Soon the herbs did their job and he fell into a sort of trance. The whelp struggled in his arms but the boy was steadfast. After some hours, with the night already half over, the wolf suddenly became limp and gave up all resistance. Bathed in sweat Ahren smiled at Falk and said, ‘That wasn’t so…’, when the little body nearly exploded.
Falk could see from his stool that the animal’s eyes had rolled completely to the back of the head. His mouth was foaming, and it was obvious that the wolf wasn’t just content with escaping anymore. Its claws were seeking out the body of the boy, every movement was aimed at injuring him and sinking his fangs into the boy’s flesh. Falk sat as taut as a bowstring on the edge of his chair, ready to intervene as soon as this drama was over. He only hoped he would be able to save the boy.
Ahren was now sobbing uncontrollably and using every sinew in his body to resist the attacks. The wolf’s claws were tearing deep channels in the material protecting his arms, and the leather on his legs was beginning to wear away under the onslaught. The Void seemed to have blown away and Ahren couldn’t find the necessary concentration again. His whole body was in pain and a wave of exhaustion overwhelmed him. He caught sight of his master’s face, which reflected what he already knew. He was going to lose. His strength would give way and at some point, he would make a mistake.
And then Falk will kill the little fellow to save me…this thought reignited Ahren’s resistance. Sobbing uncontrollably he held on to the whelp who relentlessly carried on with his work of destruction in Ahren’s arms.
Countless heartbeats passed by, but the paroxysms continued. Paw swipes left their first bloody gashes on his legs where the leathers had worn through and soon his arms would suffer the same fate.
Falk looked on sadly as his protégé’s resistance weakened and he quietly prepared to bring the whole thing to an end. He stood up, but instead of moving to the distraught boy, he walked to the window. He tilted his head and opened the heavy wooden shutters that kept out the winter. The world beyond the cabin was pitch black, a thick carpet of cloud hid the stars. An impenetrable wall of darkness was before him, as if nothing else existed except for the cabin and the hopeless battle raging behind his back. A cold blast of air came into the room and then an outline appeared from the dark night. The light from the fire in the cabin shimmered on Selsena’s hide as the Titejunawna approached and looked through the window at the scene playing out in the room. Falk stepped aside to take up his watch again.
Ahren kept control of the wriggling body with whatever strength he had left. There were tears in his eyes and blood on his arms and legs. Now he had to keep his eyes on the wolf’s head with even more concentration. One lick of his lifeblood and all would be lost. Ahren’s determination was beginning to crumble and the morning was still so far away.
Then Selsena was standing at the window and her inscrutable, grey eyes were locked on to his. Peace arose within Ahren like the mist rising in a forest clearing on a warm spring morning. Serenity and an unshakeable quietness flowed through him and gave his limbs renewed strength. The whelp on the other hand seemed to be quietening down. The animal’s efforts were still hurting Ahren but he seemed to have lost the determined ferocity which had marked his earlier behaviour.
Falk looked dumbstruck from one to the other, the dagger still in his hand, and for the first time was uncertain about what the next few hours would bring.
Chapter 10
Falk awoke with a start the following morning. He was still sitting on the stool and had a stabbing pain in his back. He must have dropped off at some point. The last few hours of the previous night had crawled painfully slowly. The struggle between the exhausted boy and the similarly spent wolf had lessened to no more than brief twitching of the muscles. The closer it had come to morning, the quieter it had become in the cabin, and at some point the effort must have taken its toll on Falk.
Selsena was still standing at the window, looking at the boy. Up until now, Falk had avoided viewing the scene, fearful of what he might see, but when he turned around he was met with an astonishing sight. The two bodies were lying entwined on the blood-soaked mat. The apprentice’s arms and legs were covered in cuts and scratches, his clothing and padding hung in shreds, or lay scattered across the bed. The boy’s face was pale and drawn with dark rings under his eyes. His chest was gently rising and falling, much to Falk’s relief.
