“Filth.” Claws opened the sage’s snout, revealing a bone all the way from the cheek to the nose. “Scum.” An elbow smashed into the woman’s face, sending her cartwheeling into the wall. “I gave you an order.” Pure hatred was burning behind amber eyes. “Why didn’t you report his disappearance?”
“We wanted to keep a radio silence to evade being detected. With all the warlords and Lady Bertruda away…” The sage started talking, and her words turned into shrieks of pain when Janine’s foot came down, flattening a paw.
Janine stood above the downed sage, her own body still bleeding after taking off the armor. She refused all offers to treat her wounds, forcing herself to keep her composure in front of the civilians and the rescued cubs. She sent Anissa to rush Marco and the other wounded to the hospital, and afterwards Janine personally checked the reduced ranks of her troops, even traitors, purposely ignoring looking at the sage to whom she had assigned the safety of her own cub.
Things weren’t that bad. The Ice Fang who had his spine pierced had the worst of them, but even such a wound can be mended with the state’s technology. The doctors assured Janine that in a few years, the man would be back in service. A few Wolfkins attempted to hide the severity of their wounds. Janine literally kicked Kirk to the medical bay, sending the male flying across the corridor after noticing his botched attempt to camouflage a wide slash on his arm. The others got the memo and rushed to get medical assistance.
Only when everyone was on their way did Janine allow the fury boiling within her to break through, guiding the righteous retribution.
“Detected? It is impossible to conceal this!” The warlord pointed at the massive walls. Despite standing close to the hangar bay, the sound of grinding tracks could be heard as loud as day. The jaws opened, showing hungry fangs within, and the sage found herself lifted by the neck.
A blade to the neck made Janine refrain from biting the woman’s throat. She looked back with calm rage, witnessing Bertruda standing close, pressing the tip of her spear to the warlord’s neck.
“You dare?” Janine asked with disbelief, sensing the growing anger. Impatient One, Martyshkina, and the packs were ready to come down on the Ice Fangs, who joined their Sword Saint. And this time, it won’t be a simple brawl. “We fought for you. We died for your cubs.”
“And I have nothing but eternal praise for your action,” Bertruda responded calmly, not moving her paw.
“To the Abyss with your thanks!” Impatient One snarled hatefully. “The sage was given an order! The price of failure is death!”
“This is not the Ice Fangs way.” The stubborn Ice Fang refused to budge. “I will not allow my people to be slaughtered like cattle.”
Instead, you would have an open war between allies. Janine tightened her grip, bending the sage’s armor. Such things never happened in the past. Oh, sure, warlords, sword saints, and lesser ranks were fighting against each other all the time, often breaking the Blessed Mother’s decree. Some even ended up dead. But safe for the noble Ravager, no one ever dared to try to stop the punishments dealt by the leaders.
The aggression coming from the Wolf Tribe became almost tangible in the air. Paws were reaching for weapons; claws slid freely from fingers; lips spread wide enough to show fangs. Ice Fangs were determined too; more and more of them came from corridors, fully geared and armed with weapons. Only a single command was expected. A word, an action, and blood will cover all.
She knew that she should have done it. The sage was at fault; they were in the right here! Backing down was a sign of weakness. But who would win from servants of the state killing each other over feelings? Janine turned to face Bertruda, purposely slicing her own neck at the blade and casting the woman in her paw at the Sword Saint.
“Liars.” She pushed past the Sword Saint, snapping orders for the packs to be at ease.
Impatient One tried quickly sneaking into the shadows, and Janine grabbed her petulant daughter by the nape, ungraciously dragging the shaman after herself. With the apparent slaughter prevented, the atmosphere in the mobile fortress improved. Soldiers grieved about lost friends, and packs let out a long, stretching howl, wordlessly asking forgiveness for allowing the bodies of their friends and soulmates to vanish on the battlefield. The Ice Fangs listened dispassionately to the howling, mourning their loss in their own way.
But the grief did not last. After a howl of sadness, there was a cheer. They felled enemies. And saved some cubs. Even some civilians had managed to rejoin the group on their way back and now traveled along to Houstad. Sages and shamans had to stop scouts, wolf hags, warriors, and even some knights from dragging the shellshocked cubs to the celebration. Where sages used words, reasoning with the eager-to-party Wolfkins, shamans let their claws talk, leaving wounds on anyone stupid enough not to obey them at once.
