The Bloodwolf War

by Paula Boer

  Tress missed the deep friendship she’d shared with Breeze. Was the palomino also in foal? What was her new country like? She feared for her half sister; Wolfbane had been sure King Scar would be a hard task master. The bay stallion had tricked her into leaving without intending to locate Fleet. Where was the handsome black stallion? Not that she’d ever see him again, but sometimes when the nights were long and the wind tore through the valley, she dreamt of him challenging Wolfbane and becoming king.

  Daylight always brought back reality. She had chosen to run away and deserved her harsh life. Only her swelling belly gave her any satisfaction.

  Tress stole a glance at Pebbles who lay nearby, curled up asleep in a sunny spot beside a boulder. None of the mares Wolfbane brought back had foals at foot, so she never had a playmate, but the filly became prettier with age. Even Wolfbane was proud of her, though he probably thought of her more as a future mate than a youngster. Maybe that’s why Half Moon wanted to leave.

  The newcomers came back in sight, with Wolfbane chivvying them towards Tress and Half Moon before driving them all towards the falls. He neighed to get their attention. “I’m going for another trip before snow makes it too hard to travel. Stay near the cavern in case of danger.”

  Tress hated the old hay cave where Precipice had been killed. The tumultuous waterfalls with the bones of dead horses jutting from half submerged rocks gave her nightmares. The village where the people had lived also gave her the spooks. Little feed remained at that end of the valley. But she didn’t argue; predators would be growing hungry too.

  A clear sky indicated a cold night. As Tress suspected, the new mares used the opportunity to sneak away. Returning to foal at Flowering Valley to enjoy her dam’s support overpowered Tress’s need for safety. She’d worry about crossing the river when she reached it. Hopefully it would still be low after the dry summer.

  She whickered to Half Moon. “This might be our last chance to run.”

  The other mare didn’t hesitate, calling her foal to join them. “Do you want to follow Patches?”

  “No.” Guessing Wolfbane would search west, Tress suggested east, hoping her dislike of the older mare didn’t show. “If we don’t meet up with Boldearth, we’ll eventually reach Silverlake. There were many horses there.”

  The full moon cast ominous shadows as the three of them set off. The two mares settled into a rolling canter with Pebbles cavorting at their sides. The further they headed east, the more assured Tress became. Even without seeing fresh signs of other horses, her spirits were as high as when she’d left home. Sometimes she raced with Half Moon and Pebbles for the sheer joy of galloping, kicking up her heels and throwing in an occasional buck. Their companionship grew with each decision made—which direction to head, when to stop, and the safest place to rest. Tress enjoyed being in control of her life for the first time. She tried to make out landmarks as they followed the myriad tracks networking the country.

  Nothing looked familiar. “Let’s rest here. Wolfbane won’t find us gone for days.”

  The mares huddled under a giant spruce, the filly between them. Apart from an owl startling Tress when it landed on the mossy trunk to feast on insects, she felt at peace. Now they had made the break she wondered why she hadn’t done so before.

  As the sun rose, a mix of deciduous and evergreen trees blazed yellow, orange and green on the horizon. Tress recognised the border of the forest she had trekked alongside with Wolfbane, remembering the clearings with fresh springs and swards of duckweed. Thistles would likely be still flowering too. The change in diet would be welcome.

  She headed into the woods. A cacophony from jays, larks, and warblers filled the cool interior. Squirrels scampered up and down trunks gathering nuts. She avoided a chattering porcupine thumping its hind feet and swinging its tail. Pebbles pranced from tree to shrub, shrub to flower, as she explored the new environment, a chorus of frogs accompanying her excited whinnies.

  Half Moon neighed.

  Tress lifted her head. A patch of beargrass had distracted her from noticing a change in the direction of the breeze, now blowing from the south. She scented wolf.

  Half Moon raced towards her filly.

  A crimson-streaked wolf leapt at Pebbles.

  Tress bounded to help Half Moon. A rank smell repelled her as she reached to sink her teeth through thick fur. She spun on her forelegs and lashed out with her hind feet.

  Pebbles screamed. She went down.

  Half Moon thrashed the bloodwolf with her forelegs.

