The Queen of Wolves

by Douglas Clegg

  I saw the splintered evidence of someone’s attempt to break down the door to our sleeping chamber, but they had been unsuccessful. We were met with empty corridors beneath the ship’s upper decks. As we emerged into the chill air above, I saw two men upon the rigging, and others in armor.

  Pythia found a young sailor immediately, but when she held him down, I warned her. “We will need these men. We do not know how far the next landfall may be. We need them to want to protect us.”

  She allowed him to run off. “Why? We will leave tonight.”

  “How far is the next island?” I asked. “How far until we reach those distant lands beyond the ocean?”

  She dismissed my fears. “Did you not notice how it grows darker as we move west? The sun cannot catch us if we move swiftly. We traveled farther in the dark of night than I thought possible. With these men, we may drink our fill. Watch how we will soar with such strength in us.”

  “No,” I said. “Until we know how far land is to the west, I will not risk it.”

  “If this ship has been here long enough for these men to begin salting each other’s corpses, do you think the wind will suddenly pick up?” she asked, then went flying to the man in armor and leapt upon him with what seemed the piercing growl of a lion.

  I had no time to follow her—two men jumped me as I was about to spring into the air. When I had shaken them off, I leapt onto a raised trunk at the edge of a doorway along the forecastle deck. The men had drawn short but stout swords.

  The smaller of the two wore what must have been the simple garb of a sailor, while the other—a large man with close-cropped hair—wore fine heavy clothes that suggested great wealth—a merchant, no doubt.

  The sailor came at me, lunging forward and leaping as if he would pierce my skull. He stabbed first near my throat, but I knocked his arm away, and then he pressed the blade into my gut. I grasped the dagger and twisted it from his hand, though it cut at my palm, and threw it across the deck.

  The nature of my tribe is cruelty. I wish this were not so, but the power that comes with the bloodthirst is not power over appetite—it is an unleashing of appetite with ferocity as I can’t myself fully understand. It is something to be controlled, and yet—in the grip of it—it is uncontrollable.

  I was sure I could take him quickly and be done with both of them, but the other one—the scrappy sailor—jumped on my back again. I dug my teeth into the shoulder of the merchant and shredded a thin layer of flesh, all the while trying to shake off the other. My teeth sharpened quickly, the effect of fresh blood in my mouth.

  When I brought the muscled man to his knees, he passed out, knocking his head on a block of wood. I pressed my hand quickly over the wound at my belly to help stop the bleeding. In seconds, the healing had begun—my strength returned with the blood, and the glamour of the body closed up the wound and turned the pain into a sharp memory that faded within seconds.

  I turned and grabbed the sailor, wrestling him down. When he spoke, mainly gasping curses upon me, I began to decipher his language. Once I understood it—for the vampyre mind works quickly through mortal tongues—I realized that he was begging me for his life.

  He fought, but was too weakened by the conditions on the ship, and was easily overcome. His curses grew softer, and I had to hold his mouth shut with one hand while I brought his wrist to my lips with the other. I gently pressed down upon his skin until I tasted blood. I watched his face as I drank from him. I did not wish to kill him, or his friend. But mortals had difficulty understanding this need.

  In the mortal blood, much of the vampyre’s own mortal life is remembered—but the mortal host also recalls pleasure in some part of his brain. I saw his eyes light up slightly, then roll back into his head. His face flushed in the pleasures that are private to all mortals, and when I released him, the young man begged me to drink more.

  I asked him of the numbers of men left alive on the ship, and he confirmed my thoughts—there were no more than nineteen, barely enough to man the ship should the storms come.

  “Storms?”

  “We been here two full moons, Sir Demon,” he said. “But storms always come—even the sea grows tired of quiet.”

  “This calm is unnatural here. How are you sure there will be storms?”

  “We got a...” Next he said a word for which my mind found no translation, but I began to understand that they had a seer of some kind on board who had not only predicted a gale that would come through, but had also predicted the arrival of demons. I asked if I might meet this seer, and the sailor did not wish me to do so.