Janine let them keep fooling around a bit. The shock of seeing an entire settlement, one of many beating hearts of the state, being ripped apart so brutally, leaving behind just desolated wastes, has affected the troops. Once the celebration is over, Marty will start merciless training drills to keep the reduced packs in shape.
Upon stepping into the spacious halls of the medical bay, Janine had her nostrils assaulted by a whole host of smells. Starting with regular blood and disinfectant smells, she also tasted the sickly smell of rot, witnessing how two doctors were taking away a farmer’s arm, corrupted by gangrene. Kalaisa lay on a stretcher, stripped of all armor, with an air tube in her mouth, while two doctors were fighting to keep the wolf hag alive. Kirk was on the other side of the hall, surrounded by his sister and brother, who teased the embarrassed-looking man as a tired-looking Ice Fang had gotten busy cleaning up the wound.
Not only normies and Ice Fangs worked here. Helpers from the ranks of refugees joined in, and, most shockingly, four doctors from the Oathtakers have offered their work. These were tourists visiting the state who were saved amidst the invasion. Janine knew that she should feel only gratitude for their aid, and she did, truly! But seeing a Troll, a type of new breed against whom she fought for years, working here made her unnerved.
Mother and daughter barely made a step when a four-legged malformed, a rebellious son of Brood Lord, stopped them. The boy listened to no explanation, ignored all demands, and dragged both women to a free corner, calling in a doctor. Only after wounds were cleaned, stitched, and covered by the bandages, and after both of them took a shower, did the blasted cub lead them to Marco’s room, skittering away to help clean the floor along with his siblings.
Anissa was already there, reading prayers to the unconscious boy. Like theirs, her fur also bore signs of recent washing. Ignacy nervously trailed from one edge room to another while a massive Troll and a nurse were busy cleaning the eye sockets.
But not eyes. Janine clenched her fist. Marco no longer had any eyes. His loveable, beautiful, gorgeous, and sweet eyes had been eaten away by the acid, rendering him blind. My fault. A thought pondered in Janine’s brain, threatening to burst the brain in two. I will fix it.
“How is he, doctor?” Impatient One asked, putting a hand on Janine’s chest and feeling the heartbeat. A single look commanded the warlord to keep her silence. Status. Before the outsiders, the warlord has to be an inviolable mountain.
Marco’s stumps and the wound in his side were already cleaned; the fur was cleanly shaven away, and the clean bandages now covered them. A net of wires came from a nearby machine, projecting his stable heartbeat on a display.
“The poison is unknown to us, but short of anything miraculous, the boy should live,” the Troll said in a calm voice. These strange new breeds ever had the same facial expression, facing losing a limb with the same stoicism as eating breakfast. But deep down, they felt emotions just like everyone else. Terrific once proved it to Janine. “The blood had already started clotting, wounds are beginning to heal, and the boy’s organism is young and rather healthy. My initial assessment is that in a week it should be okay to wake him up and prepare him for augmentation.”
“Why is he still unconscious?” Janine demanded to know, worried at the sight of Marco’s calm breath. The little one didn’t even flinch as the doctor kept removing the remains of his eyeballs.
“His own body put him in a healing coma to help him recover.” The Troll shrugged his shoulders. “I am still going to write a record, recommending removing the boy from your clutches. Doubtless it will be ignored, but I at least have to try.” The doctor put aside the instruments and turned to look at the family. “Any offense was intentional. I have seen the scars on the boy’s body.” Ignoring Anissa’s growl, he continued unabashedly. “With pleasantries out of the way, in what way are you two related to the patient?”
“I am his mother. Name’s Janine,” Janine said, offering to shake the man’s hand. The doctor ignored the offer. “My apology, but why are you treating my son? I thought the Oathtakers hated us.”
“Mother, please…” Ignacy started.
“The warlord is speaking, male!” Impatient One snapped at him. “Be silent!”
