by Kyle Tolle
“Boys . . .” She tut-tutted. “We have better things to do than listen to your tiff.” She yawned into her hand. “I was up all night poring over papers. Researching this.” A few sheets of paper waggled in her hand. “I suspect this wolf is more than it appears.” The papers disappeared into a pocket.
“What do you mean,” Lorenca asked, “more than it appears? What’re those papers?”
“My, my, it feels a lifetime ago, but in my younger years, I attended the College of Arcanum in Bansuth. My studies focused on the Three Mechanisms. Abstract, I know, but I’ve been taken by the stories ever since I heard them as a child. The chance to delve into the texts and all the essays and philosophizing related to them seemed a unique chance. I sought to understand how the Mechanisms relate to the wider world. In time, I did glimpse how deeply they influence everything.”
Hantle was no scholar. He had no inkling of the essays and philosophizing she meant. “Influence in what way?” He feared sounding foolish, but wouldn’t the rest of them be thinking the very same?
“Subtle ways,” she said. “Ways that are dispersed both across the face of Iomesel and through time. Ways that stretch beyond normal human reckoning because the connection between them is faint—barely perceptible—even when you’re looking for that thread of similarity.”
“You’re losing me,” Rounfil said. “Can’t you talk more simply?” Hantle felt relief that he was not alone.
“I’m getting ahead of myself, too. Before Iomesel existed, or any of the cosmos, there was the ethereal fabric, the All. A miniscule imperfection in the All spawned a tear, the Void, which started small but grew to consume the All, wreaking its havoc in the Cataclysm. That’s the simplest description of the First Mechanism. There’s more to it, but what’s most important to us right now is how the Void arose with no warning and for no apparent reason. I see it as the original destructive force, later balanced by the constructive forces of the Song and, with it, life.
“As a flaw in the All spawned the Void, so it also seems that flaws in our world spawn calamities, however infrequently, such as hurricanes, quakes, or famines. Taking this a bit further, the wolf is, to my mind, rather like these disasters: striking with no warning and for no apparent reason.” She paused, then added, “With me so far?”
“So,” Eayol said, “you’re saying this wolf is like a . . . a hurricane?”
“In a way, yes. But I’m establishing a groundwork that we can expand upon.” Liova cleared her throat before going on. “The creature relates to my studies in another way. Several years in, after my mentor insisted I specialize, my focus gravitated toward the sudden disappearance of far-flung lands. Initially, it does not seem that there are many instances of this. Have you heard of any lost lands on the Fist?”
Hantle pondered this for a moment before shaking his head. Those around him did the same. She was really out in the weeds here. How was she going to bring this all together?
“That’s because the Fist, and our beloved Far Finger, are relatively young lands—in terms of human exploration and settlement. Other lands—places we would have hardly heard of, let alone visited—are much older. Places where civilizations have been present for many centuries. Some of these places continue to thrive, having undergone changes along the way that ensured the survival of the city, kingdom, empire, what have you. Other locales are not so fortunate. You see, there are tales out there, if you ask the right people and listen at the right time. Tales of peoples and lands winking out.” She snapped a finger. “Like so.”
Lorenca leaned against Hantle. “Yes, okay,” she said. “Where are you going with this?”
Liova held up her hands in supplication. “Bear with me, please. I have a point, and we’ll be there presently.
“Each tale describes an event which results in the disappearance of a peopled land, but there are two other similarities between them: The doom was executed by a creature of immense power, and a celestial event followed shortly thereafter. I know, I know,” she hurried on, waving off eye rolls, “this generality makes little sense. Let me give you specifics.” She extracted the papers from her pocket, unfolded them, and handed them to the group. “I brought the three most detailed accounts I’ve gathered. Be sure to pass them around.”
Hantle received one of these. He held it out so that Lorenca and Eayol could see. The text itself was written in an ornate script while the margins were stuffed with blocks of notes belonging to several different hands.
