END OF THE WOLF TRIBE
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Forced Relocation
In the year that followed, the Bishop became a much more unsuitable host. The church blamed him for the now numerous atrocities committed by Silvanus, and it was his responsibility to deal with the Wolf Tribe. They continued to pressure him until finally he broke in 1022AB. The Wolf Tribe was stripped of their land. He came and demanded their relocation, which did not end well.
The Bishop knew that the Al’Mora of the tribe would not surrender so easily. In an effort to ensure the negotiation would not get out of hand, he enlisted the aid of the Father’s Sword. Many Dharen’Rhylo soldiers approached the Wolf Tribe’s camp with bolters. As predicted, the Al’Mora retaliated. He had finally had enough of the Bishop. The Al’Mora made an attempt to kill the man, but the Father’s Sword shot him and several others too.
The soldiers of the Father’s Sword were ordered to maim. But maiming proved to be more destructive than they realized. Many of the man, including the Al’Mora, were shot in the legs. Connor avoided that fate, but he would never forget the horror he witnessed.
In the aftermath of the assault, three of the tribe’s most virile were left on the ground. One of Connor’s elders was shot in the artery and quickly bled out. The other was shot in the foot, and the Al’Mora in the knee. The wounds were inflicted by large, ball shaped projectiles. The damage was irreparable. Connor, his mother, and the other member of the tribe made their efforts to tend to the wounded.
The Bishop repeated his order. Unable to fight back, the Al’Mora agreed. Connor and the rest of his people were escorted off the land. They were taken to the small village that the Bishop called home. There the Al’Mora’s wounds were treated further. But the Wolf Tribe was not left entirely helpless. The Al’Mora still had some wealth at his disposal. He gave it to his life mate. She kept it and concealed it.
Connor and the remainder of the pack were loaded into a wagon, and promptly relocated somewhere north of the Samson Lakes. They were not given the liberty to hunt for their own food, build their own shelters, or make their own weapons. They were prisoners. The missionaries took Connor and made him attend their school. He had little choice, and loathed every moment.
The Wolf Tribe was forced into cramped accommodations. They shared the same roof with the missionaries and their families. But they were not given the same luxuries. They were instead relegated to a small pair of rooms at the rear. The former storage rooms were only partially emptied. Connor shared a room with his mother and nearly all of the mission’s stock of firewood.
Every night he would awaken to something seeking his body for warmth. Despite being accustomed to creatures in the wild, those which haunted him were almost entirely spiders. They had been living in the rotting logs. It was always cold and wet. The wooden structure that housed them smelt musty and old. Signs of rot and decay were everywhere. Even the ceiling leaked when it rained.
He wished to build a fire indoors to stay the creatures and banish the cold, but they would never allow it. The only warmth was that of his mother’s own body, and what few blankets they could find.
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The Dying Al’Mora
In the time that followed, Connor labored under the oppression of the church. He was forced to attend classes and continued to do so well into 1023AB. In that time his kin grew weak and feeble. They were not accustomed to eating food prepared by Dharen’Rhylo. In the hours when Connor was not forced to submit to his studies, he spent his time learning more about the ways of the wolf from his weakening brethren.
One after another he watched as they grew weaker. Friends that he had grown up with wasted away before his very eyes. The first male to perish was the poor soul who lost his foot. His old wounds eventually became gangrenous, and he died from the severe infection that followed. The second of his kin to perish did so because of an unexplained illness. He had contracted from the church. Since they refused to treat him, he eventually fell prey to the fever and died.
Finally it was his father who became ill. It was uncertain if the sickness was the same, or whether it was from his shattered knee. But it was clear that it was grave. Connor did his very best to take care of his father. He convinced the church to give him treatment, extra blankets, additional food, and more. But no matter how much he strived to make his father comfortable, the Al’Mora did not appreciate any of it.
Connor did not want to see his father die. He wanted to someday prove to him that he was truly wolf enough. But if his father was to vanish, then Connor would never know. Try as he might, the sickness continued to worsen. The aged Al’Mora laid motionless in his bed, and that continued well into 1024AB.
Was it the loss of his knee; the loss of his son Silvanus; the knowledge that his woman gave birth to another man’s child; or was it knowing that he had doomed his own kind to extinction? It was all the above. The man had given up. He realized the Wolf Spirits shunned him and left him to rot in a strange building, in a strange land, far away from home.
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Before his father died, Connor approached him one last time and asked him if he was wolf enough for him. But his father remained silent. Connor asked who would rise to Al’Mora. His father just looked at him, and stated that there would be no Al’Mora. The tribe would die with him. He stated that Connor would never be Al’Mora and that he would never be wolf enough.
The next day the Al’Mora died, which left Connor and his mother as the only two known survivors. The man who had laid waste to the Tribelands was buried in an unmarked grave, and left to be forgotten in a muddy field under the snow. What triumphs he had achieved, what wealth he had acquired, and what skills he had mastered — all amounted to a pile of dirt in the middle of nowhere.