  Tress charged the beast. Sharp claws raked her sides. She barged over the stricken filly, galloping to the edge of the clearing, her sides heaving in fear.

  The bloodwolf grasped Pebbles and dragged the limp body into the forest.

  Half Moon lunged and screamed in its wake.

  Bewildered, Tress wavered as pain tore her flank. She wanted to follow but her legs wouldn’t move. Her mind filled with flames. She collapsed with a thud.

  Night had settled when Tress regained consciousness. Only the sound of chirruping crickets reached her. Her side, swollen and throbbing, had stiffened with dried blood. The blood-stained grass where the bloodwolf had attacked Pebbles was the only sign of Half Moon and the filly.

  Wolfbane’s punishments seemed inconsequential in comparison to the pain racking her body. Visions of crimson beasts amid a roaring fire swamped her as the sun rose and set.

  A raging thirst demanded she seek water. Tress struggled to her feet. She was born a princess and wouldn’t be beaten by a lone wolf, no matter how evil. She dragged herself from the clearing and followed the trail left by Pebbles’ dragged body.

  Before long she found the remains of the chewed carcass, the dotted hide torn and empty. Heartache split Tress as she sniffed the ground. A short distance away, she found Half Moon’s body disembowelled in the bushes. The mare’s broken neck lay twisted and disjointed, her delicate lips pulled back over her teeth, her eye sockets empty.

  Not bearing to look any further, Tress shuffled into a trot. She had no choice—she must return to Wolfbane, her only concern to protect her unborn foal.

  Chapter 16

  Gold and amber aspens broke the monotony of the evergreens as Fleet and his companions headed south. When they paused to graze, rippling grasses fat with seed heads offered the best feed Fleet had tasted since Shimmering Lake. He caught up with Jasper at a creek. The darker forests of Lost Lands loomed ahead.

  Jasper blocked his path. “My neck hurts. There are scorcheels here.”

  Fleet’s rump throbbed. A crimson-streaked grey fin cut the muddy water. “Have you seen Tatuk? Maybe he can locate a safe pool. And we’ll need him to lead us through the trees.”

  Jasper backed away from the water. “Tatuk’s returned to Shimm­ering Lake.”

  “What?” A pang of loss changed to guilt. Had his grumpy mood chased their guide away? “He didn’t even say goodbye.”

  “Dragons don’t like haste. I can find the way. But as there’s no reliable water, we’ll need to keep our pace up.” Jasper cantered off.

  Not reassured, Fleet followed. He and Yuma hadn’t been short of water when they crossed Lost Lands earlier; Tatuk had created sustenance for them both. Now what would they do?

  The further south they travelled, the warmer and drier the country became. Jasper slowed. “We’ll have to travel at night and rest in the day to help Yuma conserve his fluids.”

  “What about us? How much further is it to River Lifeflow?”

  Jasper’s coat was crusted with sweat. “Your warm blood should cope without water for moons. Absorb Equinora’s energy through your hooves, inhale the wind, and soak up the sun’s rays through your coat. Being black should make it easy.”

  The reminder about his origins didn’t help quench Fleet’s thirst. “I don’t know how to do that.”

  “Then learn. Open you
r mind to your powers.”

  Fleet struggled to quash the anger boiling inside him. “I thought I was supposing to be shielding my thoughts.”

  “Your thoughts, yes. Your imagination, no.” Jasper laid back his ears. “Embrace your gifts rather than pining to be a normal horse. I can’t imagine why any noncorn would want to dissociate themselves from their hot blood.”

  Biting back a comment about his blood being a quarter duocorn, Fleet cantered along, stretching his senses to detect the energy swarming around him. Even though he could sense the life of the forest, he failed to connect to any elemental power. Perhaps the poison in his veins prevented him from accessing it.

  He struggled to keep up with Jasper, needing help from him, not a reminder of his ancestry. Ever since Yuma had stabbed the bloodwolf fangs into Jasper’s neck, his moods had grown darker.

  They went on in silence.

  Fleet’s tongue thickened and his skin pulled taught over his tired muscles. Sweat stopped pouring down his neck and flanks. He dropped to a walk and hung his head in exhaustion. “I must have water soon.”

  Yuma slid from his back and opened his pack. “You can have what’s left in my bladderflask.”

