The Baying of Wolves

by J. Thorn

  “Aye.”

  Keana stood to follow her mother while Solomon remained. Leta playfully slapped the girl on the backside as she walked away.

  “I got more stories of the old days. Maybe at next camp on the road I can tell you some. If you wanna hear.”

  “Yes, Leta. I’d like that very much.”

  Keana skipped ahead to catch up to Sasha, who was now approaching another family and their cart. Solomon walked over and stood in front of Leta. She turned her eyes up, bunches of gray, straggly hair covering her face.

  “Sometimes I think you’re a witch. You know things others don’t.”

  “Yep.”

  Solomon chuckled.

  “I find treasures in the ruins. T’was what I said to Jonah when we first met.”

  “I know what you do, old woman. That is what worries me.”

  “I’ll walk next to your cart. I ain’t seen the breach yet. Might get some feelings you can then share with Jonah.”

  Solomon nodded and walked away. “We will leave very soon. Get away from those wretched things before they come back looking for more corpses.”

  ***

  The journey to the breach passed much quicker than Leta had imagined it would, and she thought that maybe folks were moving quicker because of whom or what they were leaving behind. It amazed her how such an unnerving thing could motivate even the most exhausted of folks.

  “How long?” she asked Solomon as she trudged up the broken road. It was an unnecessary question—she knew it was not far—but a bit of conversation to break the monotony of travel was always a good thing. It would not be long at all now. She could see they were reaching the edge of the plains and heading uphill toward the lands where the trees thickened into forest.

  “Until we reach Jonah or the breach?”

  “The breach.”

  Solomon looked up at the sky and then out to the horizon before turning back to Leta, who was walking with him but one pace behind.

  “Right over that crest, the scouts say.”

  Leta kept her eyes on the buckled pavement, knowing that if she stumbled and broke a hip that the Elk would have to put her on a cart and carry her—or leave her. She didn’t think they would abandon one of their own, even one so new, but the idea made her cautious and she kept her head down as she put one foot in front of the other.

  She heard a whistle from the cart leading the caravan. Solomon followed it with a yell, sending the message down the line that they would be stopping for a break. The sun had dropped beneath the tree line, and Leta thought that the break would most likely turn into the night’s camp.

  A wide, black ribbon cut a jagged line along the road. Leta turned away from the breach and looked across the plains. She shivered. Solomon had been staring at her.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Sasha and Keana had walked from the rear of the caravan and now stood on each side of Leta. Solomon towered over them all.

  “If we don’t cross the breach soon, there will be trouble.”

  Leta’s eyes met Sasha’s.

  But there’s danger over there. You can feel it in your bones.

  Chapter 21

  Briar rolled the body of the dead Cygoa warrior over the edge of the breach, took a deep breath, and leaned over to watch it fall. Below him, the breach seemed to end in shadow after a few hundred feet, and it unnerved him that he couldn’t see the bottom, even in broad daylight. The hole didn’t have vertical sides, and further down into the massive crack in the earth the two sides seemed to come together.

  He wondered if maybe five hundred, or even a thousand feet below, the two halves of the ground met, and down there, wedged between them would be the massive bulk of the fallen bridge and the dozens of bodies that had either fallen during the collapse or been thrown down afterward.

  He hadn’t liked throwing the dead Cygoa down there, but there was little else they could do, with the wolves prowling in a large pack on their side of the breach. Briar’s hunters knew that if the dead were left where they were, the wolves would soon be back, attracted to the smell of death. And he didn’t much like the small group’s chances against the pack of wolves he had spotted while they had been readying to fight the Cygoa. Except now they were no longer on the other side; they had crossed the bridge and were on the same side of the breach as the wolves and any other Cygoa.

  He turned and looked at the gaping hole where the bridge had once been, and then next to it, where there was a large pile of weapons, armor, shields and other equipment that they had gathered from the Cygoa.

  Spoils of war, he thought.

  Smoke wafted toward him. Not far from where the bridge had been, a large pyre was burning. Jonah, the leader of the Elk, would not have approved of throwing his own clan’s dead into the breach. Even after the protests from his own men, Briar had insisted they follow whatever the Elk were doing with their dead, and the resulting burial fire was now raging, consuming the bodies of the Elk that had fallen.

  The group huddled near the fire in silence. He had said no words when they lay the bodies out. He had no idea what to say, anyway. They weren’t his kin. He knew none of them, and nothing of their ways, and the tradition of burning the dead wasn’t something his own people practiced. Hunters were buried in shallow graves for nature to claim, covered only by a small layer of rubble that would hide them for a while, allowing the other hunters to move on before the creatures of the forest took from the dead hunter what he or she had taken from them. The hunters stood quietly as the flames consumed the dead.

  Briar blinked, noticing movement at the edge of his vision. Loner appeared from the tree line, his slight limp giving him away even before Briar could focus on him. The man’s wound was healing at a fast pace, and Briar was relieved. It meant that they wouldn’t be as slow as they had been while fleeing the Cygoa before. They could move faster if the wolves showed up again and they had to get the hell out of the area, and Briar believed that the wolves returning was inevitable. The smell of the dead still lingered, even if the bodies were burned or thrown over the edge. It didn’t get rid of the blood soaked into the ground. The wolves would be back.

