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Alpha delivers a reverberating howl, staring straight at Audira. She grasps Big Wolf’s fingers with one hand and raises the horn to her lips with the other. The shrill sound echoes across the silent town like the harbinger of doom. Still wrapped up in Serpen’s comforting scaly bulk, the children freeze, well aware this is no test run. Rampant fear imprints on every wide-eyed young face.
“Go. Go. Go,” Yelena yells.
Serpen unravels in a blur of scales and the children blast to life, sprinting after Audira as fast as little legs can carry them. Audira glances back at her mate, who may (or may not) join them when he can. He briefly smiles at her and turns back to the pack, hollering, “Take your positions.”
Their parents fight not to stare at precious offspring as they flee into the valley, but watery eyes and smothered gulps betray them. I haul on that cursed lever, pulling myself upright, and drag another rock onto the machine.
A wolf howl reaches my ears. Although it’s only one amongst many growls and yips filling the town, I can always pick out my Curt from any and everyone. My roving gaze finds his yellow eyes and locks there. “I love you,” I mime, placing a hand on my heart, and he howls again.
The Human Warriors set in place the release knots for the crushing log swings as all eyes flick between the perimeter and the skies. Wings and Gulid take flight, soaring above our heads. The town gradually falls eerily quiet as we settle into our battle positions, only a few whispers and creaks piercing the silence.
I don’t know how much time passes as we await our fate, but the movement of a shadow cast by the machine’s lever acts as a sundial for frazzled nerves. My gaze wanders across the town, watching as wolves and bears flex aching limbs and squint against flashes of sunlight, breaking through the trees. Sciatica radiates down the back of my right leg and I pop upright, stamping around in the mud, trying to relieve the pain.
A sharp yowl makes everyone jump. I respond to that annoying siren from my mate with an icy glare before dropping back behind my blasted lever. Luva catches my eye and gives me a bony thumbs up. There we stay, frozen in time, a tableau of impending terror, whilst my gumwhat happily perches on the mansion roof, crunching his bucktoothed way through a stolen stash of biscuits.
The pain is screaming down both legs by the time I give up being brave and march over to Big Wolf to negotiate an interlude, being as he’s one of the few still in human form.
“Can we eat?” I ask, watching his face morph through a procession of thoughts, from ‘is she mad?’ all the way to ‘she has a point.’
“Mama Bear,” he shouts and her human head pops out from behind the mansion, where she has her designated medical area. “Let’s feed a few at a time.” She nods and her head disappears. “Everyone else, stay where you are. Food will come to you.” He catches sight of Adamo’s ginger bear sidestepping into the trees. “Where are you going? I just said...”
“Grrai grree groo groww grroo,” he growls, pointing at his furry bum before disappearing.
“He said, I need to go poo,” I helpfully inform Big Wolf.
“Yes, I had worked that out,” he replies. “Please go back to your position.”
Deciding to comply rather than further exercise my snark, I slowly walk back to the machine and shove the rock out of the bowl, before parking my aching posterior in the vacated space. I’m so tired, I don’t even care whether I’ll be slingshotted over the town and splattered against a serpent.
Shielding my eyes against the sun’s glare, I scan blue sky. Gulid circles above, keeping watch whilst Wings perches on the roof of the mansion, taking a rest. No other eagles have flown near our waiting town. Wherever their new camp is stationed, the serpents are not yet trying to seek us out, by land or sky.
By mid afternoon, even lounging on the machine’s bowl can’t relieve my aching body. I’ll just close my eyes for a quick rest.
A visceral shriek wakes me from a nap. Damn. How long have I been out? I rub my eyes and glance at Luva, but she’s staring up at the source of that strident warning. Gulid screeches once again, Wings beside him as they loop around, both pointing beaks in the direction of incoming enemy and dipping their wings as a pre agreed sign. I count the dips and tail feather waggles from each.
The code reveals two eagles are on their way, one carrying a human. I stare up at my friends, but nothing alters. Is that all? Just two eagles and one person? No mass invasion? At least, not yet. And no cat. I own to entertaining a wave of ridiculous anticlimax.
“They’re coming to negotiate,” says Big Wolf, voicing my thoughts exactly. He looks to Alpha, whose wolf howls and scrapes a front paw from right to left in the dirt. Big Wolf nods. “Hold the fighting,” he cries out. “Let them land, but be prepared. Serpen, Anguis, change. We’ll need you to talk to them.”
“Anguis,” the naked former king calls as he reappears from his serpent and races inside the mansion for his clothes.
The ambassador emerges first, smartly dressed in his embroidered jacket, ready to initiate negotiations. Surprisingly, he jogs over to me.
“Edi, they may be coming to gauge our strength, but likely also looking for you. Stay behind the machine. Don’t let him pick you out of the people. And don’t say a word. Understand?”
“You sound like Curt,” I snap, mostly because I’m scared.
