DECKER

Years Ago

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Decker’s shame cut him like an axe to the gut. He had not meant to hurt his brother. More than that, he felt sick with the shared ache of Titon’s embarrassment. But Decker’s regret was not fully empathetic. He had envisioned finally besting his brother at either archery or axes and wooing Red. Instead, he had earned her scorn.

“You big dumb oaf!” she had yelled at him after Titon fled. “Now we are all like to be punished.” She collapsed melodramatically, sobbing as her female retinue surrounded and tried to calm her.

It was his own fault, thought Decker. If he had beaten me without such a show, I would not have struck him in anger. It became easier to shift some of the blame to Titon whose ostentatious performance had humiliated him. Two lucky shots and this cunt of a whore is impressed? Their father often spoke ill of the cunts of whores, and though Decker did not know precisely what they were, he was now sure Red was liable to be one. Titon can have her and her damn firehead.

The image of his brother crawling away with the piss soaked through the ass of his trousers still plagued him, however. How could Titon ever be respected among the other boys now? How could he ever take his father’s place as head of the clan?

Their father must have pondered the same questions as he learned of what had occurred.

Decker had mentally prepared himself for the beating, which he’d decided he could withstand with honor. He would not cry out in pain or cringe in fear of the blows; he would seek the void as he was taught, and he would absorb the punishment with only courage, as was expected of a Galatai child being disciplined. But his punishment did not yet come.

Instead, Titon son of Small Gryn took Decker and his brother to the southern side of a nearby mountaintop overlooking a valley of moss-covered stone and scraggy pine. He sat down with them and spoke softly, softly at least for the man that he was.

“Beyond the trees and the clouds and the rocks to the south there are evil men. Men that would like to destroy you and your brother, your father and your mother.”

Decker saw his brother smile at the delivery. To hear a giant, serious man such as their father accidentally stumble into a silly rhyme sounding like the songs of dancing girls was amusing, but the humor was lost to them both when their father noticed that smile as well.

“Listen to me, you mischievous bastard. You will not like what you hear next.” Decker did not think their father had understood the reason for his brother’s momentary expression. That he was no longer the sole object of his father’s wrath brought Decker no relief. His father glowered at little Titon who looked down and blinked rapidly.

“These men take the noblest of creatures from the forest and chain them to trees.” Titon’s voice rumbled through Decker like thunder. “They torture and torment them and turn them against each other. They feed them the flesh of their dead and dying fellow man. They turn them into slaves and demons.”

They’d both heard these stories before and seen the plunder brought back from raids on the Dogmen villages, but neither had ever actually seen a Dogman. Decker knew from the tales that they were usually scrawny men with hair cut crudely short. The Dogmen and their homes reeked like animals as they often allowed their demonic companions to share the same roof—sometimes going so far as to have them sleep beside them in the same bed.

“Have you ever seen a wolf attack a man except to defend their young? Have you ever seen a wolf steal a goat except in the most desperate times? No!” Titon slammed his fist into the earth. “They run in packs and hunt deer as do we. They eat rabbits and berries as do we. They call to each other when lost. They clean each other’s wounds. They are as great and noble as Galatai.”

His father’s voice softened, but only just. “It is a vile thing those creatures they become when deprived of food and freedom. Snarling demons that hate all men, most of all their tormentor, the one that gives them just enough flesh to survive, just enough flesh to be a slave.”

The three of them sat in silence for a time, his father looking into the mists below the cliffs, his brother still looking down at his hands, clearly hurt.

Their father had never exactly been cruel to either of them, but Decker could not shake the feeling of guilt he had for being the presumed favorite. Seeing his brother so scorned—when he’d done nothing wrong—seemed more than unfair. It would have been kinder to them both, had their father simply beaten Decker as he’d first expected.

“We are like the wolves, and they are like us in many ways,” continued their father. “And like them we fight among ourselves. Not the cowardly biting of the hindquarters of an unsuspecting brother…”

Decker could feel his father’s scowl though neither was turned toward the other. He welcomed the weight of it, eager to share in his brother’s burden.

“…But a fight to determine who is best fit to lead. Just like wolves, men need leaders. Strong, powerful leaders that others will follow without question.”

Their father’s emphasis on strong and powerful was yet another blow against Titon. Decker’s brother was quick, dexterous, and cunning, but strong and powerful he was not. Decker felt his face contort to a scowl of his own as his anger grew. This is not right, Father, he thought.

“There will come a time when the two of you, my wolf pups, will need to fight. Yesterday was not the time, nor was that over anything of importance from what I could tell. Some tart of a girl, I’d wager. You will need to fight to determine who will lead our clan, our pack, against the Dogmen. To see them crushed and driven from the land. Certainly no easy task, as they look like men but breed like rabbits. Each time we raid there seems to be more of them, yet always farther south and with less food.”

The thought of succeeding his father ahead of his brother had never crossed Decker’s mind. He may have been larger than Titon, but his brother was irksomely smart and better with both bow and axe. Decker rarely got the better of his brother in training, and when he did it never truly felt deserved. This new idea that they would one day fight to determine who would lead turned Decker’s stomach. He looked to his brother, but Titon still stared at his hands.

“Each year it grows colder. Each year the frost lasts longer. It used to be that these lands were lush for half the year, but the goats have little to eat now. Some do not agree, but it is known among those wise that we will need to move south in time. We must go to those lands where rabbits and berries are plentiful and cleanse them of Dogmen. We must take the forests of the valleys for our own.”

Decker could not control the fire in his chest, and the single droplet he saw hit his brother’s thumb almost drove him to madness. I will not fight you, Decker promised in silence. You are the elder brother. The right to lead is yours.

“To defeat the Wolfsbane and defend the land from southern armies, we will need to unite the clans,” their father went on. “I cannot do as such, for I have made too many enemies among them in my time. But someone must. If we are to survive, someone must. A leader of the pack. A strong and powerful leader.”