  Fleet refused. “You need it more than me.”

  “I’m riding. You’re the one doing all the work. Have it.” Yuma inserted the neck of the flask into the side of Fleet’s mouth and tipped it up.

  Grateful for the tepid drink, Fleet ignored the taint of the hog container. What had his life come to, that he couldn’t even drink by himself?

  As they continued, the pace and his dry mouth prevented conver­sation. Fleet trotted behind Jasper, focusing only on each stride. His mind numbed as they plodded on until the scent of water perked him up. His rump ached but didn’t throb. The water ran fast and clear. “It’s safe.”

  Yuma dismounted and hurried over.

  Fleet staggered to the bank and stretched down to the river, letting the moisture soften his lips and fill his stomach. Desperate to cool his parched flesh, he waded into deeper water and pawed the surface, sending a shower over his back.

  Jasper splashed in the shallows further downstream, his horn and hooves glistening like the obsidian of Shadow’s caves, his body sparkling with droplets like fresh blood. “Thank the goddess for cold water. All those years I yearned to be hot. Now I think Snowhaven wasn’t such a bad place.”

  “We should go via Flowering Valley to let Streak know what’s happening. Is it far?”

  Jasper scrambled up the bank. “We haven’t got time to chat. We must push on.”

  Fleet had no desire to share his failure, anyway. “In that case he’ll have to wait for news.” His rump throbbed. He jumped back from the river. “Look out! Scorcheels are near!”

  Yuma leapt clear. The water flowed uninterrupted by the tell-tale churn of mud.

  The pain in Fleet’s rump intensified. He sniffed the air. “Blood­wolf!”

  As Fleet galloped in panic, Yuma clung tight, wind tears streaming from his eyes, his right arm cradled to his chest. Jasper streaked in a crimson blur, first one side then the other, laying a zigzag trail in the hope of delaying the bloodwolf.

  Fleet’s breathing came in ragged gasps.

  Jasper ran alongside. “You can slow down. It’s gone.”

  They continued at a steady canter, every muscle of Fleet’s back tense beneath Yuma’s seat, mirroring the tension in his own. With his arm still in a cast, he couldn’t use his bow, and he’d had to abandon his spear long ago. The far bank of the river stretched beyond sight as they sped over the rough ground. Stones flew as they maintained their speed, Fleet’s hooves tough and hardened from the dry going.

  A rocky outcrop drove them into the damp interior of the forest. Yuma, having never ventured south of Oaktown, felt dwarfed by the hemlock, larch and maples that stretched taller than any forest he’d ever seen.

  Fleet slowed to a trot, winding between trees where sunlight struggled to penetrate the thick canopy. Trails of tiny scavengers wove through the tree litter. Nurse logs carried saplings on their rotting trunks, the roots of the young trees reaching down among the ferns and fungi. Beetles of every shape, size, and colour scurried among the shed needles, and flying insects pestered Yuma’s exposed skin.

  Jasper flicked his tail at the annoying bugs. “Let’s get back to the river so we can pick up speed.”

  With relief, they broke out into open ground and raced down the bank. Yuma welcomed the chance to refill his bladderflask, almost falling off Fleet, his legs cramped from riding for so long. They didn’t even set up camp each night; he lived off whatever he could forage along the way. He slid his pack from his aching shoulders and headed to the river.

  The cast on his arm made descending the steep bank a challenge. The break should be mended by now and the itchiness drove him mad. Using an obsidian shard, he cut the silk cocoon and peeled back the casing like the shell of a nut. Pink flesh shone with no sign of any injury. Impressed by the clean healing, he flexed his fingers without pain.

  Fleet bounded chest deep into the roiling current, mirroring Yuma’s relief.

  Yuma rinsed his clothes for the first time since breaking his arm, but the strong current prevented him from enjoying a full bath. He splashed handfuls of cool water on his face, blinked the sweat out of his eyes, and settled on the bank above where Jasper waded. He still couldn’t quite believe this adventure was real. “What’s the sea like? I’ve only heard tales.”

  Jasper had said little on their journey south. “You’ll find out. We’ll be there soon.”

  Fleet clambered out of the river and shook. “That’s better. Let’s go.”