  With both promises and threats, I managed to get him to take me into the bunk area, where several of the men lay only half-sleeping, many of them watching as I entered with their mate. He took me to an old man who lay on his side, his head shaved, his body wrapped in a heavy blanket, but I saw the hint of red silk with gold embroidery on his shirt beneath.

  3

  The old seer looked at me with fierce eyes—so unlike the broken and sunken eyes of the handful of men who lay nearby.

  “You have come with a she-devil,” he whispered. “I know you. I have seen you in dreams, my good demon.” He glanced about at the others, barely lifting his head to look. “They are afraid of you.”

  “But you are not?”

  The old man nearly smiled. “Afraid of demons? Many generations ago, it was said a demon king guarded the lands of my ancestors. I am named—Illuyanket—for such a demon, a warlord who is my ancestor. Yes, there were times when demon and woman might bring forth children.” He paused a moment, his eyes narrowing, and what seemed a lightening of blood beneath his flesh occurred as if he felt a sudden inspiration. He touched the edge of my hand, and turned it over so that my palm turned upward. “You have a child who is mortal and a child who is demon.”

  “Two mortal children,” I said, nodding. “A third child grows within the lady who helped me escape from a prison far to the east.”

  He nodded, patting my hand beneath his then letting it go. “Why would a demon care for his progeny? Does the snake watch the young asps as they leave the broken nest?”

  “I do care for them, the one unborn and the two who live beneath a terrible shadow,” I said.

  “Yes, as my ancestor who was demon loved my ancestor who was not, and the children brought into the world by them. Why do you love these children? For mortal they are, and enemies of demons they may become.”

  “I suppose...I suppose because they give me hope.”

  “More than hope,” he said, his eyes gleaming. He pointed at my face. “They give you a reason to fight the shadows that these children may have a better world than that world you know. They are your dreams, your prophecies, in flesh. I know of demon half-breeds, for my ancestors were such. Many of them were outcasts because of their demon blood. Yet I met a demon in my childhood, and met with no harm. There are demons that protect, and demons that destroy. I do not believe you are here for destruction. These men who watch us as we speak, they would destroy each other... They are willing to eat the dead. Perhaps even kill the living—to survive. I would not do this. I would rather die without a full belly than die with human flesh at my tongue.”

  He had refused food, which was why he lay in such a state, barely moving, only sipping from a small pitcher—the size of his hand—of water. He told me of their journey—they were sent by an emperor of their country, with several other ships, and had not yet reached the foreign lands for their trade. They had been at sea several weeks when they hit the calm, where the ship now sat.

  “I had felt this my first night,” he said. “The Earth has changed. Plagues spread from the west, like the shadow of a great bird that hunts the world itself, covering all lands, touching all men. Illness and pestilence follow, and the sea grows ice upon the edge of some lands, and in the oceans, a stillness waits for the storms as if the waters are dead. There is some deep peril at work, and I feel the growl of a dark goddess in my dreams. Yet, from the depths of th
e Earth, treasures will come—I believe this—and much may change. Demons such as you bring fortune, though you frighten many, as you may see if you look about this room. You, good demon, I have seen before, though in another guise.

  “When I was young, there were such demons in our lands—I was a poor child of a village without hope. The smallest insects were our food when droughts came and crops failed. When the demons came, much fortune changed. One such as you touched me upon the forehead. From this touch, such a fire grew inside me as if igniting a small spark of the bloodline within me—and it is from this that my dreams come. I grew in fame—a child of eight! Many districts and many farmlands sent me those who sought knowledge of the future. But one day, warriors came to our village, and to my home. They bought me from my mother and father, and took me to the palace of my emperor. There, I grew in honor and charity, and even the holy men consulted me in times of trouble. I was called the Storm Dreamer, because I felt the brothers of the wind before they had swept back their clouds. I knew when drought came, and when even the storms of war—and its victors—might descend. I became the palace favorite—in my youth—and predicted the outcome of many battles and many wives for my emperor. As I grew older, he allowed me to become a guide for his fleet in both war and trade. So it was upon this voyage—the Illuyanka, named for me, but also for the demon who had many centuries ago taken one of my ancestors for a bride—that I agreed to go, though many wished to dissuade me from such a journey.”

