by Colt, K. J.
“Are you controlling them?” Talon asked, amazed.
‘I am,” said Azzeal with closed eyes. “I am a novice at this form of magic, however. It would be best if you did not speak for a time.”
“Sorry,” Talon whispered.
He watched as the vines wove through muscle and tissue. They moved back and forth and around each other as Azzeal swayed. The vines finally wove through his skin, closing up the wound like stitches. His amma watched Azzeal’s work, unblinking. Talon could only imagine her jealousy and wonderment.
When he had finished, Azzeal wiped the clear ooze from his skin and set the plant aside. “Very good.”
“You call that being a novice?’” asked Talon, inspecting the work.
“Yes, indeed. There are those among us with the ability to heal such wounds with a thought. I have only been studying the craft for forty years.”
Talon turned to his amma, who gave Azzeal a withering look.
“Forty years! How old are you?” he asked, amazed.
Azzeal pondered the question for a while. “Many hundreds,” he said, shaking his head with approval of his guess.
“Feikinstafir,” Talon breathed. “That must be something else.”
“Everything is something else,” said Azzeal, confused.
Amma Gretzen placed the knotted end of a thighbone on Talon’s lap and handed him a small, strange-looking knife. “You been asleep for a week.”
Talon eyed the bone. He didn’t understand.
“Every night wolf howls. Spirit won’t move on, won’t leave you. Seen him watchin’ your bed, waitin’ for you to wake, chasin’ away bad dreams and bad spirits,” said Gretzen. She pointed at the knife and bone with a shaking finger. “Carve your Chief in bone.”
She turned and went to sit beside Beorn by the fire. Talon looked from her to Azzeal to the bone and back to the elf once more.
“What is she talking about?” asked Talon.
“Even we elves know to obey our grandmothers,” he said with a smile. “Mind you don’t split the bone.”
Azzeal took a place beside the fire and Talon was left alone to ponder the strange pair.
Was she talking about Chief’s spirit? he wondered, as he turned the piece of bone in his hand. He got the sick feeling that this was Chief’s thigh bone. He heeded Azzeal’s words, however, and listened to his amma. He thought of Chief and began to carve.
He had no indication of time in the cave. Azzeal and Gretzen sat by the fire most of the time, but the elf left twice, coming back with a handful of herbs or roots. Talon knew his amma was brewing up one of her incantations or spells. She remained hunched over the fire, murmuring ancient words.
Gretzen had always been known as a great witch doctor though he knew not why; he had never witnessed anything to suggest any practical value in the practice. Though she was a good healer, he didn’t know her to possess any true magic. A few times when he was young, he had seen her do things he couldn’t explain, but those memories soon lost their mystical quality. Once he witnessed what she called a “demon banishing.” The victim had spoken in strange tongues and thrashed about murderously while his amma bellowed words of magic. She wielded burning sage and blessed water like a warrior witch doctor that night, and the banishing had been successful. The entire ordeal had frightened Talon to no end. Nightmares plagued him for a week after, but he had only been seven, and he soon began to distrust what he had seen. Amma Gretzen told Talon that he didn’t see the magic in the world because he refused to look.
He carved out the head, taking his time to get the face and ears just right. He thought of Chief while he worked. The wolf pup had possessed so much energy and joy; everything seemed interesting to Chief, and anything could be used for play. The pup had opened Talon up to a whole new world that lay hidden to him his entire life. He saw the magic of the world for the first time in his pup’s eyes. He laughed more those first months than he had since he was a small child—before the world beat the joy out of him.
Chief saved Talon’s life. In those first years of his adolescence, Talon had begun to grow bitter and spiteful. He hated his father for his abandonment and he hated himself for being so weak and small, and he began to hate his amma Gretzen for saving him.