The whelp was breathing too so there was only one more thing Falk had to do. With his knife drawn, he glanced at Selsena, then crept closer and bent over the young wolf. With the tip of his knife a finger’s width away from the animal’s heart, he carefully lifted an eyelid of the sleeping creature.
The whelp’s pupil was golden-yellow! Falk recoiled as if he had been hit. Ahren stirred in his sleep and snuggled up closer to the soft fur of the whelp, who grunted contentedly. Falk stood up and stared down at the sleepers. Then he turned to the window and said to Selsena, ‘sometimes it’s the older ones who need to learn new things’. He patted her on the neck and the laughter and the joy of the one echoed in the soul of the other.
Ahren slept the whole day through and the following night, as did the little wolf. Early the next morning he was woken up by a rough tongue and an animal smell as his new companion licked his face devotedly. He sat up with a giggle and waved his hands around wildly. For a few heartbeats he was quite woozy. Then he began to remember what had happened and his aching body did the rest to remind him of the events that had just taken place.
The whelp jumped up at him, let out a high whimper and looked at him with loyal golden-yellow eyes. Ahren picked up the little thing and noticed that his arms had been bandaged. He pulled back his blanket and his thighs too had been expertly covered in white linen. He smelt at the bandages and recognized the scent of Red Leaf, which promoted the healing of cuts and scratches.
The whelp sniffed the dressing curiously, gave a big sneeze, then jumped from the bed and glanced back over his shoulder at the boy with an offended look. Falk wasn’t in the room so Ahren stood up to mix together the meat stock for the wolf. Ahren’s stomach was grumbling with hunger. He poured the rest of the stock into the bowl, added a few herbs that he had cut up and put it down in front of the little nipper’s paws. The whelp sniffed at the bowl and within an instant had devoured it all. Then he looked up at Ahren and began whimpering again.
The boy scratched his head and said, ‘we have a problem’. The food was all gone and now there were only vegetables in the house. The snow storm and the hunt had for the Blood Wolf had put paid to food hunting so he couldn’t make any more of the meat stock.
Ahren made a practical decision and heated the stew that was still hanging over the fire. It filled his own stomach and he tried to make a few carrots as tasty as possible for the hungry rascal. That was only partially successful. He finished his own food as quickly as possible so he could rustle something up for the hungry whelp. He was getting dressed when the door opened, and Falk came in weighed down by a large bundle. ‘Good, you’re awake’, he said in a deep voice, then dropped his bundle on the table.
The wolf circled him and started jumping up at him, whimpering.
Then Ahren realized, he wasn’t jumping up at Falk, but up at the table.
The master quickly took out a packet with waxed paper and threw a large chunk of meat at the wildly wriggling wolf, who immediately got stuck into it.
Falk nodded and said, ‘just as I thought. I didn’t think he’d be happy with the stock since the Frenzy. This meat has been well cured – we don’t want to provoke anything – but I think the danger has been averted’. It was only now that Ahren noticed that his mentor had a firm grip on the dagger so he could draw it quickly.
Ahren was about to speak angrily but his master interrupted him.
‘Boy, this is absolutely unchartered territory. Never before has a Blood Wolf survived the Frenzy in the company of people’, he said severely. ‘And never before have the people who kept guard over him survuved’, he
added drily.
Ahren closed his mouth, hesitated, and then asked cautiously, ‘what does that mean?’
He was afraid of the answer, but Falk smiled. ‘Selsena says the aura of the Adversary is gone and also the latent rage. After she had calmed down, it was this anger that had kept her away from us over the past few days, but when she saw the danger you were in, she wanted to help’.
Ahren strained his neck to look out but there was no sign of the Elven-horse. He really wanted to thank her because without her at least one of the three who were in the cabin at the moment would no longer be alive.
Falk indicated with a look and said, ‘she’s wandering around the forest and recovering. Projecting such strong feelings over such a long period demands a lot of energy’.
The whelp had eaten everything up and was jumping up at the table again.