Liova went on. “The general theme is that, with no warning and for no apparent reason, a beast comes from the wild, devours everything it can, and wipes out an entire city or countryside. The destruction is followed by an upheaval in the firmament above. Take these three for example. In a mountainous country, a bear razed an entire kingdom, surrounding mountains and all. An archipelago in a major coastal trade route was bitten apart and gulped down by a shark, its location later marked by just flotsam. In the depths of a sweltering jungle, the whole of its capital city was scooped up and consumed by a jaguar, including several hundreds of feet of land beneath it, leaving only a gigantic hole in the ground. Each of these is correlated with a celestial event: the appearance of a guest star, a solar eclipse, and the arrival of a comet, respectively.”
“You think the wolf is like one of these creatures?” Rounfil asked.
“I don’t know so but I fear so.”
Eayol grabbed the paper from Hantle and held it closer to her eyes. Squinting, she said, “How are the animals and eclipses and things related?”
“That’s the question I’ve pondered most. Does the creature cause the cosmos to react? Or is the creature a portent of forthcoming cosmic upheaval? Unfortunately, this is another thing of which I cannot be certain. Though I hazard to guess that the creature is caused by the event, even though it comes before. Like the tingle before a lightning strike.
“The Void started as the tiniest of holes and spread from its origin to engulf everything. We may be witnessing something similar. The beginnings of a split in the cosmos that is growing larger, to culminate in the destruction of . . .” Her eyes focused to infinity beyond the crowd. “Well, again, it’s hard to predict.” Her gaze snapped back. “Founsel, at least. Perhaps more.”
“I will be the first to recognize the wolf’s danger,” Hantle said, “but isn’t it a leap to compare it to the creatures in these tales?”
Liova crossed her arms. “I am surprised to hear that doubt from you, Hantle. You have seen it several times.” She motioned to his bandaged arm. “Even wrestled with it. Doesn’t its size swell more each night? Instead of hunting, it embarks on a brutal rampage. Every aspect feels unnatural.”
Hantle looked to clouds overhead and the few patches of blue sky between. “Why have we seen nothing happen in the sky?”
“This is still the tingle. The lightning strike comes ne—”
“Is there mention,” Rounfil interrupted, “of whether the people ever fought back?”
“No, there is not.”
“Well, shit.” He tossed up his hands. “You’re saying there’s no way to defeat it?”
“We can’t be certain they didn’t fight it, of course”—Liova waggled a finger—“We can only be certain there’s no record of it. These stories have survived through oral tradition long before they were ever placed in writing. It’s only natural that some aspects have been lost to time. For the same reason, we do not know what happened to the beast after the ruin was wrought.”
Eayol brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Still, if it’s a destructive force, as you’ve called it, operating on the scale of the cosmos, what hope do we have of resisting it?”
Clasping her hands before her, Liova smiled. “This is the part I find most encouraging. This is a force altogether different from storm or plague. This one has a body. Hantle can speak himself to harming it. And we have an opportunity that no other location has had: knowing what peril the wolf brings. Unlike the winds, there’s a chance of stopping an an
imal. There are many brave people and loaded muskets in Founsel.”
If Hantle understood things, there was no option of running it off, of resolving this without more death. They had not stopped the beast with five guards, but when the villagers spilled out of their homes and surrounded the thing, they stood a chance.
A chuckle started off quiet but grew louder and Douth’s whole body moved as he shook his head. “She’s out of her mind.” He looked around the square, still laughing. “Telling us the world threatens to destroy us and expecting we’ll wait for it to come down on our ears. Ha ha ha. Absolutely not. The sensible thing is getting far, far away.”
Olyul spoke up from the back. “I’m no warrior and my daughter could not hope to outrun the demon. What about a middle ground? Board up our homes so the wolf has no way in and lie low overnight. Make the village look abandoned.”
“That’s an enticing thought,” Hantle said, “but it took a large risk when it attacked last night. One that paid off. It’ll grow more today, and I’m afraid that will make it more brazen yet. It would be folly to think it will pass through here peacefully.”
“Now you can read the minds of beasts?” Douth seemed determined to mock Hantle.