“Listen to me, for once.” He gives me his Dark Lord Fae scowl.
“Fine. I’ll be quiet.”
He grasps my shoulders and we both catch an unhappy rumble from a certain wolf. A reverberating caw coming from overhead makes us both look up.
They’re here.
Anguis gifts me a robust smile meant to steady my nerves, but it has the opposite effect. As he paces to a clear space in the town, every inch the ambassador, I ignore my trembling legs and crouch behind that accursed lever. Peeping between the pile of rocks and the machine I locate Curt, pawing the earth beside his brother.
The shadow of outstretched wings flits across the machine. Two eagles circle the town, wings spread, riding the wind currents. Grasped within one claw dangles a man, his scarlet cloak floating behind him, no chair or any form of comfort in his transportation. Who is he?
Wings and Gulid fly either side of the visitors, directing their downward path to Anguis’s lone figure. The carrier eagle glances down at the man beneath, who nods. He’s gently lowered into the town, landing with soft grace and barely a step of forward momentum onto a piece of dry land, avoiding the remnants of snow and patches of mud. His eagles step back, folding their wings behind them, leaving him exposed.
Wings and Gulid both land behind Anguis, but our Broken Beak’s beady eyes stare at the carrier eagle with distress. I wonder whether this is his former friend, Revol. No recognition disturbs the gaze of either eagle visitor, their expressions locked in bland detachment.
The man saunters forwards, his languid gaze flowing over the surrounding wolves, bears and snakes, but resting on none. As he approaches Anguis, his comparative height seems a few inches shorter than the waiting ambassador. Ironed straight hair drops below his shoulders, neither as blond nor shiny as our snakes, the vibrancy seemingly leached out of it. He’s of such slight build, he seems to waft in the wind like seaweed, reminding me of Big Wolf under the tyranny of mould poisoning. I can’t tell the colour of his eyes from this distance, only that the sockets appear sunken, like the haunted stare of an addict.
His extravagant attire, however, seems entirely out of place on such a wilting model. That scarlet cloak, seen flapping in the wind, hangs in neat folds and must be weighted at the hem to swing around his legs. Gold embroidery glistens in the sunlight, snarling serpent monsters twitching and flexing with every step. Under the intimidating cloak lurks a splash of white fur and a glimpse of a shiny tunic, like satin.
The wearer may be unimpressive, but the clothes scream decadence, none more so than the highly faceted pendant dangling across the cloak, hosting a sparkling, sky blue sapphire the size of his fist. Strangely, it hangs on the end of a chain of multiple golden loops, all pinned to the fabric like the edge of a lace doily.
Luva surreptitiously leans across the machine and whispers, “Is he their king? He has to be, dressed like that.”
“I don’t know,” I whisper back.
She slowly lowers until she sits on the machine, fiddling with her bolas. “Why has he come alone? Is he that confident? Why don’t we just kill him now, while we can?”
I smile at her, the tough old wolf. I bet she’d give it a go herself.
“I doubt that would be as easy as it looks,” I reply, “but I can lob a rock at him, if you like.”
Luva titters. “You’d probably squash Anguis.”
“Welcome,” Anguis begins, in his measured ambassadorial tone: not exactly welcoming, but not aggressive either. “I am Anguis, Ambassador to this United Pack.”
I notice he didn’t say ‘Snake Empire.’
“I am King Arrympeite” the man replies, his squeaky nasal tone matching his gaunt appearance.
“Did he say his name’s Armpit?” I ask Luva, who smothers a laugh.
Armpit glances in our direction and we both duck. He turns back to Anguis and holds out a hand, which the ambassador duly shakes. As he retracts his fingers, the king adds, “You may call me My Great Lord or Your Highest Majesty, whichever you prefer.”
Delusional or a narcissistic despot. Just what we need. Well, Your Greatship, after the narrative build up of a monstrous horror, you’re a grave disappointment.
Anguis doesn’t reply, waiting to hear what the newcomer might reveal.
“Your pack is most unusual,” Armpit says, after a moment of silence. “You are clearly a snake, but I see bears and wolves amongst you.”
“Indeed,” Anguis replies. “Unusual, but successful.”
“Ah. I should be interested to discover in what manner you judge success. Anguis, was it?”
It’s odd, but his voice disturbs me as I crouch here listening, knee joints screaming in protest. He sounds too calm, almost monotone, as though he’s bored with it all, or devoid of feeling.
“Much of our former history needed to be healed in order to build a new community,” says Anguis.
“Better eradicated, perhaps,” the king replies.
“No. Forgiven,” Anguis argues, “and perhaps incorporated.”
“You assume equality of power,” says Armpit, his head tilting slightly, without any other movement of his body.
“We have agreed equality of power,” Anguis states.
“There’s no such thing,” the king shoots back, pointing at Gulid, behind Anguis.