Falk groaned and produced another piece of meat, which quickly found its way into the creature’s mouth. ‘Now I’ve got two gluttons in my cabin’, he complained. ‘From what I can see, you’ve got a common Ice Wolf here, except that this one will probably grow bigger than most others’.
‘Does that mean he’ll grow as big as his mother sometime?’ asked Ahren in amazement.
Falk laughed. ‘Probably not. Don’t forget, she was five hundred years old and her longevity was a side effect of the rule of Him, who forces’.
A shiver ran down Ahren’s spine. In the Midlands the name of the Adversary was rarely mentioned and only on formal occasions. Even if He had been conquered, his name was considered a bad omen which attracted Dark Ones, and the Border Lands with the Pall Pillar in their centre were too close to be taking that risk.
He caught Falk’s searching look, which was trained on the wolf, and he realized that this had been another test to see if the animal would react to hearing the name of the being that had put a curse on him.
But the only reaction was a contented grumble coming from the bundle of fur.
The two sat there in contented silence, watching the second piece of meat disappear like the first one, into the whelp’s stomach.
The animal turned to the table again with pleading eyes and Falk produced the last piece, which was fresh and bloody. The Forest Guardian looked at Ahren intently.
‘No point in putting it off. This is another test. After this one, the little thing is welcome. Agreed?’
He stretched out his hand over the fur-ball, who was still jumping.
Ahren’s heart was in his mouth. Dumbstruck, he could only nod as he gripped his master’s calloused hand. Falk firmly grasped his hand and dropped the piece of meat.
Ahren held his breath as the young animal attacked the tasty morsel - only to chew at it half-heartedly and with little enthusiasm. He threw them an offended look with his sad, soulful dog eyes.
Falk loosened his grip on Ahren’s hand and burst into a hearty laugh. ‘It seems we have a gourmet among us. He doesn’t seem to enjoy the taste of blood. I take everything back’, he stuttered and snorted and laughed. ‘This is no normal wolf but a shrinking violet and that’s fine by me’.
Ahren got down on his knees and embraced the whelp.
‘Master, what’s the Elfish for ‘saved’?’
‘Culhen’ came the answer.
Ahren placed the whelp’s head between his hands and the pup looked back at him with loyal eyes.
‘Welcome, Culhen’, said Ahren ceremoniously.
And he was answered by a wet tongue licking him across the face.
Chapter 11
Thankfully, the rest of the winter passed without incident and normality returned to the daily lives of the Forest Guardians. Culhen displayed such a joyful trustfulness that even nervous villagers were persuaded that he wasn’t dangerous and once Keeper Jegral had intoned the blessing of the Three over him, all doubt was vanquished.
The only snag was Sven. If cowards can sense anything, then it’s the weak point of their enemy, and so it came to pass that he made several attempts to trap the whelp or to entice him away. Ahren knew what Sven was up to and he raged when he imagined how Sven might torture the whelp.
Falk approached the issue in his usual practical manner. ‘The little thing will soon be able to take care of himself and then the problem is solved. And anyway, he has to learn that he must always stay by your side. Otherwise he’ll be good for nothing when you’re working and from the spring on he’ll have to stay in the cabin’.
And so Ahren began to train the dog hard under Falk’s watchful eye.
‘He’s extremely intelligent for a wolf. Of course he’s inherited that from his ancestry’, said Falk. ‘This is your one opportunity. His brain is like a sponge that soaks everything up because he’s so young. He can learn things now in a week that in the future will take you months or even years, and with a lot of effort, to teach him’.
The boy needed no motivation to spend as much time as possible with his new companion, and so they would practise from dawn to dusk. Stalking, hiding, reading tracks. His master even turned into lessons for boy and whelp. He would paint the tip of the practice arrow with a discreet scent and whenever Ahren’s shot went astray, the little wolf would have to find the arrow and bring it back. It went without saying that Ahren was over the moon about this and by the time spring arrived, both apprentices, boy and wolf, were a very good team.
