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Approaching Eahalr alone felt . . . different. Aethren couldn’t put a name to the feeling, but it was as if the world had been knocked ever so slightly sideways. Perhaps it was the mist, which lay a bit too thick upon the shrubs and trees; or perhaps it was the silence, which stretched out on all sides like a bowstring about to snap. Even Pony’s heavy breaths sounded hollow, like the silence was determined to remain intact.
Aethren sighed in relief. The atmosphere was oppressive, yes – but it was also familiar. At least they could breathe freely here among the skeletal plants and lonely shrubs, away from home.
When they reached the water hemlocks at Eahalr’s edge, Aethren dismounted. The mist here was a living, breathing thing, circling Aethren and Pony like a hunting animal. Pony let out a nervous breath and shifted her front hooves, ears plastered to her skull.
“It’s okay,” Aethren murmured, stroking her nose with a small, incredulous smile. “It’s just us. Finally.” They leant their forehead against her neck and shut their eyes. Erdansten felt increasingly like some sort of twisted trap. It seemed to draw Aethren in, crushing them, even as it pushed them away.
In the week since the peoplesmoot, three more children had come down with a strange new sickness and people wanted the council to find answers. Laethen did her best, but she kept delegating the training to Aethren as she dealt with wider issues of supplies and security. It was all too much, all of the time. The eery, mouldering stillness of Eahalr was like paradise in comparison.
“I’m offended by how easily you ignore me.”
Aethren whirled around.
A wolf stood alone in the centre of the grove. It was rake-thin and looked mangled, like it had narrowly escaped some giant beast. Scars marred its ragged coat, and part of its left ear had been torn off.
Aethren had an arrow nocked and ready within a heartbeat. The wolf just stared at them with its pale eyes. Unafraid.
“Hostile, aren’t you?” the wolf remarked lazily. “But I would expect nothing less from a child of the raven.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Because I can smell the magic on you.” The wolf circled Aethren. “And the fear. You’re so afraid.”
With a whinny of terror, Pony turned and fled. Aethren wanted to go after her, but their legs refused to move.
“I’m not afraid.”
“Then why are you hiding among the humans?”
“I am a human.”
The wolf snarled, its teeth bared.
Shoving their fear down, Aethren took a deep breath, and asked, “Did you kill a woman, a woman with red hair? And a child?”
“I shan’t answer anything if you keep pointing that weapon at me.” The wolf sat and put its nose in the air in a mockery of disdain. Such a human expression; so out of place on this feral, ragged beast.
Aethren’s grip trembled. Their arm muscles were starting to ache from holding the draw, and they still couldn’t move their feet. Would they even be able to fire? And then another question, even more terrible – would an arrow be capable of harming this thing? They knew that wolves could die, but this wolf seemed so unreal. Wrong.
Aethren lowered their bow. The arrow dropped to the mud at their feet.
“There was a child, yes . . .” The wolf mused, its voice momentarily faint. Then it snapped its gaze back to Aethren. “But that was the other. Not me. I only wounded the boy-child.”
Astvald. Aethren grimaced.
“He died.” Aethren shook their head in disbelief, but not even their horror at the casual answer could take away from a glimmer of hope. “But that was the – the other, you said? So, you’re just two wolves. Not a pack?”
The wolf didn’t seem to hear their question. “Wolves?” It repeated in a dull voice, and looked around suspiciously. No, not just suspicious – confused, as if it genuinely didn’t understand what Aethren meant. “There are no wolves here. Just me, and you, and the mist-wraiths.”
The hair on the back of Aethren’s neck prickled. Mist-wraiths. That would explain what had happened at Whiterift. And why they couldn’t move. The mist pressed in on all sides, thick with magic and malice.
“Why are the mist-wraiths here?” Aethren asked, wracking their brains, stalling for time.
The wolf’s eyes snapped back to Aethren. “Because the other asked them to help us – to help the ones like you and me.”
“There is no ‘you and me’.”
“You are one of us,” The wolf said, and – was that desperation in its voice?