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Farewell Mother
Under orders to keep the survivors of the Wolf Tribe away from civilization, the church and its missionaries continued to keep Connor and his mother within sight. During Connor’s imprisonment they educated him, and taught him how to communicate fluently. He learned how to read and how to write. But the conditions were unsavory.
The missionaries treated him like a fool. He began to sympathize with his brother. Little by little he began to understand why Silvanus lashed out. But Connor held his tongue. Instead he simply endured. His survival depended on it. Throughout the remainder of the year and into 1025AB, Connor took notice of his mother’s failing health.
The short summers, long winters, lack of exercise, and poor nutrition began to take their toll. No one would keep her company when Connor was forced to study. She felt alone. Her mind lingered on death. She worried if the spirits would welcome her. But Connor was always there to assure her at the end of every day. Were it not for him she would have passed away long ago.
She often lamented about the loss of Silvanus. It never sat well with her that he vanished. He escaped into the wilds and was never heard from again. She shared her concerns with Connor, and told him that she dreamt of Silvanus. She felt he was still alive, and if Connor found him, then they could support each other. They could carry on the traditions, and build the tribe anew.
He comforted her, but doubted that Silvanus was fine. He had learned a great deal about Dharen’Rhylo and their law. But he said nothing. Eventually her desire to find Silvanus became more and more serious. Connor found that he had to swallow his own distaste for his brother. He saw the sorrow in his mother’s eyes. When he asked her how to search for him, she revealed to him the wealth she cleverly concealed.
Long ago, the Al’Mora had converted their resources into standard currency. She revealed to him a leather sack filled to the brim with hard-pressed gold pieces. Connor was shocked. He had no clue they were so wealthy. Gold was not easy to come by. The average citizen of Dharen’Rhylo was lucky to even see a single coin in their life. He wondered if his mother knew how much they were worth.
Connor was taken aback. They shouldn’t have been living in a shack under the scrutiny of the church. With coin like that they could have lived a more comfortable life. But his mother shook her head. She stated that the missionaries would have killed them. They would have taken the gold, and thought nothing of the blood they spilled.
She continued to say that the church thought itself holy, and better than they. But she admitted that she knew otherwise. She contemplated telling Connor the truth, and considered telling him about his true father. She wanted to share why the Al’Mora was so cold to both of them.
But she was afraid. After all it was her greatest shame. But the Al’Mora was dead, her tribe gone, and her son lost. She had to tell Connor. She had to explain why so much depended on his survival, why he needed to leave, and why he needed to take the gold. Connor’s life was a lie. The Al’Mora did loath him, and he deserved to know why. Eventually, she found the strength. She told Connor the truth.
It was a lot to take in. Connor had spent so many years attempting to please the Al’Mora. He questioned his identity. But his mother told him the most important things: he was her son, he was brother to Silvanus, and whether the Al’Mora liked it or not — Connor was and always would be part of the tribe.
Connor was denied the right to be Al’Mora because he was bred from another man. A man of Dharen’Rhylo no less, and a ranking member of the church. Connor existed in a unique position. He was both of the Wolf Tribe and of Dharen’Rhylo. She warned that the church would not welcome that fact. That was a secret he would have to keep to himself.
But Connor could blend in. He had a unique complexion and facial structure. While they were traits of his mother, they were not enough to set him apart. He could easily take the gold and run away. The only thing that kept Connor in the mission was his loyalty to his mother, and she knew that. She told him that he was a wolf. No man would dare follow him into the bitter heart of the northern winter.
The wilds were his dominion. The bitter north was covered in a blanket of Nixia’s snow. Connor could thrive in that environment. The missionaries would sooner claim him dead than give chase. She ordered him to take the gold and find his brother. He was alive; she felt it. Connor would have to find him, save him if he had to, and get far away from Dharen’Rhylo.
Go back home, return to the Tribelands, find peace, and rebuild. That was Connor’s mission. But Connor was uncertain. Yet his mother assured him that he was better than he thought. The Al’Mora may have shunned him, but he wasn’t as useless as the Al’Mora made him out to be. Connor had learned well. She told him she had seldom seen someone so talented.
Connor accepted his mother’s request. He decided to set out on his mission under the cover of night. The snow fell in a light flurry. By morning his tracks would have faded. He would vanish without a trace. He took with him the gold and a makeshift knife he had made. Connor knew that he would never see his mother again. He wished her farewell, and disappeared into the night.
As expected no one gave chase. The missionaries idly recorded that he had died. They did not wish to have the church think poorly of them. Instead, they agreed Connor would not last. In Connor’s absence they did continue to watch over his mother. She was taken care of. But that did not stop her health from failing. Connor knew that she would pass, but he also knew he would not be there to see it. The only record of her life was a single sentence written in the records of the mission:
Died April 1025AB. Took ill in the night, and deceased by morning.