  “But you did not dream of what would happen here—in the dead sea?” I asked.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You will make me laugh with such questions, my demon. I dreamed of much that was bad, but also of much good. You run from one trouble; you find three more. You hide from your fate; it is angry when it discovers your hiding place. When a vision of the future is of such interesting times, one does not shrink from it. I saw my death in this ship, and I did not wish to run like a child. The dream cannot be murdered in sleep, good demon. It can only be known so that we are aware when it comes to pass in the waking from it. I am ancient now—although to demons I am certain I must seem young. But I will reach one hundred years soon. I know that before we return home, my death will come like a sweet child grasping at my hand to take me into those places unspoken of by the dead and unseen by the living. When I heard you and your lady companion had come to us, I knew all would be right for the men who remained here.”

  “Tell me, what have you seen in your dreams of demons?”

  He smiled broadly, showing small brownish yellow teeth. “You would bring us food. You are harbingers of good fortune as well as bad, though my shipmates do not understand this. They think in only dark and light, they do not understand the shading of the brilliance within the dark, or the spot of darkness in bright sunlight. If one stares at the sun, one will see night soon enough. You are the deep light in darkness, my demon friend. Your coming tells me that the great storms will seek us out, as they did in my dreams of what-will-come, where the sisters of the sea slap at the brothers of the winds. We will be set free from this stillness.” He nodded, remembering his dream. “Oh, some will die, I am certain, for demons take a price. But good fortune, nonetheless, shall be—for you are both dragon and demon.”

  “How will we bring you food, my friend?” I asked. “For we are blood-drinkers, but have no supplies for you.”

  He brought his frail hand up to my face and brushed his fingers along my features as if it would allow him to see me more clearly. “Yes, you are the demon and the dragon and the bird that brings shadow. But you are the deep light in the dark, as well.”

  He reached across for his small pitcher and took barely a drop from it. He savored this a moment, his eyes closing with the momentary pleasure, his parched lips smacking slightly as if a flagon of sweet wine existed within a single drop of water.

  He opened his eyes and set the pitcher down beside him. “We have two sister ships, also in the quiet water. Abandoned. We heard the shouts of the men leaving them on small boats to find a shore. Many of our own men left on the boats—many hundreds of them, and did not leave any boats for those who remained. The Illuyanka did not have so many boats after the storm tossed us here. Many of us could not leave. Many died within the first days after our storehouse emptied. But the other ships remained in the mist with few men aboard.

  “Yet those who left their ships—many days ago—would not live long upon the waters, for it is too far to the nearest land. Nor did any return, and it has been too long to hope for their success. Thousands set out from those ships, our companions. There will be food there, and freshwater, where ours dwindled over the months. In my dream, you flew several miles to one of the ships and returned with these supplies.” He said this all as if he had known of the will of the universe well before my arrival, and I had fit in perfectly with it. “There is a nettle’s leaf, ground to fine powder, stored in small red boxes I would like, also.” He pointed to a shelf by his head, and there was a horn-shaped pipe with a round blue bowl at its tip. “It is good to burn it in the bowl and breathe it into the throat. Old men enjoy such things.”

  I glanced at the men who squatted near us on the floor, listening intently. Each looked at me with a dreaded curiosity, as if expecting me to shoot fire from my mouth and bolts of lightning from my eyes.

  I returned my attentions to Illuyanket. “Your dream included bringing you a burning leaf for your bowl?”

  “My dreams are very particular,” he said, a wan smile upon his face.

  “You are a wise man,” I said, chuckling a bit at his ingenuity. “Perhaps your dreams may be true.”