“We despise the Wolf Tribe’s way of life, true, but have nothing against its people. Our countries are long since at peace, unless you have forgotten,” the doctor answered, massaging his temples with his elongated and strong fingers.
“You could afford to be a little respectful, then,” Anissa noted. “If not for us, the Horde would’ve grilled your gray ass.”
“I could, and thank you for my and the others’ rescue, but I won’t.” The Troll met Anissa’s burning gaze and came closer, checking her augmented eye. The wolf hag nearly choked on indignation, allowing the doctor to correct the eye’s alignment. “As for your question, Janine, I have the highest competence among the available personnel. If you plan to voice any objections, shove it down your ass, please. The boy’s health is my highest prerogative. Any of you have the forty-eighth blood type? Marco had lost a lot of blood.”
Janine caught herself liking the doctor. He laid down everything as he saw it and was brutally honest with his opinions. She could trust her son’s life to someone like this. She was about to leave and ask the pack for aid when Impatient One stepped forward.
“Take my blood,” the shaman offered.
“You are his sister, by any chance?” The doctor asked, calling a nurse for aid. “You and Janine look quite similar.”
Janine and Anissa both froze. Licking her lips, the wolf hag looked at the shaman, worried about the inevitable punishment ready to be unleashed. Ignacy stepped in front of the doctor, preparing to try to protect him, but Impatient One stood calmly, extending her arm.
“Barbarians don’t know our traditions, so I will forgive you,” the shaman said in an icy voice. “Marco and I came from the same womb, but he and I are no longer brother and sister. Nevertheless, the blood coursing through our veins is one and the same. By which I mean we share the same blood type as Colt.” She rolled her eyes at the doctor’s look. “The male’s father.”
“May I stay with him until we reach Houstad?” Janine asked, and the doctor looked her over.
“No,” the man replied sternly. “You want to help your boy? Go eat, rest, and recover. Make sure he still has a mother to come back to once he wakes up.”
Janine wanted to rage; she wanted to grab the fool by his neck, snap it, and finally wrap her arms around the poor, little Marco. She swallowed these childish urges and simply bowed.
“The rest of you piss off too,” Impatient One stated, sitting on a chair and allowing a nurse to prepare her. “Wolf Hag! Concentrate on your duties; abandon the studies until the end of this crisis. Ignacy, go make some cubs already.”
“Says a woman with no cubs,” Ignacy mumbled, walking after his sister.
“I already did my part, male,” the shaman growled, calming down under the Troll’s look.
Did your part? Janine wondered, allowing the malformed to rush a stretcher with the paralyzed Ice Fang past them toward the operation room. Her daughter would occasionally embark on pilgrimages to various holy sites, places where Ravager’s grace had the greatest impact. But bearing cubs? Never. Janine would’ve known.
In accordance with the traditions, all shamans had to make such journeys, taking no food or water with them and toughing out the raging sandstorms, poisonous hazards, and deadly wildlife. All alone, they would travel, leaving drops of their blood in places where the Tribe bled more than ever. This was supposed to placate the spirits of the fallen—those whose bodies got lost in the war. By telling tales of the Tribe’s survival and naming each missing person by name, the shamans aimed to help the lost souls move onto the next journey and be reunited with their friends and families in the Great Beyond before finally being reborn for a new purpose.
A humble and most worthy tradition, in the old days, it saw some shamans perish to the dangers. Nowadays, with the former battlefields turned into bases, villages, and settlements, it mostly created confusion when a large Wolfkin would swoop in, lower herself on the knees, and start praying and spraying the ground around with her blood. During their spiritual journeys, shamans even started carrying mail and some supplies between the settlements at the request of locals in exchange for food, growing ever more embarrassed but aiming to fulfill their duties to the utmost.
Once, after talking with a Normie officer, Predaig erupted with laughter, calling Eled, Janine, and Marty closer. In a voice choking with barely contained fun, she explained to the warlords that the locals had started viewing shamans as heroes, venerating them more than even Ice Fangs, all because these women delivered medicine even to the furthest regions and cleaned away whole insectoids’ infestations.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Imagining her daughter striking a heroic pose and taking a cub off a cliff made Janine giggle like a girl, earning the four women harsh looks from Lacerated One and other shamans, but back then Janine didn’t care. It was, no, it is still funny!