The wolf lunged.
The stench of its breath was overwhelming, the weight on their chest immovable. Their bow splintered beneath those huge paws and the wolf knocked it aside with its nose. The wolf’s forepaws pressed down at the hollow of their throat.
“I’m not—” Aethren coughed desperately, “playing.”
Teeth gnashed together a hair’s breadth from their face. “Arrows and spears won’t save the humans from what’s coming. There will be nothing left for you here.”
Aethren tried to shove the wolf off and received a swipe across the face for their efforts. Blood, hot and blinding, spilt into their eyes. The pain came next.
It was only as Aethren found the air to scream that they realised the wolf was no longer on top of them. It had pulled back and was staring at its paw. At Aethren’s blood.
“Red,” it murmured. “You bleed like a human.”
“What else would I bleed like?” Aethren wheezed, pressing their sleeve to their bloodied face. The wolf looked up at them, horror and terror burning in those hollowed eyes.
“Other said you were not. Said I would be disappointed . . .” It shook its head, slinking back from Aethren, its teeth bared fully now.
“Not what?”
“The hrafmaer,” it said, and launched itself at Aethren’s throat.
Instinct, raw and wild, pulsed through Aethren’s veins. They moved like a doll on a string – arms jerked up, fingers splayed wide, fanning droplets of blood across the frosty earth. New pain blossomed in their gut, like a fist clenching shut.
The wolf shuddered to a halt in mid-lunge. Aethren could see – feel – it straining to escape. Its back legs were bunched and its upper body frozen in the process of lifting off the ground, and its open mouth seemed stuck in the midst of a pained snarl.
“Run,” Aethren grunted as the clench in their gut released. “While I’ll still let you.”
The wolf collapsed. It heaved as if retching, then scrambled to its feet and fled from the grove. The hungry, creeping mist trailed away after it.
For a long time, Aethren sat shivering on the ground. At some point, they went from sitting to standing, and from standing to walking. They thought they might have screamed – their throat felt raw – but they weren’t sure. All they knew for certain was that their face hurt, and the blood had dried in a stiff sheet down their cheek and neck.
The landscape passed in a blur. When the voices and torches swam out of the low-lying fog, Aethren barely noticed. People were calling their name, searching, shouting. A familiar voice, ragged and frightened—
Kristan.
Aethren stopped walking. They looked up.
From around a bend in the path came a group of figures with torches and weapons. The light dazzled their eyes, so that for a moment they couldn’t tell who was who.
“Ren!” Kristan crashed into Aethren before they could comprehend what was happening. He grabbed the front of their shirt and buried his face in their chest, holding on like a boy determined to never let go. Aethren didn’t need to think about it. They hugged him back.
Arguments meant nothing after staring into the slavering maw of a wolf.
“You’re hurt!”
Aethren tore their eyes away from the top of Kristan’s head and saw Mati, whose mouth dropped open as he took in the damage to their face. He took off his own cloak and wrapped it around their shoulders, almost drowning them in fabric.
“What happened?” Kristan demanded. “Pony came tearing back, but you weren’t there – Marken said you were getting herbs – wait, let me look at your face—”
“Wolf.” Aethren let the word drop from their lips, expecting to feel relief. Kristan went silent.
Mati stepped in, easing an arm around Aethren’s shoulders. That was odd. They didn’t remember their legs giving out.
“They’ve lost too much blood,” Kristan said. “Can you carry them?”
“Wolf,” Mati repeated. He didn’t seem to be listening to Kristan. “Did – did you kill it?”
No, I didn’t kill it. I couldn’t. I failed.
The truth was too strange, too difficult to explain. A hysterical bubble of laughter broke past Aethren’s lips. I didn’t kill it because we had a chat.
“What is it?” Kristan asked. Aethren shook their head and immediately regretted it when bright colours exploded across their vision.
“Nothing,” Aethren muttered. “Everything. I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Mati lifted Aethren as if they weighed nothing. “Let’s just get you home.”