  “Always,” he said. “They are. Since the demon touched my brow when I was a child. Now, please let an old man rest for the night. When I see you again, I would like a bit of salted pork and a larger bowl for drinking water. Do not forget the small red box with the turtle engraved upon it—it is the size of your hand, no larger.”

  I told him I would bring what I could find from the nearest ship. “Tell me, how far is it to land?”

  “To the east, too far. To the west, too far,” he said. “You fly like a bird, but even a bird must rest. You must wait, for when the storms come, we will find our way homeward, far to the west of this unhappy spot, just as the storms flung us across the ocean. Within no more than two nights, you will fly from us and seek your landfall. As you fly to the west, the night will stay with you many hours. Beneath you, islands large and small will welcome you and your lady. This is my dream.”

  “In your dreams, you have seen these storms come again?”

  He nodded. “Demons are the bringers of storms, my friend. When the demons come, the sisters of the sea grow angry. The brothers of the wind chase them. You will see, my friend. You will see.”

  His eyes shifted slightly as he glanced at the other men, crouching nearby. “Do not fear them. They will do as I say, though I could not keep them from devouring their own kind. But they fear you more than you need fear them. After you have brought us good meat and drink, I will show where you and the lady demon may sleep in comfort and not fear these ruffians. They believe you have the power to watch them while you sleep. I know the secret of your kind, my friend. I know that in the day, you...”—he then spoke in the barest of whispers—”...are vulnerable...”—then resumed his soft but audible tone—”but you are a demon of terror and blood. You will kill us if we do not do as you say. We will protect you while you rest during the brief hours of sun that burns beyond the mist. You shall fear nothing from us, so long as you do not murder any more of our men. Do you understand?”

  I nearly grinned. “What a bargain this is, for if I do as you say, I become your servant. If I disobey you...”

  “While you sleep, it would be terrible for a blade to reach your heart,” he whispered. “For even an old man might stick a small knife into the flesh of the dead.”

  I wished then that such men could live as long as vampyres, for the world needed more of them. “You seem a thous
and years in wisdom, not a mere hundred,” I said. “Will you dream of what destiny awaits me?”

  He closed his eyes and was silent—so quiet that I grew afraid he had died. But after several moments, he let out a snuffling snore as if coming up from the depths of sleep. He opened his eyes, and said, “Your fate is beyond my understanding. All I can see of it is a magnificent fire and a terrible place—vast and intricate—beneath the earth. But this does not mean you will meet with misfortune, my friend. It is only a brief sip of the future dredged up within the wells of dreams. The water of what-is-to-come too often is muddy and deep. But do not fear your nights ahead, for I see in you more than demon. I see a noble falcon whose prey is the wolf. Do not let any emperor or warlord dissuade you from your path, though it would lead you to the end of your nights. It is yours and yours alone and must be taken, this path, even if it burns as you walk it. Now, please, my friend, hunger gnaws at me, and I have not much more than appetite left. The red box—do not forget!” He made a stabbing sign with his fist, as if to threaten me, grinning the whole time.

  4

  I rose and turned to the gathering rabble. “Did you hear that? I will bring meat and drink from the distant ship. I will kill no more of you. I will tell the lady also that this is the law of the ship. You will give us sleeping quarters where we may rest at dawn undisturbed. Further, you will protect and honor this Storm Dreamer as if he were your emperor—no—your god. For if, as he says, the storm comes soon, and your ill habits are replaced by salted pork, you owe him much. May I have your oath?”

  “If we have yours, Sir Demon, that you will not murder us in our sleep. And that you will but drink a little from us that you may live, but not enough for our deaths, as well,” came a voice from the doorway. It was the sailor I had drunk from earlier.

  “You have it,” I said. “Is it agreed?”

  As I spoke these words, grumbling and arguments broke out, but the old man raised his arm up to silence them. When they had quieted, he spoke with that melding of softness and firmness, and it seemed as if his voice projected far beyond his small mouth.