  Loner reached him and stood taking long slow breaths. “They moved south at speed,” he said. “I tracked them at least a mile, but the trail started to go cold on me. Don’t think they’ll be back soon, but they may, if they catch a whiff of the stink.”

  Briar laughed. “You should have let someone else do the tracking, you numb head.”

  Loner shrugged off the comment. “But maybe there’s more of those Cygoa out there. That could be a problem.”

  “Possibly,” Briar said. “I don’t like our odds if either turns up.”

  Loner nodded.

  “Tell the others that we need to build another fire tonight, not to keep the funeral pyre stoked. That would weird me out. It must be a different one, maybe a few hundred yards south from here in that clearing. Out in the open, so we can watch the tree line, see ’em coming.”

  “Sure,” said loner. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “And build it big,” said Briar. “Until that lot—” He nodded at the Elk over the other side of the breach. “—manage to sort out their plan, for building a new bridge, we need to be on guard.”

  “Aye,” said Loner. “I reckon they’re not gonna be able to build another bridge here. Too wide.”

  “Hmm,” Briar agreed.

  “You know, we could just take off,” Loner said after a moment of silence. “Nothing stopping us from leaving.”

  “True, said Briar. “And we will, if we have to, if it gets too busy here, but with the news of so many Cygoa in the area, are you happy with the idea of us heading out on our own?”

  Loner shook his head. “Nah, course not. Not west or south, at least. But there’s plenty of other places we can go. We don’t have to go that way. North, maybe? Into the mountains?”

  Briar looked down at the breach and then over again at the Elk on the other side of the gap.
The gathering of Elk warriors was busy building a makeshift camp. “I think heading out on our own now would be a mistake,” he said. “No game to be caught, yet. We’re stuck here for now. Safety in numbers and all that.”

  Chapter 22

  Jonah stood facing the pyre, watching the ashes dance in the firelight. He inhaled the fragrant pine and turned to Declan, who nodded.

  “They were fine men. They deserve better than a ceremonial Dustfall.”

  “I know, Declan. Sometimes we must do what we can and be satisfied with it.”

  Declan kicked at a tree branch near his feet and turned away. He walked back to the camp Jonah’s men had set up. There had been conversations about the fire, worries that the Cygoa would come. But Jonah knew they knew where he was. If the Cygoa wanted to cross the breach and ambush him, they would do it regardless of a bonfire burning through the night.

  He thought of the nightmare of war and the many times Gunney had stood by his side, facing down death to protect the Elk. Jonah remembered the first time he met Rav, the old sarcastic son of a bitch, and his insatiable desire for northern apples. Jonah smiled as the smoke swirled up and into the night sky.

  I must be satisfied with this, he thought. This is how I will say goodbye.

  The men began to settle, uneasily tucked in their bedrolls while gripping their axes. The night chill came quickly as the funeral fire smoldered low, a slow burn seeping from the glowing orange embers at the bottom. Jonah sat on a rock overlooking the breach. What remained of the ancient structure sat in stark relief of the moonless sky, as solid and black as onyx. He could not see Briar and his hunters in the darkness, but Jonah had to assume they were still there.

  A branch snapped in the near distance. Jonah brought his axe up and peered into the trees on the opposite side of their camp. He held his breath, his heartbeat now thrumming in both ears. Another crunch followed, the unmistakable sound of someone trying to mask footfalls in the forest.

  “Jonah.”

  The harsh whisper cut through the silence. Jonah sighed and let his shoulders drop.

  “Aye.”

  The branches parted and a young Elk scout stepped forth. Beads of sweat ran down his face despite the dropping temperatures. Black ash streaked the boy’s face and his clothes had been soiled to match the tone of midnight.

  “Come and sit. There isn’t much of a flame left on our ceremonial Dustfall but the warmth is better than nothing.”

  The Elk scout smiled at Jonah, and the two sat on the ground at the base of the fire. Jonah didn’t recognize the boy but he was clearly Elk, that he knew from the charms hanging around the kid’s neck. The young girls of the clan had spent most of their summer learning how to scavenge from Leta. They kept the trinkets that would not benefit the clan’s survival and fashioned jewelry from them. This boy had at least one admirer.

  “You bring me news?”

  “Yes, Jonah. All is good. Your family is safe.”

  Jonah straightened up and leaned over. “What happened? Why did you choose those words to share first?”

  “There was an ambush. Your wife. She was attacked. But she is strong, and she fought him off. Solomon rounded up the rest and they’ve been dealt with.”

  Jonah sighed and tossed another twig onto the fire as the scout stumbled through his words. Jonah hissed and realized the boy had been more nervous about sharing this news with him than he had been of running into Cygoa.

  “Who?”

  “Some bandits. One wore a mask.”

  Jonah thought on the information and yet he could not place the clan based on the boy’s description of the attackers.

  “Sasha. She says you should not worry. Keana, Gideon. They are all safe. Unharmed.”

  “What did they do?”

  The boy squirmed at the question, rubbing his hands together while holding them above the hot coals.