Talon had always been picked on by the bigger children, but as they all got older, the beatings became more violent. Soon Talon could barely leave the house without being chased down by a pack of bullies, often led by Fylkin Winterthorn. The chiefson had set his sights on Talon when he was nine years old and he never let up. It wasn’t until Chief was a year old that the bullying subsided. Rather than Plagueborn, Skomm, Draugr, and Throwback, people began to whisper the name, Krellr Troda—Spirit. The Vald—as superstitious as they were—believed the spirit of their tribe’s namesake had blessed Talon. He suspected his amma Gretzen had something to do with the rumors, but he cared not. If it got the bullies off his back for a time, Talon didn’t care what wild tales she spun. Fylkin, however, put no stock in his newfound title and often threatened to make Chief into a fur hat.
“Now Chief is dead; Jahsin is dead,” he lamented.
Talon stopped in his work and the realization hit him once more; Jahsin was dead. He couldn’t imagine a world without his closest friend—the brother he never had, the friend he never expected. Jahsin had warmed up to Talon instantly, and treated him as no one ever had. They laughed and joked; they argued and fought. Jahsin didn’t put up with Talon’s descending mood swings, and Talon didn’t put up with Jahsin’s temper. They challenged each other at every turn, yet accepted each other for who they were—flawed humans like all the rest.
Jahsin had a taste for revolution once his cautious nature gave in to his righteous sense of justice. He had told Talon often of his dream to one day free the Skomm. Talon chuckled at the memory. Of all the things they might have daydreamed during those magical hours below the stars, Jahsin had, more often than not, chosen to talk about what he called “the Skomm Revolution.” Talon played along, often taking on the imaginary role of General Windwalker. The most admirable thing about Jahsin’s dream was that he had meant to do it. More times than not, Talon himself had gotten caught up in the stream of consciousness that played out in their minds’ eyes against the backdrop of stars. Even now, Talon believed his friend could have done it. But the world would never know, for the gods had seen fit to take him for themselves.
Talon realized he had been done with the carving for some time. He lay there, staring at it, lost in the memories of old.
“I’m done, Amma Gretzen,” he called to her.
She came to him and inspected the bone carving. It was small, no larger than a pine cone, but it was a near-perfect replica of the timber wolf. Gretzen grunted her approval and handed it back to him.
“You sleep now. When you wake, the summoning begins,” she said, returning to the fire.
Talon hadn’t the energy to wonder what she meant by “summoning.” He dismissed the word as he did all of her mystical ramblings. His tired mind fell into sleep easily, and to his relief, his sleep remained dreamless.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
KRELLR WARG
I WILL GIVE him a weapon of such power that he shall become legend!
—Gretzen Spiritbone, 4996
Talon awoke, and for a fleeting moment, he forgot where he was. He searched the cave in frantic confusion. When he found Amma Gretzen sitting by the fire, he remembered everything. She noticed he had awakened and stood and gathered her things.
“Come; this work is best done under stars in the presence of gods,” she said and headed for the tunnel to the outside world.
Talon kicked his legs over the bed and gingerly stood. His legs were weak and his body sore, but he managed well enough. He put on his clothes and followed her out of the cave. A new vine tunnel led out to the east. He followed Gretzen up a small hill and down again. The vines were so thick that no light from the outside penetrated the canopy. Gretzen’s torch was the only light to be se
en. Talon followed her torchlight, clutching the timber wolf carving.
Soon a brighter fire drowned out the torch, and they came into a wide clearing. Azzeal danced around the fire, flapping his now-feathered arms. His body was still covered in green leaves, but his feet had grown into hooves. Gretzen indicated a stump close to the raging fire for Talon to sit upon. He sat and watched, amazed as Azzeal’s head turned into that of a wolf and he howled to the sky. The call was answered by another. The baying of the wolf came from all sides, and Talon jumped to search for the source.
“You chose long ago not to see the spirits, they frightened you so,” his amma said as she laid out her ritual tools.
“Is…is that Chief?” he asked, and the howl of the wolf came again from all directions. Talon felt a warm wind brush up against his arm, causing his hairs to stand up on end.
