Part I – Wolf and Warrior

I jolt out of bed ready to scream. But the fire and death are gone, replaced by the soft glow of morning sun. I sit back, body shaking, my face and back drenched in sweat.

Mr. Oliver is in the corner by his desk, stuffing old books into a big bag he’s got on the floor. In the new light, he looks even older than I remember. His spidery blue veins spread across his long, wrinkled arms and his skin looks paper thin. But I know he’s not just some helpless old man. He twisted that Hafthan into pieces. Tore him apart without moving. And if he can do that, maybe there’s a chance he can teach me how.

“How long was I asleep?” I ask, blinking at the open window.

Mr. Oliver rises with a groan and peers outside. “Just a few hours. Suns only just come over the mountains. We’ll be off to look for your family soon, don’t you worry that little head. Just need to find a way to get the rest of this to fit.” He pushes down on the wrapped scrolls and books that bulge from the bag. It has little affect.

Sliding out of bed, I realize just how tired my body is. My legs feel like logs, and my arms burn deep into the bone. There’s a red lump on my right palm that hurts to touch, and the rest of my hand feels rubbed raw. Staring at it, I remember plunging the knife into that Hafthan’s chest over and over again. Thinking back to it, I almost wish I could do it again.

“Luther, I regret to ask this of you provided your diminutive stature, but is there a chance you could carry my bag for me? Just to the village. I’m sure I can find someone else to lug it for the rest of my journey.”

“You’re going somewhere?” I ask, my sore feet carrying me across the room.

“Yes, dear boy. And I surmise the rest of the village will be as well. That fire last night will have left very little, and those who live further out will no doubt be in fear of another attack.”

The thought of leaving stings me deep inside. I’ve lived in Hylek village my whole life. I’ve never even been anywhere else. But Mr. Oliver is probably right. What if the Hafthan come back?

“I’m not sure I can carry this for you, Mr. Oliver.” I say looking down.

He tilts his head at me and raises a brow.

“I’m weak,” I say, hanging my head. “Mother told me something went wrong when I was in her belly. I can hardly even help around the farm. Little Kyna does more lifting than me and she’s only six summers old.”

Mr. Oliver sighs. “Probably for the best I leave it here in any case.” He looks around his small cabin. “Four years here and hardly anything to show for it. Even without the attack, I’m certain I was not long for this place.” He reaches into the bag and pulls out a thick tome. Liam has been teaching me to read, but I don’t recognize any of the letters on the cover.

“Where will you go?”

“The capital.” He says, retrieving a satchel from a chest nearby. “I’ve colleagues there that will pay well for this.” He pulls out the little vial of blood he collected last night. In the light, I can see strange symbols flashing purple on the glass.

“Can your friends twist people too?”

He frowns. “Luther, for both our sakes, please do not reveal the details of your rescue. People around here do not take kindly to magic.”

I’ve heard of magic. Father blames it whenever the rains don’t come or when he finds a new hole in his boots. But this is different. Powerful. “Can you teach it to me? How to twist people?”

Mr. Oliver stands taller, and his face grows grim. “You don’t know what you ask. Besides, a very rare few have the gift. And you didn’t happen to be born during an eclipse, did you? Or a particularly bad storm? Maybe even during a massacre?”

I shake my head.

“Then your odds, I’m afraid, are as close to zero as they can be without tipping to the other side. Magic is in the land, you see. And Bladoria for all her splendor does not take to the mystic. Blame the unfortunate location of your birth if you must blame something.” He looks back out the window. “Come now, my young companion, and let us search for your family. And keep your thoughts of magic at bay. They will do you no good.” He slips the book into his satchel and throws it over his shoulder.

I follow him outside, the bright sky stinging my eyes. Surrounded by birdsong, root, bark, and vine, it’s almost as if nothing happened. But then I see the thin trail of smoke above the canopy, and a distant wail reaches my ears. It happened. And it’s not over yet.

Mr. Oliver’s cabin isn’t far from the village, but it rests atop a steep hill. Struggling down it, I’m not sure how I managed to make it the whole way in the night. But my memories are foggy. I remember running with Father, then standing back as he rushed ahead. I should have been with him. Please be alright. Please please please.

The closer we get to the village, the worse the smell becomes. Faint at first, the stench of burnt flesh and something worse stings my nose. Covering my mouth, I make out the husk of a burnt house. I think it belonged to Aunt Yulia.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“They sure did some nasty work here,” Mr. Oliver says. “But the Hafthan usually don’t cause such devastation when they raid. This feels…deliberate.”

People move ahead, sifting through the rubble. I walk past Mr. Oliver, moving as fast as my heavy legs will allow. “Mrs. Piper!” I call, seeing her back. She’s one of Mother’s friends. She has to know where she is.

The old woman slowly turns her head, and I see the red soaked bandaged wrapped around her neck. Getting closer, I see that one of her eyes is simply gone.

“Mrs. Piper…” I want to ask her if she’s seen my family, but her sagging face is so pale. It’s like she’s dead already.