The ambassador glances over his shoulder at the eagle’s frowning face and back at the king.
“The eagle would, no doubt, have told you of the forces I command?” Armpit asks. Anguis says nothing, but holds the stare. “You will also know I require surrender of the Realm Storyteller.”
That’s an impressive title. I’m almost flattered. Assuming it’s me.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Anguis replies, straight-faced.
“Your lies will not serve you well, Ambassador,” the king states, his inflection still not wavering from the monotone. “Her name is Edi.” - Pronounced Edeee as his hiss elongates the vowel - “She comes from another world, carrying the Book of MagicCast.” His gaze travels around the Human Warriors and I sink lower behind the machine in reflex. “Surrender them both willingly,” he continues, “and you will all be allowed to live free lives under my benevolent rule. Refuse and you will all perish.”
A wolf rumbles loudly. It sounds like my Curt, but I’m not popping up to check. Armpit’s frozen features slowly form an ominous, dead eyed, wispy smile, reminding me of a headteacher reading out a list of those in class detention. Half of me wants to smash the scrawny twit with a rock, the other half wishes I’d left with the children. Something nasty’s going to happen here and it might be down to me to stop it. Me and my burnt ex-magic book.
“You know, Ambassador, I don’t believe you have authority to decide your fate,” Armpit states, raising his voice as he takes a further step towards Anguis. “Send for the one who does. Quickly.”
The door to the mansion opens and Serpen reappears in full royal embroidery and fur, although it’s not as impressive a costume as his enemy’s.
“Ah. This would be your failed king,” says the despot.
“I am Serpen,” my friend states, coming to rest beside his ambassador.
“Not King Serpen?”
“I relinquished that title.”
“Good. You were never entitled to it,” Armpit announces, his face morphing back to waxwork neutrality. Serpen doesn’t react. “Well, once king. I await the Realm Storyteller and her book. Then you bow to me.”
Serpen stares back. “No.”
For the first time, a flash of anger animates Armpit’s face. “You do not understand. But then, your bloodline always was defective.”
I sneak a peek at Curt, who’s pacing with a snarl on his face. He’s always hated that word, ever since his mother wielded it against him.
Armpit wafts his slender hand at Anguis. “Look at the tiny, impotent snake you have here.”
Our snakes hiss and ripple in response to the insult, which only provokes an incredulous sneer from the tyrant.
“You’ll never stand against my serpents,” he tells Serpen. “You’re barely normal yourself. We have always disposed of such powerless offspring. Your ancestor must have slithered away in the mud and hidden from justice.”
“The answer is still no,” says Serpen. “And I doubt you understand the concept of justice.”
“It’s a simple choice. Do as I ask or die,” Armpit replies. “Whichever you wish. It’ll be mildly amusing, either way. The defective offspring can be disposed of first.”
The snakes blanch, terrified for their children, hiding in the valley caves. How long until they’re found?
“Come now,” Armpit says, holding out a palm as though offering a deal on a used car. “Simply give me what I ask and you’ll all be safe. You would destroy your snakes, and all your fur laden friends, for the sake of one ageing human?”
“The woman you seek left during the winter,” Serpen tells him. “I don’t know to where.”
“Now I am disappointed,” says Armpit, with a sigh, “at such a poor lie. Perhaps your niece, Sospa, I believe, will give me the truth... once she watches her little friends dying, one by one.”
He knows who we are and our weaknesses. I was told to stay out of sight, but there’s no way the children are being put in danger for me. Not when I know the book was destroyed.
“I don’t have the book,” I yell, popping up from behind the machine.
The look on Anguis’s face tells me forgiveness won’t be on the horizon anytime soon. I don’t even bother looking in Curt’s direction. I know we went through all the training, but at least one of my friends will end up dead at this rate, and that’s one too many.
Stiff legs march in the direction of the king, only for a certain mangy wolf to leap into my path, snarling at me.
“Stop it,” I snap at him, forcing my way past furry limbs determined to entangle me. “You know I can’t let this go on. Armpit, Your Lordship,” I shout. Bum, I didn’t mean to call him that. Maybe he didn’t get the disrespect.
“Arrympeite,” he corrects, eyes darkening with sudden fury.
Careful Edi. Mocking a narcissist could get us all killed.
“Apologies, Great Lord. There is no magic book. I did bring it here, yes, but it got mouldy and I burnt it, over a year ago. Please. Don’t hurt anyone. The book’s gone.”
“So, the Realm Storyteller appears.” The king beckons me closer with one curling finger. I struggle towards him, a livid wolf attached to my coat. Armpit leans forwards and whispers in my ear, “The MagicCast cannot be destroyed. It will always be reborn.”
The worst part of that statement is, I’m suddenly certain it’s entirely true and I’ve miscalculated, big time.
He snaps back upright and says one word. “Now.”
And that’s when all hell breaks loose.