Rounfil stepped forward and grabbed Douth’s collar, twisting it in his fist. “Hantle here’s got a lid he can put on his temper, but I ain’t got one myself. If you’re gonna scoot on out of here, you best get to it.” He pulled his arm in so their faces nearly touched. “You hear me, coward? Scoot.” Giving him a push, Rounfil let go of the shirt.
Hantle expected Douth would retaliate but saw uncertainty cross his face. Without another word, Douth backed away and stomped off.
Rounfil shook out his fists and turned to Olyul like nothing had happened. “That’s a decent idea, but wolves operate on smell more than sight. It’d smell us all here, even if it couldn’t see us. I have to agree with Hantle. I don’t see it letting us be.”
Hantle did a rough calculation. “We’ve got how many adults in Founsel? Fifty or so? What if every one of us were out tonight? We would have numbers on our side.”
Rounfil smiled. “Fifty to one are odds I’d take.”
“Fifty of us,” Eayol said, “ought to give us no option but to bring it down.”
Olyul shifted her feet, looking bashful. “Excuse me, but wouldn’t that leave all the children alone?”
“I’ll watch them.” Lorenca squeezed Hantle’s hand before stepping forward. “I thought Hantle foolish for wanting to join the night watch. But after seeing the wolf last night, I know how brave he’s been to do so. He’s out there not only for my sake, but for all our sakes. And any who join him are just as brave. Bring as many children over as needed. I’ll keep watch over them, while you keep watch over Founsel.”
Olyul gave her a hopeful smile. “Could you use some help?”
“Yes, of course. You know how rowdy children can be.”
Liova patted Olyul’s arm. “Really swells your heart, seeing how a village of close-knit people comes together.”
“I’ve just remembered something else strange.” Hantle said. “The wolf attacked the guard, but it also ate several of the lanterns we had hung out.” Several eyebrows rose. “Ate them, yes. Burning and all.”
Liova nodded, unsurprised. “That is further proof the canine is unnatural. I’ve said before, wolves have no love for light. It burns them, addles their minds, makes them fearful. Use that to your advantage. Set out every lantern we have. Then start bonfires. Founsel has no shortage of wood.”
“Yes, we can light up the entire village.” Hantle looked across all the faces standing in the square. “I know how daunting this might seem,” he said, “but I hope every one of you will join us in the watch tonight. If you cannot, please consider another way to contribute. Liova said this day is hard won, and she is right. It is paid for in blood by those we lost. Let’s make them proud of what we do tonight.”
There was still a risk to having Lorenca, Olyul, and the children in a home. The wolf had broken into and out of the Gulfich’s without issue. Pirram had the idea of driving nails through the flat side of wooden planks and affixing them to doors and windows. The spiked fortifications would deny the creature easy access. Hantle joined Pirram, Rounfil, and Eayol in the project and they had Hantle’s house secured in short order. Others praised the fierce effect this gave the building and asked for the treatment to be applied to their homes. Since it did not require great precision or time, Hantle had no qualms about this. If protecting another home meant two more joining the night watch, then the effort was worthwhile.
It was when he and Rounfil hauled a set of nail boards to one of these other houses that Hantle noticed Douth talking to a handful of people. He could not make out their discussion, but they nodded and shook hands before splitting up. Each person returned to their respective home and, with their spouse and children, packed housewares and valuables into covered wagons. Douth had already pulled his wagon, overflowing with furniture and trunks, into the street.
Hantle nodded his head their way. “Do you see that?” he said. “Evidently, Douth recruited a few families to flee with him.” He counted five wagons, including Douth’s.
Rounfil frowned. “Didn’t know yellow-belly spread so easy.”
“That means, what, nearly ten fewer for the watch?”
“If they’ll just skitter at the first sign of the wolf, then we’re better off without them.”
Hantle kept an eye on the wagons as he worked. Within an hour, a caravan formed on the southern end of the village. He thought of saying goodbye to them but couldn’t bring himself to approach. He was afraid that listening to their excuses would give him the yellow-belly, no matter how much he despised it. Maybe some of the villages in Liova’s tales knew about their creatures too, but fell apart when the fear took hold. He imagined her voice saying, “Perhaps, but we cannot be certain.” Certain or not, he would join his fellow villagers in the night watch and attempt to avoid repeating their doom.