  Yuma scrambled back onto Fleet, weariness making his pack feel like it was full of stones rather than its true depleted state. They may have access to water now, but his food stores were almost gone.

  They trekked on, ascending above sheer cliffs. The ground became stonier and the trees thinned away from the river. From high on the ridge, Yuma peered across to where he had tracked Fleet through the bog. That seemed a lifetime ago. Unable to climb down the steep cliff, the need to find water drove them inland again through dense forest. Tannin-rich creeks trickled through hummocks of moss.

  Jasper called a rest at a rare clearing.

  Fleet dropped his head to drink and eat as soon as Yuma dismounted. Glad of an opportunity to stretch his legs, he unslung his bow on the chance of encountering game. He wandered from the grazing horses, gathering what he could for the onward journey. Handfuls of tree lichen from the lodgepole pines would store well. Creeping woodsorrel made a tasty snack of fresh leaves. He tucked a long root of ginger inside his medicine pouch, enough for him to enjoy as tea if only they would stop long enough for him to light a fire. Meat would be welcome but he’d seen nothing to shoot, accentuating the lack of Tatuk’s cheerful presence.

  As he meandered through the forest, the smell of wet ash and cooking attracted his attention, as if someone had roasted a hog. He advanced with caution, not knowing of any clans living this far south; he didn’t want to surprise a band of hunters.

  He dodged from tree to tree, taking care not to sound like a foraging hog. He reached charred ground and balked—hog carcasses lay scattered over an area larger than his village, their bellies ripped open, and their entrails gone. Neither the flesh nor the skins had been touched. Burnt trails snaked from shallow pools to the remains. He hastened back to the clearing to fetch Fleet and Jasper.

  Jasper snorted as he paced around the devastation. “This place reeks of stale bloodwolf scent. They’re killing for the sake of it, not to eat.”

  Fleet joined them and sniffed the ground. “Yuma, mount up. These trails are from scorcheels. They’re leaving the water to feed.”

  Days and nights blurred together. The mass slaughter of hogs became a familiar sight. Yuma had no stomach for shooting meat on the rare occasi
on they encountered a scurrying squirrel or woodrat. The berries, nuts, and greens he recognised provided just enough to eat. Tatuk’s diamond scale lay cold against his chest. The absence of the dragon’s chittering and teasing was magnified by Fleet’s and Jasper’s solemness. Neither of them spoke, other than essential communication.

  With longing, Yuma imagined Gem and Tatuk playing and swim­ming at Shimmering Lake, such a contrast to the world around him. He tried to conjure the image of jewelled dragons skimming the water into a song, but the words wouldn’t come, and the new pipe he had whittled had yet to feel comfortable in his hands.

  Pine sharpened the air as they crushed a carpet of needles on a downward slope. Fleet’s step picked up as a fresh breeze beckoned. The trees gave way to sandy soils and clumps of tufted hairgrass. Dazzling sunshine warmed their spirits. Yuma squinted as they trotted across the rolling hummocks, arriving on top of a high dune, a blue vista stretching from their feet to an indistinct horizon.

  He blinked as glinting waves crashed in mesmeric rhythm against the shore. “The songs don’t do justice to the sea. How far does it stretch?”

  Jasper led them down to the water’s edge and halted. Salt spray dusted his eyelashes and the tips of his muzzle hairs. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to the other side.”

  Fleet lowered his head to drink, and leapt back as if a scorcheel loomed beneath the surface. “It’s salty. Disgusting.”

  Jasper tossed his head and curled his lip. “There’s fresh water up the beach. Come on.”

  Yuma clung to Fleet as they raced along the firm sand. He had never seen Jasper so joyous, the wind streaming his tail behind him and his powerful muscles rippling. He reached a creek running into a rocky inlet, reared, and neighed to the wind.

  Fleet joined in.

  Yuma delighted in the sweet water. As Fleet and Jasper strolled away to roll in the sand, he unpacked the last of his food. Tired of dried vegetables and shrivelled fruit, he wandered along the seashore to find mussels or other shellfish in the rock pools. A bed of large clams, similar to the smaller freshwater ones he loved, tempted him to gather an armful of driftwood and light a fire.