“Luther?”

I turn and see Davos approaching. He’s covered in dirt and ash but otherwise looks fine. His father walks beside him, face grim.

“Davos.” Seeing him nearly brings the tears, but I hold them back. “Have you seen my father? Or Liam? Kyna?”

He shakes his head. “We ran into the forest during the attack. We’re just now coming back to see if we can find my sister.”

“Evelyn didn’t flee with you?”

Both Davos and his father look away from me.

“We lost her in the escape,” Davos’ father eventually says. “When we realized she wasn’t with us…”

They left her behind. I can see it in the sick desperation in Davos’ eyes. But I can’t blame them. They’re weak. Just like me.

“Do any of the guard live?” Mr. Oliver asks.

Davos’ father looks at Mr. Oliver like he’s just now noticing he’s there. “Like my boy said, we just returned. But with the state of things…”

Mr. Oliver gives my shoulder a tight squeeze. “Well, we can’t be sure until we check. Perhaps we should travel as a troop?”

Davos’ father gives Mr. Oliver the same look most of the adults give him. Something just between rage and annoyance. “We’re fine. Come son.”

The two walk past us before I can wish Davos success in finding his sister. Watching them and the other villagers wander the streets fills me with a deep, churning heat. Why. We had done nothing wrong. We were just living our lives like we always had, with hoe and net. So why did the Hafthan come and burn it all away?

“Mr. Oliver,” I say with clenched fists. “Where is Hafthan?”

“Across the waves, my boy. In a frozen land to the north.”

“And how many people live there?”

“Thousands,” he says, regarding me with a strange expression. “Why do you ask?”

“Father always counts the rows of wheat before the harvest.” I walk past him and toward the road that leads north. “He told me it helps keep track of the work he has left.”

“And what work are you thinking about right now, my little friend?”

I look out over the crumbled buildings of my home and the shuffling people who now have nowhere else to go. I look over the bodies of the dead, most still laying where they were cut down. All this killing, and for what? They came with fire and steel. Left my home nothing but blood and ash. It will only be fair then, if I return the same.

A woman’s scream draws my attention. There’s something about it that’s familiar, and my heart drops. I rush around the smoldering ruins of the old inn and see her in the street, on her knees amidst the bodies of the fallen.

“Mother!” but she doesn’t stop screaming. There are two dead men beside her. Sprinting toward her, I can no longer fight back the tears.

No. Father is on his back, his right foot cut from his body. His pitchfork is beside him. When he grabbed it and rushed to defend the village, I felt such pride. He was no warrior. Just a farmer doing what he could to protect his home.

As I’m about to reach for Mother, I recognize who the other body belongs to.

“Liam.” Hearing the name, my mother finally turns and sees me.

She grabs me and pulls me into an embrace. I wail and cry, burying my face into her shoulder. Eventually, she pulls my head back and wipes some of the dirt from my cheek. Behind her I see Kyna waiting in the shadow of a half-tumbled wall. Her face is red, wet streaks flowing down her face. But she doesn’t seem hurt.

“Thank the Gods,” Mother says gripping my face with both hands. “I thought I lost you too.”

I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand and look down at Liam. He’s on his side, a great hole in his belly. His halberd is still gripped in one hand, the ash covered metal reflecting a sliver of sunlight.

I’ll never be able to ride on his shoulders and walk the fields again. I’ll never see him spar with the other boys, always winning with a fierce grin. I’ll never hear him laugh at jokes only he thinks are funny or hear him argue with father about the harvest.

My brother and he’s gone. And not only him. Father is beside him. I wonder if they died fighting together. I should have been with them.

Father always protected me. He kept the other kids from picking on me and when he’d catch the farmhands laughing at me trying to do my part, he’d give them the meanest glare I’ve ever seen.

“You’ll be strong as a bull one of these days,” he’d say. “Then no one can give you lip without paying for it.”

I think you might have been wrong, Father. And even if he’d been right, I only ever wanted to become strong for him.

“I let him go alone,” I say, mother’s face blurring behind the tears. “I was scared. There was so much screaming and the fire and—”

Mother pulls me in tighter. “Shhhh,” she whispers into one ear, her hand stroking the back of my head. “None of that matters. You’re alive. That’s the only thing that counts.”

I hear her words but something in them rings hollow. What does it matter that I’m alive? Father and Liam didn’t run. Didn’t hide. Why am I alive, and not them? How is that fair? How is any of this fair? I twist my head and look down at them. Why. My tears cease, my body growing hot, the blood in my veins rushing. Why. Why. Why.

Then I understand. Liam and Father are not simply gone. They were taken from me. Why they were taken does not matter, only that someone took them. And I will find who did this. Not only them, but their brothers, their fathers. I’ll count the rows of wheat and cut them down one by one. I will no longer run. No longer hide. Even if I have to swim to Hafthan, their villages will burn.

This, with all my raging heart, do I swear.