She banished the thoughts, trailing the cubs’ with a look. It’s good when youth are making themselves useful. Passing by one of the rooms, she heard Macarius voice calling for her, and she darkened, storming ahead faster. Screw the traitor.
“Don’t worry, Mom!” Ignacy mistook her behavior for brooding and gave her a pat on the back, earning himself a smack from Anissa for familiarity. Janine herself was too tired to bite him for the familiarity. “Marco’s is a tough cookie and in expert hands! I’ll do everything to help him.”
“And in the meantime, I will gather enough of the Horde’s heads to prepare a pyre in his honor,” Anissa hissed. She closed her eye and asked. “Marco likes these… what’s it called again?”
“Comics,” Janine answered instead of Ignacy. Colt’s fault. She asked her soulmate to buy some books to start teaching their cubs how to read. The precious buffoon brought an entire chest filled with novels, and comics were among them. Of course, the cubs chose to look at the pretty pictures rather than read at first! She didn’t approve of such a vehement love of fantasy. But anything that made the little ones read even a little was a net positive, in her opinion.
“Comics,” Anissa said, almost tasting the word. “Ignacy, you know how to buy stuff on the Net? Can you buy him some of these comics? Preferably the ones that are really flashy. I’ll give you tokens.”
“He lacks eyes, sis,” Ignacy replied quietly, and another heavy smack sent his head into a spin. “What was that for?!”
“Because you and Mom are such downers!” Anissa bared her fangs, facing Janine’s heavy look head-on. “Yeah, come on, bring it all, won’t change a thing, Mom! You both act as if his life is over!” She tapped at her augmented eye. “Little Brother got injured; big deal. Give it time, and he’ll see even clearer than before. Legs? Meh, I’ll beat him up until he agrees to get metal paws. Abyss, soon enough we will all be laughing and teasing him about this incident!”
“If we can survive this long…” Ignacy started, and a kick to the stomach sent him against a wall.
Personnel in the medical bay turned to them, and an Ice Fang hospitaller hurried to them, asking the family to behave. Janine raised her paws, showing that everything was okay, as Anissa jerked her brother to his feet, shouting into his ear.
“Enough getting high on despair!” Anissa snarled, one eye a shining, wet orb of amber, and another an armor-glass of crimson. “By the Spirits, look around! Yeah, we got kicked in the gut!” She let go of Ignacy, leaving him standing steady. “But guess what, brother? The Reclamation Army always prevails! Spirits never give a person a load harder than she can carry, brother. Who can even hope to stand against us when the Blessed Mother herself guides us to the future?”
“Yeah. Yeah,” Ignacy said, first with uncertainty, then with a genuine smile. “You right! In a month, Marco is going to hop around on metal legs.” He snapped his fingers. “I better start researching! Maybe there is a way to get some real good stuff instead of mass-produced versions. Or maybe I can cobble one together!”
“That’s the spirit! Just don’t keep your honey cold, or Elzada will never forgive me.” Anissa showed her tongue, evading Ignacy’s swipe. “I expect at least four cousins before the year’s end. Get on to it.”
“You haven’t had even a single cub yourself!”
“Well, forgive me for being too busy to find a mate amidst wars!”
“Why are you piling up all responsibility on me and Elzi, then?”
“Elzi?” Anissa pressed both paws together. “So cute! Does she call you Igni or something?”
“Who knows more about getting back on your feet after getting smacked down than Wolfkins?” Janine chuckled, grabbed both of her children, and hugged them. “Thank you, Anissa, Ignacy. Assign someone to look over Kalaisa; it’s not right for her to have none at her side.” She threw Anissa away, and the wolf hag elegantly made a spin in the air, landing on all fours. “Ignacy, you head to Elzada and aid her however you can.”
“I’d rather join the pack and find a way to gut Brood Lord,” Ignacy responded seriously.
“You leave him to me, got it, boy?” Janine jerked her son by the nape. “The war is over for you before the battle for Houstad is over. I’ll collect the bastard’s head and present it to Marco. Right after I punish the boy for disobedience. Dismissed!”