  “The masked man. He came into Sasha’s tent. She killed him.”

  Jonah waited but the boy did not give him any more details.

  “No injuries to any Elk?”

  “No, sir.”

  He slapped the boy on the knee and winked. “You did good. Getting here quickly and delivering the news to me. I appreciate that.”

  The scout smiled, his teeth a brilliant white light set against the dark night.

  “How long did it take you to get here?”

  “Two days.”

  Jonah looked through the smoke and into the sky. His mouth moved silently as he did mental calculations.

  “Four. Solomon said to tell you it would take them four to six days, depending on the condition of the roads—especially near the breach.”

  “And what did you see? Were they in good shape?”

  “I don’t know, Chief. I was running as hard as I could and trying to avoid any Cygoa who might be on this side of the breach. And any other rogue clans…”

  He let the comment hang as Jonah made the connection between the boy’s fear and the attack on his wife.

  “That isn’t much time.”

  Jonah turned his head to see Declan standing behind them, the orange glow from the fire lighting his face. Declan sat down next to Jonah, opposite the scout.

  “Get yourself a drink and grab a spot near the hot coals,” Jonah said to the scout. “The morning will come fast. You’ve been running for days, and I need to speak to Declan.”

  The boy stood and began to bow, but Jonah stopped him. He put his hand out toward the boy, who hesitated before gripping it. Jonah gave his hand a firm shake.

  “You’ve done well. Thank you. Now, get some sleep.”

  Jonah and Declan watched the boy walk by, stepping over the sleeping bodies and looking for a place to rest his weary head.

  “We have to find a way across, Chief.”

  “I know. The Elk and all the other clans. It’s a lot of people. And the Cygoa.” Jonah shook his head and put his hands on his hips.

  “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

  Declan looked once more at the fire. He removed a flask from his jacket and splashed a drink on the hot coals. “For Rav and Gunney.”

  Jonah smiled and waved at Declan as the man returned to his bed roll. Jonah looked again toward the breach and where the bridge once stood. Six days at best, maybe only four, and he had to find a good spot and build a new bridge, otherwise this side of the breach was going to get very crowded very quickly.

  Chapter 23

  The forest was quiet when The Brother woke. He rose and stretched, gradually and unhurriedly, easing every muscle to life. He then moved from his spot in the center of the huddle of fur that was the pack, his kin, and slowly made his way to the top of the ridge. They had sheltered there early after their good fortune of an easy feast on the already dying Walking One the day before, and none of them had seemed keen to travel far.

  It was as he reached the top of the rise that he noticed the change. The chill no longer ran through his fur and bit at his eyes, and the sun was brighter than normal at this phase of the day.

  The Brother sniffed the air, enjoying the warmer feel of the scent that drifted from miles around to inform him of the world’s movement.

  The scent of blood hit him with a sharpness that made him squint. He scratched at the ground and sneezed to clear his dulled senses, thinking that he was not fully awake from sleep yet, and this was some repeat of the blood-raged dream that had left him unsettled for most of the night, but when he sniffed again the scent was even stronger.

  It was the smell of a Walking One battle, something he had rarely experienced even in his long years. Fights between large groups of Walking Ones happened sometimes, just as they did between the packs of his own kind, but it was not common.

  Great strife between the Walking Ones. That was what was happening, he thought. It had to be, for this to happen again, after not even two full passings of the goddess in the sky.

  Others among the pack were stirring from their slumber now, rising from the huddle and making t
heir way up to meet him on the ridge. First came his two mates, the two with the keenest senses, their bellies already beginning to show the signs of the cubs that would come, his offspring. The hunger of those two was greater than all the others.

  We must wake and move swiftly, he thought. Or the other pack, now far to the north if his senses were correct, could pick up on the signs and move in before he could make the claim.

  He uttered a guttural growl, short and to the point, and the reaction was no disappointment to him. He had barely breathed a dozen times and the pack were moving down the slope toward the thinner trees and the open ground.

  It’s coming from near the great hole, he thought. The thunder hole.

  The Brother wasn’t pleased with this. There was something nasty, smelly and unnatural about the big hole in the ground. It had not always been there and had come after the mountain had protested with great noise. The smell that came from the hole was unlike anything he had smelled before.

  The earth wounding itself in its own anger, he thought. And now the Walking Ones must have caught that anger and are warring against each other. That would mean much death, and death among the Walking Ones could mean food for his kin.

  Chapter 24

  “Took you long enough,” Seren called up.

  The wolf peered down at her, sniffed the air, and looked around the stairwell. She gave a quiet woof, as if to say, sure.

  Seren closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again, checking that Sorcha was really there. She had missed the wolf. Nearly three days of running through the forest, alone, pursued by the strangers, had reminded her of how truly alone she had been before Sorcha had befriended her. She looked at the trailing vines hanging down into the stairwell. There was at least a twenty-foot drop, she guessed, and for a second time she considered and then gave up the idea of trying to climb them. None of the roots and vines creeping across the walls looked strong enough to hold her weight, and she was nervous about climbing with the exploding stick in her hands. Also, if she landed on her injured ankle, she may make it worse.