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The air burned in Yrsa’s lungs. She could hear thunder in the distance – no, not thunder. It was her own heartbeat, pounding desperately in her head. Bryn followed behind her, but she couldn’t hear his pawfalls over the din of her terrified thoughts.
No. Grae. Rost. Grae. Grae. Grae.
“Yrsa!” Bryn finally pulled up beside her. “Are you sure?”
“I know what I heard,” Yrsa snapped, not slowing down despite her packmate’s obvious struggle to keep her pace. Rostfar’s pain-white scream through the wyrdness still rang in her veins.
There was no time to talk.
Teeth closed on Yrsa’s tail. She skidded to a halt, ready to bite Bryn for his stupidity, and stopped when she saw that the ground ahead broke into a sheer drop. Below this ledge, a terrible scene was unfolding: Grae, pinned beneath a wolf Yrsa didn’t recognise; Rostfar, staggering away from a wolf-like beast as it backed her against a scree slope.
Yrsa wanted to howl in horror. Blood soaked the earth, more blood than Yrsa would have thought possible, and Yrsa knew that some – most? all? – of it belonged to Rostfar. She started forwards, but Bryn nudged her flank.
Bryn didn’t speak, but his scent and aura told Yrsa everything – they weren’t the only spectators of this grim fight. He flicked his nose towards an outcropping opposite them, and Yrsa caught sight of a face. A human face.
Wide, shining eyes stared right back at her, unblinking in their terror. The human had no weapon that Yrsa could see, but his body hummed with tension as if he were about to fling himself into the battle below. Yrsa willed him not to do it.
But he couldn’t hear her. He didn’t have the wyrdsight.
As Yrsa watched, helpless, the human lurched to his feet and skidded down the scree with a wordless yell. The not-wolf – the wolf that had become something Other – turned on him.
“No!” Rostfar shouted. “Leave him alone.” Beads of moisture stood out on her forehead and she looked like a strong wind could knock her down.
“Rostfar—” the human choked out. “Rost, there’s more of them!” he swung his hand up to where Bryn and Yrsa still crouched.
Grae also twisted to look, and his eyes met Yrsa’s. Her stomached dropped. Guilt and pain were etched into Grae’s features as he lay beneath the unwolf, making no effort to get himself free. Yrsa didn’t know what was worse – his passive acceptance, or the realisation that he had put Rostfar in this position.
Bryn stepped forwards with teeth bared. “You’re in the territory of the Deothwicc pack,” he snarled. Yrsa was impressed by how calm he sounded. “And that human—” he glanced at Rostfar’s open, pleading face. “Both humans – are under our protection.”
“We’re not a wolf,” said Other, “Your laws don’t bind us.” Despite Other’s bold proclamation, its companion looked less certain. Yrsa realised with a jolt that Unwolf wasn’t included in that ‘Us’.
“You’re wreathers,” Rostfar gasped. The name meant nothing to Yrsa, but apparently the new human understood, because he whimpered. Both humans’ eyes went to the spear lying in the mud.
Yrsa didn’t understand what it meant, but she knew what they needed. She bounded off the ridge and charged Unwolf. If it came to a fight, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She just had to put her hope in the element of surprise.
Unwolf had no interest in fighting. It charged for Yrsa head-on, feinted at the last moment, and leapt for the scree slope. Yrsa saw no point in giving chase. If losing an ally perturbed Other, it showed no sign. It remained fixed on Bryn and Rostfar, who stood flank-to-flank with their teeth bared in identical displays of defiance. Yrsa wished she could stop to admire the sight, but there were more important things on her mind.
“Grae?” She nudged at Grae through the wyrdness, but he didn’t respond. Yrsa’s head told her not to approach him; her heart told her to comfort him, all else be damned. She touched her nose to his side in search of injuries.
Grae’s teeth snapped for her throat. In his eyes was the mad look of a hare that knows it is about to die.
Yrsa barely evaded the crush of his jaws, and his teeth pulled a clump of fur from her mane. She yelped – more in surprise than pain – and drew out of his reach.
Rostfar’s scream tore her focus away from Grae. Yrsa whirled around. Other pinned Rostfar beneath its huge paws. Yrsa froze, transfixed by her own panic, as Other closed its jaws around Rostfar’s waist and shook her like a pup playing with a branch.
The stranger-human screamed and hurled himself across the ground to where Rostfar’s spear had fallen. He flung it at Other, sending the false fang on its end deep into Other’s left flank.
Other reared up with an unearthly shriek. Blood and spittle flew from its lips, flesh in its teeth. Rostfar’s flesh. It turned on the stranger-human, gathering itself up for another attack. Not stopping to think, Yrsa threw herself between them.
“You won’t hurt your own kind,” Yrsa panted. It was a wild, foolish hope, but she spat it into the face of the advancing beast with all the conviction she could muster.
“You’re not our kind,” said Other. And lunged.
But the killing blow Yrsa expected never came.
Other jerked. It screeched. It threw itself from side-to-side and arched its back. Rostfar’s face appeared over its shoulder, her arms wrapped around its emaciated neck. She was pale and shaking, but clung on to Other’s back with indomitable strength.
“Rost!” The other human yelled and tried to run forwards. Yrsa blocked his path without thinking. “What are you doing?” the human shrieked at her. Yrsa had no answer. She just knew that interference would be futile, maybe even fatal.
The spear’s wooden end splintered as Other rolled over, trying to crush Rostfar beneath its bulk, and still, still, Rostfar held on. She dug her fingers into Other’s two left eyes as it heaved to and fro in a desperate dance of escape. It stumbled to one side and dashed Rostfar against a nearby rock – again, again, again. Yrsa watched, frozen in her despair as Rostfar slid limply from Other’s back.
Bryn rushed in to take her place. He snapped at Other, driving the beast back from where Rostfar had fallen. It reared up to crush Bryn’s throat in its jaws, but its tortured body seemed to have finally reached its limit. Great shudders wracked its body and twisted its spine upwards, and the worn-bare skin seethed as if something beneath its surface had begun to boil. A thick, grey-white fog poured out from its mouth and ears, and broke up into thousands of crawling, clawing creatures. Bryn tensed for a fresh fight, but the creatures had no interest in him. They flooded past and vanished into the ground.
All that remained was the corpse of an ordinary wolf. Dead.
The stranger-human shoved past Yrsa and ran to Rostfar, skidding on his knees to her side. One of Rostfar’s hands reached up to touch his cheek, leaving a trail of blood against his clay-brown skin. The human took her hand in his and kissed it.
“You’re alright now. Everything’s alright,” the human whispered. “I’m sorry.”
Rostfar choked on something like laughter. Her teeth and lips were stained with blood, too. So much blood. The stranger-human pulled her into his lap, and Rostfar shuddered in pain.
“We have to get her back to Deothwicc. The Speaking Tree can ease her pain,” Yrsa said urgently. “Grae, we need you to help—” Yrsa turned to where she had left her littermate, but Grae wasn’t there.
The land on all sides sprawled out, rocky and empty, no other wolf in sight.