Janine paid a visit to the feast, silently counting battle-ready Wolfkins and taking note of the mood. On the way to her room, she called the bridge, demanding to know about the enemy’s movement. Luckily, the Horde has utterly ignored the smaller convoy, converging their entire forces at Houstad. Elzada offered to split the convoy, sending civilians further south and then along the wall to a relatively safe place, but Janine declined the offer. No, the faster road to safety was through Houstad, and by splitting the convoy, the Horde may surprise them once again.
Bertruda waited for her at the door of her den, dressed in full civilian garb: a white shirt, pants, yellow sash, and a long cape. Her spear or guards were nowhere in sight.
“Sword Saint,” Janine forced herself to be civil. “Either stay with your soldiers or rest and recover. A battle awaits ahead. There is no need to antagonize each other any further.”
“This is precisely why I am here,” Bertruda said, bowing her head. She pointed at the door. “May I?” Janine kept standing. “I understand your rage, truly. And offer no apologies. But know this: the Mountaintop Household will pay for the full restoration of your son. Cloned eyes, legs, everything.”
“Would that be nice,” Janine sighed, leaning against a wall. “Would that be great to trust and view you as an ally again, right as I felt about you when we dueled after defeating the Tecno-Queen. To view you as a friend, as a kindred spirit who walks her own way. But that is not to be. Your kind are deal breakers. Liars. Sand dweller, barbarian…” she spat, angrily remembering the cubs’ words. “…is that what you teach your cubs about us? I will never again trust an Ice Fang.”
“Janine, I will talk with the cubs about their words, but they have tried to save…”
“Not tried. Saved. And for that, I will tell tales of their heroism once I am home. But the problem remains.” With a claw, she drew a line on the metal. “I entrusted my son into the care of your troops, and they spat on that duty while the Wolf Tribe bled to save yours. Do you seriously expect me to believe your kind ever again. Sword Saint, at this point, it is no longer a problem of mistrust between Sword Saints and Warlords. From where I stand, all your people are traitors.” Janine drew another line, stopping Bertruda from speaking. “As for your offer, I am not a rich person, but if needed to be, I will sell my body into slavery just to pay Till Ingo to help my son.”
****
She found herself standing in a dim circle of light, surrounded only by darkness. Confused and curious, she tried to remember who she was. Her look fell on a limb. A hand? No. A paw. With the name came the flood, breaking the damn in the brain and making Kalaisa gasp for air, checking a place where the wound should be. Nothing. Just clean skin and fur. Even her scars, proud medals of her might, disappeared.
Rage. Kalaisa shuddered, finding great brass gates before her vision. She looked around, trying to figure out how she even got into this strange place. A single, dim brazier created a circle of light, pushing back against a darkness that threatened to swallow everything. Even with her enhanced eyesight, she could see nothing but the utter void behind the circle of light.
Someone moved behind the gates, and the wolf hag turned around, ready to protect herself. Steps of something great made the very ground shudder, and a follow-up giggle filled Kalaisa’s head with visions. Twisted limbs. Torn skin. Fresh, wet met pouring down her throat in a stream that stretched into infinity, a feast with no beginning or end. She witnessed paws, her own paws but much larger, struggling against Ashbringer. The warlord ended up being wrangled on the ground, and the creature mounted her.
Kalaisa fantasized about that moment, of course. Of a time when she would beat Ashbringer in one blow, making the warlord bow to her and admit Kalaisa’s superiority before everyone. But what flooded her mind right now was something else. She didn’t care about winning or losing; such concepts lost all meaning to her. Even the ever-present anger took a backseat. She only ever wanted to have fun; desires ranging from kissing Ashbringer to biting her head rushed through the creature’s mind like bullets, changing nonstop.
Ashbringer retaliated, taking advantage of her opponent’s distraction and spearing Kalaisa through. A mortal wound. She felt her stomach and heart leaving her body dangling pointlessly on the claws, which only made the mad beast giggle. And she came down. Tearing away skin. Plucking eyes. Twisting a neck. Rupturing eardrums. Stopping Ashbringer’s bleeding. Opening the jaws. Biting the head off. All the while, giggling and laughter filled the air.