A tension left him when the clatter of wheels over cobblestone signaled the movement of the caravan. Dust from the procession rose above the treetops in the stagnant air. The haze was still visible after Hantle had finished supper and drained his second mug of jursant. He stepped inside, set the empty mug on the kitchen table, and watched as Lorenca spread out a blanket for one of the children who had just arrived. She smiled at the toddler, who blew a raspberry. Hantle envied how quickly the young forgot their fear. He gave Lorenca a hug and kiss and whispered in her ear, “I’m glad to see you smiling, love.” He moved to take his musket from its spot on the transom and spoke so the kids could hear him, “Take good care of Miss Lorenca for me, okay?” The girl nodded in the enthusiastic way only possible for a little one.
Darkness rode the sky from east to west and filled the forest from the roots up. Hantle met the guards in the square and helped distribute the equipment: muskets and pistols, black powder and shot, knives and axes. In the glow of the lanterns and bonfires, the outfit looked grim and aggressive.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE WOLF CLAWED his way out of his day hide. He had searched long and far to Founsel’s east for the cave to shelter from the day, but he had grown so large during his rest that he risked becoming stuck. The burn penetrating into his muscles reminded him each second that the sun was still in the sky. He whimpered. Several spots on his body seemed to concentrate the pain, with one of these being his right forepaw. He gnawed at it, the act reprieving him momentarily, until he tasted blood. He stopped and cocked his head. An urge drove him to keep his teeth active, for this was the sole action capable of providing respite, but would he chew off his own leg to satisfy it? After licking the wound clean, he picked up a branch and set to stripping its bark instead. A glance to the sky told that darkness was still some ways off.
Once the branch was in splinters, he could no longer endure the agony. Dusk would be eons in the coming. He oriented his eyes away from the sun and moved off in search
of a ravine or hill or cave larger yet—anything to provide shade from the lengthening rays. The wound where the axe had bitten into his side, which had initially bled fiercely then scabbed over when he lay curled up in the cave, pulled the musculature of his ribs taut, giving his gait a limp.
Miles later, he came upon a wide gulch formed by a creek. As far as he knew, it was the only meaningful depression in the landscape. Wide enough to contain him, certainly, but too shallow, even when laying flat. He excavated the mud, rocks, and vegetation until he was capable of escaping his entire form into shadow. Yet the misery did not dissipate. He panted and his tongue flicked out of his mouth, again and again, as if he were trying to be rid of some foul taste. Repetitious action and perseveration consumed him as the blazing orb lowered on the horizon. What could he do to avoid the light but wait for it to disappear? What could he do, what could he do, what could he do?
Eat it, he had eaten it. Yes, he had eaten them: the lanterns surrounding the village. The night was his and he could bring it to the lighted parts, eat his way through the lanterns until shrouded in black. Blackblackblackbloodblackbloodstained his legs and stomach; he brought that blood out by eating them and eating more each night. Under the shroud, he acted at his peak of ability and gorged on the terror and screams and flesh that yielded to his fangs.
Unable to identify why, he pushed himself up and sat on his haunches. Blindblindblindblazeblindstained his vision and mind; he sent up a howl, calling out to the orb that drove him to eating them and eating more each night. It was nothing but present and nothing but eternal. He leapt into the air, snapping his gore-stained jaws at the distant epicenter of his rage. Oughtn’t he grow and eat it and become the present, the eternal? Yes! Yes, eat it! He had eaten them and he could eat the rest of them and the rest of it and find how the bloodblack presenteternal ends all his pain and starts all his life.
Twilight calmed the wolf’s anxieties and he moved back toward Founsel. The travel took him longer than prior evenings because his size was such that now he had to pick a judicious path between trees or suffer a slog through the canopies of the lower-growing ones. Any hint of blue or purple was completely gone by the time he, still a small distance away, noticed the lights. Lanterns burned, shining beyond the edge of the forest. Fires popped, whirling sparks into the sky. An owl on a branch at eye level with the wolf hooted and took wing. Too small a specimen to bother with. There was better meat ahead.