Gretzen only grunted as she lit her conjuring stick and began spelling runes in the air with the smoke.
“What are you trying to do?” he asked.
“Chief’s spirit remains. Soon he’ll be lost in spirit world—left to haunt Volnoss for all time. I give him new home,” she said and began a low chanting.
Azzeal came around the fire and his head changed back to an elf’s, though his hair remained moss and twig. He stretched like a cat and his small antlers grew long and twisted. He came to stand beside Gretzen with an odd feline smile spread across his face. His eyes danced in the light and his delight was palpable.
“Your Gretzen is one of the most skilled spirit talkers I’ve ever met. The practice is shunned by my people. This is a rare glimpse into the spirit world,” he said, watching her spellwork intently.
“He is here,” Gretzen cried out and nearly fainted. Azzeal caught her in strong arms, and Chief’s howl split the still night. The wind picked up, sending glowing embers shooting into the heavens.
“O, great Krellr Warg, Fenrir, God of Hunt, Prince of Forest, King of Wolves, bless your son, Chief. Let him roam the world beside Talon Windwalker. He, your earthly incarnation,” Gretzen sang.
A howling wind haunted the forest around them, whispering through the pines in a thousand voices. It sounded to Talon as if the entire forest were populated with wolves. Their snarls and howls echoed from all directions. The fire raged higher still, as the sound dominated the night. Gretzen’s words were lost to him as she took up the Timber Wolf figurine and held it high with one hand. With the other she tossed sparkling dust onto the raised carving. The fire leapt three feet to engulf the carving and her hand alike, but the flames did not burn her skin. Without warning, the baying of the wolves stopped, and was replaced by a silence so pure that Talon thought he had gone deaf. The fire went out in a flash, and smoke filled the clearing. Gretzen held the figurine out to Talon, indicating for him to touch it; with shaking hands he held the carving with her.
“Call him!” she said between her chanting.
Talon searched the hanging smoke. The foggy outline of a wolf cutting through the fog moved in the corner of his eye. When he looked directly at the apparition, it was gone.
“Call him!” she urged, straining to hold the connection she had to the spirit world.
Standing behind her, Azzeal looked on with wide-eyed wonder. His eyes followed the apparition through the smoke.
“C…come on, Chief! Here, boy,” said Talon, awestruck.
The apparition moved from the corner of his eye and his heart leapt to see the transparent ghost of Chief. A happy panting sounded beside him and he jumped. His eyes blurred with tears and a shiver of wonderment danced across his skin.
“Come on, boy; come on, Chief,” his voice cracked.
Chief began to solidify, and for a moment, Talon could see his shaggy coat blowing in the breeze. He laughed as tears of joy rolled down his cheeks. Chief turned to mist once more and Gretzen began to bellow her incantations. The mist swirled around them in ever tighter circles and poured itself in to the bone carving. The fire erupted to life and the howl of the wolf echoed on for eternity.
Talon stared at his amma Gretzen as her gray hair danced wildly in the hot wind. He saw her as he never had before. She released the figurine, shuddered a breath, and passed out.
“Amma!” Talon cried and caught her.
“She will be all right,” said Azzeal with a feline grin. Though he was hundreds of years old, he seemed to Talon to possess the delight and wonder of a child.
Talon stared at the figurine in his hands.
“Chief is in there, isn’t he?” Talon asked.
“Yes, he will find the rest he needs. Your amma has created a doorway to the spirit world. In time you will be able to summon him to our world once again.”
Azzeal carried Gretzen back to the cave and set her down on one of the moss beds. Talon remained by her side, anxious for her to wake. He thought of how much he had taken her for granted all those years. He had thought her crazy his whole life, dismissing her chanting and spirit talk as the ramblings of a woman gone mad. How wrong he had been, and how bad he felt now.
When she woke, Azzeal was there by her side with a strange-smelling drink which she consumed greedily. She waved off Talon’s fussing hand on her shoulder as she coughed from drinking too fast.