Disgusted at these mere thoughts, Kalaisa recoiled away from the door. Images kept shifting in her eyes. Marco’s torn body. Janine’s broken form. Her own family, taken apart, limb by limb, and rearranged into a throne of flesh and bone, befitting a queen. Horrific scenes of slaughter kept on changing, speeding up as the maddening giggling behind the gates sped up. The creature tapped at the metal, a gentle tap, pleading to be joined and promising a lifetime of never-ending fun.
“No!” Kalaisa roared, pressing her paws to her ears. “I refuse! I will never, ever again hurt my family or my pack! Piss off my head, monster!”
The giggling turned into laughter, echoing from the very darkness and returning to Kalaisa. There was no anger in it; how could the locked creature be angry at Kalaisa? No matter the outcome, it felt fun, adoring each decision made by the stupid girl.
But being locked in here is no fun. It spoke directly into her mind, communicating with words instead of feelings. A time will come when we become one. Or not. Who cares? Get the fuck out of here and have fun, little me.
Kalaisa woke up with a scream and was welcomed back into the real world with a stinging pain, which sent her head straight back on the pillow. Blinking away the tears, the wolf hag touched her snout, finding a broken bone pushing at her skin. Holding the broken nose with both paws, she saw the confused Anissa standing above her.
“What was that for?” Kalaisa demanded to know with a groan.
“You woke up shouting, jaws agape, so I decided you were having a go at me,” Anissa mumbled, furiously rubbing her head. A nurse pushed past her, checking Kalaisa’s nose. “You ok?” The question caused the nurse to look furiously at the wolf hag.
“Feel like shit,” Kalaisa complained. With a loud crack, the nurse fixed the position of her nose. “Thanks, miss! Also…” As the nurse held her back from touching the wound, she looked down. “My blood still refuses to clot. I can feel the wetness. And I am hungry. And I think I wet myself. Yep.” She sniffed the air. “Argh! Like a cub! Anyway, the Abyss are you doing here? I thought you hated me. Wait, how is Marco?!”
“You presume too much.” Anissa leaned on the bed and sighed. “He’ll live. None of your pack showed up to watch over you.”
“Progress,” Kalaisa said gladly, lifting a trembling finger. “Definitely a progress, cause I think I remember how they shielded my body during the big rumble. Before, they would’ve left me to rot. Say, what’s the better way to become a better person?”
“Don’t be a bitch.” Anissa replied.
“Trying that already!” Kalaisa grinned and gasped when the medic started changing the bandage. “Also, you owe me a match, so don’t you dare die, Ani, got it?”
Anissa only sighed and asked, “I am going to grab us something to eat. Ever tried coffee?”
****
“Is something wrong, warlord?” Impatient One asked, halting before leaving Janine’s den as the warlord lifted her paw.
Janine did little to change the room; she just collected the carpets and put them all in a corner, liberating the place from a metal floor. It felt wrong to dirty the gorgeous cloths or ruin the exquisite tapestries with the blood seeping from underneath her bandages. The Taleteller in paw, the warlord got a half-hour’s sleep, awakening reinvigorated and ready for everything.
Immediately after waking up, she checked up on her pack, slightly disappointed to see that Anissa had already visited both the armory and the wounded, finishing not only her duties but Janine’s as well. A feast of sorts awaited Janine before her door: fifteen tubes with nutrient paste, a tasteless but highly condensed dinner. Impatient One joined her, bringing Janine letters to sign. These letters were meant to go directly to the families of the deceased Wolfkins of Eled’s, Predaig’s, Martyshkina’s, Ygrite’s, and finally Janine’s pack, offering condolences and detailing the way in which the soldiers perished.
“Just Janine between us. Sit with me, Yennifer.” Janine pointed at the space on the floor.
The aggression didn’t come even a second late. A kick with fully released claws almost touched the warlord’s eyes, before she grabbed the leg by its ankle, dropping the shaman down, and climbed at the woman, biting her at the neck.
“You dare?! You dare to use that name?!” Impatient One roared, struggling in vain to lift her head.
Janine ignored the pointless struggle, sinking her fangs deeper and deeper, forcing the shaman to re-learn a very important lesson. Skills, knowledge, and determination—all these factors were important in a fight. A clever strike in the eye might win you a fight. A well-timed grab of an enemy’s rib can break a hold. And a correct placement of a pack will allow you to bleed the foe through a never-ceasing hail of shards, weakening him or her before a final strike.