Vera doted on Culhen and with her help Ahren gave him various herbs to eat with his food, just as he had done with the meat stock that time. The young wolf had become familiar with the flavours when he was a whelp and so he could tolerate the aftertaste, although he only ate the prepared meat if he got a piece of cured beef as a reward. This was his absolute favourite food, the first food he had been allowed to eat that morning. And so Ahren always made sure he purchased some from the butcher, even if cost all of his apprentice’s wage. Ahren was intent on making Culhen big and strong as quickly as possible so that Sven would pose no danger for the animal. The combination of fortifying and stimulating herbs along with a big portion of feed was a resounding success, and the miller’s son efforts eased off considerably, the bigger and heavier the wolf became.
Spring returned to Deepstone at last, and with it the Spring Festival which marked the end of winter and the beginning of new life. It only lasted for an afternoon and was characterized by religious ceremonies. It was the smaller counterpart to the Autumn Festival. Keeper Jegral was the focus of the community at this time and knew how to use his position to improve the community spirit within the village. The villagers cleaned up the chapel, they spruced up the square, and did little favours for the needier citizens. A friendly but firm word from the priest and a table might be repaired for free, or a hole in a roof filled in with no money changing hands.
On the day of the festival itself there was a long ceremony of prayer and the names of those who had not survived the winter would be read out. Then the new arrivals, who had been born during the long winter and would experience their first summer, were named. It was always considered a good omen in the community if the second list were longer than the first.
The final part of the ceremony was dedicated to all those entering their sixteenth summer. They would place their hands on the triangular rock that jutted out from the chapel altar and swear to protect the community and to respect the Three. And with that they would become fully-fledged members of the village, capable of making their own decisions.
The previous year Ahren had yearned for this moment with every sinew in his body but now he was indifferent to it. He stretched secretly on the wooden bench to look down at Culhen, who yawned as if in response. The boy smiled affectionately at the wolf and then began daydreaming. Next year he would be standing up there swearing the oath but nothing would change and that was good. He was contented for the first time in his life and he was grateful for that.
He tickled Culhen between the ears, and the wolf laid his snout on Ahren’s thigh. Everyone streamed out once the prayers were over except for the Godsday scholars. Unfor
tunately, the Spring Festival fell on a Godsday this year and so they had to attend lessons while the others celebrated outside.
Likis strolled over to Ahren and ruffled Cuhlen’s head. Ahren was relieved that his best friend and the wolf were getting on famously. The merchant’s son secretly slipped out a bundle from under his jerkin and within a heartbeat the chunk of meat, which the slender boy had smuggled into the chapel, had been gulped down.
‘I thought he might be hungry’, he murmured with a crooked grin, ‘this is going to take another while yet’.
Culhen was now giving Ahren a begging look and looked every inch the loyal if starving wolf but Ahren only grumbled, ‘greedy guts!’
The wolf had already grown up to his knee and had the corresponding appetite. Falk had now been roped into helping to get food – the wolf easily devoured every portion placed in front of him.
‘Students, gather together’, called Keeper Jegral and the seven young people and the wolf obediently marched forward. Luckily Jegral liked the reformed Blood Wolf too and so the animal was allowed to stay by Ahren’s side during the lesson. The priest indicated to them to sit – today’s lesson would take place in the chapel. The sound of festive laughter could be heard from outside and occasionally the unenthusiastic pupils looked wistfully over their shoulders to catch a glimpse of the world outside.
The Keeper cleared his throat and waited until he had the undivided attention of the group. The spring sunshine lit up the inside of the Godshouse and the play of colour reflecting from the Keeper’s silk gown scattered dancing flecks of light around the space, which was painted a simple white. The pupils sat in the first row of the pews, which occupied the whole room. Jegral stood in front of them, and behind him was the simple block of white rock that served as the altar, and the triangle made from ordinary grey material, which represented the rock of the gods. Every community possessed such a rock.
Ahren- the 13th Paladin Page 16