“Show me,” she croaked.
Talon handed her the figurine and she held it up to the light. Her eyes searched the carving as she turned it in her hands, nodding.
“How long?” she asked Azzeal.
“It is morning,” he said.
She handed the figurine back to Talon and gestured vaguely with her hand.
“Call to him.”
Talon looked at the trinket. His excitement grew until he thought his chest might burst.
“How?” he asked, licking his lips. He was suddenly parched.
“As you always have,” she said.
Talon swallowed hard and bit his lip. He held the figurine before him.
“Come, Chief; here, boy,” he said in a shaky voice.
At first nothing happened. He glanced at his amma, like Azzeal, she only watched and waited.
“Come on, Chief; here, bo…”
A white, shimmering mist began to swirl out of the figurine, it circled Talon twice before settling in front of him. Chief’s form began to appear in the collecting smoke. Soon his form became clear and he solidified so completely that Talon would have guessed him to be flesh and blood.
“Chief?” Talon laughed.
The wolf barked and danced in a circle before leaping on top of Talon and licking his face joyfully.
“Chief, you old rascal, look at you!” Talon cried, scratching his ears and hugging him tight. The spirit wolf licked his face and fell on his back, exposing his belly. Talon scratched him vigorously. Suddenly Chief turned into smoke and, after flying around him, solidified five feet away. He dropped down on his front legs with his wagging tail held high; he wanted to play chase.
Talon chased Chief around the cave, trying to catch him, but every time he got near, the spirit wolf turned to mist and evaded him. Finally Talon fell to the floor, sore and out of breath. Chief solidified and pounced. They lay there panting by the fire for a time. Talon petted Chief’s soft fur and soon fell asleep beside him.
When he woke, he jumped to his feet; an idea had occurred to him in his dreams. He went to his amma beside the fire and fell to his knees before her, breathless.
“We can still save Jahsin!” he said.
Gretzen scowled at him and pulled her hands away from his grip.
“Do not speak such things,” she told him and looked to the fire.
Talon shook his head and reached for her hands once more. “Just like you did Chief, you can summon him to his bone. Jahsin can yet live. We just need to get his body…”
“Do not speak such things!” she repeated.
“But he shouldn’t have died! It was all my fault! I should have been the one to die! We can save him still!” Talon pleaded.
His amma slapped him across the face, sobering hi
m quickly. “Jahsin’s spirit moved on! He does not linger like Chief. Enough of this nonsense.”
Talon shook with emotion. Hot tears streamed down his face, stinging the scrapes and scratches. His amma had said her piece; there would be no further discussion.
Azzeal came to sit beside him as Gretzen shuffled off toward the cave’s tunnel, mumbling to herself. “She is right, you know,” he said softly. “Even the conjuring of animal spirits is forbidden by my people. Do you think your friend would want such an existence? Living between worlds?”
“Yes, I do!” said Talon. “He wanted nothing more than to free the Skomm. Can you imagine what a person could do with Chief’s power to become like smoke? He would be unstoppable.”
“Nothing is unstoppable,” said Azzeal.
“Time is unstoppable,” he replied, tired of Azzeal’s riddle talk. “Where were you during the storm? Where were you when Jahsin died? With your magic you could have helped us escape easily.”
“It is not my place to interfere; it is forbidden by my…”
“The hells with your people,” said Talon. He was suddenly furious. All along his amma had been a powerful medium and conjuror, yet she could find nothing better than disgusting gruel to help him. Azzeal had untold elven magic at his disposal, yet he could not help beyond giving Talon a ring he didn’t know how to use. Neither of them had helped in the end, other than to pull him from the brink of death—a death that he deserved.
“If interfering is forbidden by your people, why did you give me the ring?” he asked Azzeal.
The elf studied his eyes. Talon was reminded how he thought “loudly,” and Azzeal likely felt and heard his powerful emotions.