But all of this was useless before the overwhelming power. Pure, raw power, the first and primary goal after which all Wolfkins chase. For without power, you can do nothing and change nothing. She held Yennifer down, blooding her neck, until the petulant girl submitted, accepting the alpha.
“What do you want, mother?” Yennifer asked, accepting a cloth from Janine to wipe out the blood. Already the blood has started clotting, and the edges of her wounds have shifted, straining to close themselves.
“You mentioned making your part.” Janine furrowed her brows. “Elaborate.”
Yennifer locked her eyes with Janine’s, struggling between her duties as a shaman and the main Tribe’s rule. A loser always obeys a winner. One sacred tenet, never disputed by anyone. Through brawls, Wolfkins bonded and learned from each other, earning and losing places in a pack, and keeping the ruling structure from getting stale.
A long sigh left the shaman’s lips. She shifted her posture, no longer looking like a beast ready to jump from an ambush, but sat more relaxed, breathing freely and allowing herself to relax, fully embracing the once rejected role. When she looked at Janine, a familiar warmth appeared in her amber eyes.
“Have you ever wondered why so many motherless curs live in our villages?” Yennifer asked. “As shamans, we cut off all our ties with the family. By giving our names, we ascend above petty notions of personal glory and fully focus on what is truly important, our duty to the tribe and the state. But cutting away so many healthy women.” She shook her head. “It isn’t wise.”
“How many?” Janine demanded to know.
“Along with the ones who died? Ten,” Yennifer replied. “Two litters; the first was… hard. Six live to this day.”
“Congratulations, Yennifer! Where are they?” Janine leaned forward, almost touching her daughter’s nose with her own. Grandchildren! Six of them! Boys or girls, who cares? “Are they healthy? What are their names? When can I see them?”
“Never.” Yennifer raised her paw, stopping Janine’s lunge. “Kill me if you want, mother, but I will never tell you. Upon birth, our cubs are taken away, denying us a chance of leaving even a scent on them. In secret, they are delivered to a random village and raised like everyone else. Don’t worry, they are quite happy with their father.” A hint of a genuine smile appeared on her lips, banished just as quickly as it appeared.
“But… why?” Janine asked, stupefied. “These are cubs! Family! Pack!”
“You dare ask why?” Impatient One rose to her feet, angrily looming over Janine. “Are you truly this oblivious? I should have punished Marco way harder, beat into him proper respect and obedience, but through my disgusting show of nepotism he got hurt.” Impatient One paced back and forth, sniffing and growling. “Do you think it is easy for me? No. But this was my choice, a sacrifice I willingly made, warlord. Shamans are supposed to be beyond reproach, pristine, and free of nepotism. If I struggle now, imagine what would’ve happened if any of my cubs were nearby?”
“What happened with Marco wasn’t your fault, Yennifer,” Janine said sternly.
“Yeah, sure!” Impatient One replied mockingly, sitting back before the warlord and slamming one paw against the iron floor with all her might. “Don’t get me wrong, warlord, I am not berating myself for what Brood Lord did, not that stupid. But the way Marco disobeyed a direct order… No. This right here is my fault.” She tapped her chest with a claw. “Parents all around the tribe barely have enough time to raise their cubs properly. And who can blame any of you? Who would not love holding your…” A shadow ran across her face, and the shaman closed her eyes briefly. “The world is a dangerous place. And unless they are taught, little ones suffer. And if they suffer, it is because we failed them. End of discussion. With your permission, warlord? I have rites to read.”
Janine nodded, allowing the shaman to leave. A stupid, wide grin appeared on her lips. Grandchildren! Not only Bogdan’s but Yennifer’s too! Oh, she is going to find them and make sure they are okay! No scent, she said? Not a problem; a harder task only sharpens the mind.
Picking up the axe, Janine dressed herself, stepping out of her den. At any moment, the sirens would announce their approach to Houstad. A time to fight, struggle, and kill is drawing ever closer.
And she must ensure both the victory and the survival of her troops.