She spends most of her time writing and developing stories, many of which she hope to publish soon. She also picked up hobbies like polymer clay modeling, drawing, and has an interest in business and car mechanics.

  Author Notes

  I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I had fun writing it! Also, I have more drawings posted on my Facebook and blog if you want to check those out. Since I normally do a blog post about details of a story, I won’t go in depth here.

  For one, the characters names all have something to do with music (except Owl and Diomedes, although Diomedes originally had a last name that meant “music throughout”). A danced inspired this story and I found out music was the best way to portray it.

  Ah, and one last thing, the chapters each begin with a letter, spelling out “Time before the Wolf”.

  Other Books

  *Note: the links will take you to my blog, which lists some places you can check them out at!

  Fox and the Flute Series:

  The Fox and the Flute (Book #1)

  Drum City (Book #2)

  Matchlock Series:

  City of Warriors (Book #1)

  Separate Novellas:

  Three Turns Champion

  Time before the Wolf

  Tiger and the Star

  Blog Series:

  Blood Black Orange

  Coming Soon

&n
bsp; Matchlock Series #3: Spectrum (2015)

  Fox and the Flute Series #3: Playful Piano (2015)

  The Binding Knife (2016)

  Connect with Me

  (I have pictures, comics, and updates for my old, new, and upcoming books!)

  Facebook Page: Matchlock Page

  Facebook: RR Turock

  Blog: https://rrturock.blogspot.com/