Janine hugged Colt, trying to be as gentle as possible. Her soulmate wasn’t as young as he once was; gray had spread over his receding fur, his once pristine white fangs now had a yellow tint, and his mind played tricks on him, causing the man to misuse words and sometimes mistake Bogdan for Ignacy. But tonight, on this beautiful, sad night, the light she had seen in his eyes when they first went on a scouting mission together had returned, and his arms had returned the embrace.
They looked so strange together, she and he. Janine, a small mound of muscle, had arms as thick as his torso, and her fur shared the color of the night. Colt’s body had become lighter than before, the result of age and various illnesses. His arms thinned, and he could no longer fully wrap around her body; his paws stopped short of her ribs.
“You…” Janine stopped tears, unwilling to put any weight on the male she loved. “You don’t have to do it, Colt. Exile is always an option.” She tried one last time. “We can go together! I’m sure our cubs will follow us!”
“We swore an oath. If you abandon your post, how many will die? Our sisters and brothers, devoid of your strength. Normies, who depend on us… And besides, I don’t want to be a burden or lose myself, Jani.” His forehead pressed against her chest, and her snout rested on the back of his skull. Their breath warmed them for the last time. “Sacrifice only means something if it is voluntary. This is the life I have chosen, and this is the road I will walk until the end.” They broke their embrace, and Janine looked at his wrinkled face, noting the missing upper lip and the countless scars that marred his handsome visage. Colt smiled and took her by the paws. “You and the cubs have made me the happiest male alive on the road, Jani. Even in the darkest night, with you by my side, there was nothing but light. Keep the cubs safe. Ignacy sometimes frightens too easily. Read to him more, but set him straight if you can. I don’t trust his obsession with lifeless things. Anissa is too careless when hunting. Teach her awareness. And Bogdan…”
“Colt,” Janine whispered. “They’ve all grown up by now.” At the confusion in his eyes, she kissed her soulmate, distracting him from the sadness. “I swear to watch over them for as long as I live.”
“Then I have no regrets.” The light returned to his eyes, and he stood up, letting go of her. “Jani, I must not be your last. It may hurt now, but the life must go on. When you are ready, open your heart and be happy again.”
“I’ll… try.”
Janine wanted to grab him and run; she wanted to fall to her knees and beg him not to leave her alone, to tell him she loved him, that she needed him by her side, that their cubs needed him… But this would be a sign of weakness and selfishness to the others who had gathered for a farewell ceremony. Janine watched, putting a paw over her aching heart.
Colt, Colt, dearest Colt. How many times had they mourned, laughed, rejoiced and endured together? She showed him how to buy stuff on the Net, and he taught her how to use the washing machines at the crawler. They learned and shared, loved and grew, fought as one, and their young together. Of her many soulmates, he held a special place in her heart.
Impatient One stepped forward, taking each step across a rocky plain as if she were walking on lava. The shaman-in-training grimaced, blinking something wet out of her eyes, and waved Soulless One away, insisting on performing this gruesome task herself. She quickly mounted a chitin mask, hiding her face, and raised a trembling paw, touching her father’s shoulder.
“It won’t hurt… Colt.” A whisper escaped her lips.
The old Wolfkin sized her up, smiled warmly, and grabbed the shaman by the wrist.
“Yennifer? Is that you, girl? Sorry, I couldn’t find those treats,” he said in an apologetic tone, “but I’ll try tomorrow! Surely someone on the base has some chocolate…”
“It’s fine, Colt,” Impatient One scooped her father into her arms and held him gently as if he were a cub. “Everything is all right. You have been a splendid father to your cubs. And still are! You’ve found that sweet baton. It was pleasant. I lov… Thank you. The Spirits love you, male.”
Impatient One carried the old man to the hut, followed by the shamans, who each led a gray-furred wolfkin by a paw or carried one in their paws like Impatient One. Some sang hymns and prayers, trying to calm the shaken elders. Others simply chatted with those on the last path, abandoning dignity and engaging in friendly banter to give their flock a measure of relief before the end. Male or female, it mattered not. The shamans treated every elderly Wolfkin gently, asking them if they had any last wishes. At the regret of not seeing the family, a shaman used a terminal to record the Wolfkin's words, swearing to deliver the video to the family. Those who were hungry received milk, honey, and the best meat that the shamans could get. Even a simple desire for a hug was fulfilled.
Colt had a single wish, and Impatient One granted it by removing her mask and whispering in his ear.
“Duty is all,” Lacerated One stepped outside and approached the Wolfkins sentenced to the culling. Her blood, blessed by the Spirits, dripped from many self-inflicted torn wounds, and it helped even the most hunched person to straighten their shoulders and breathe easily. The clarity of mind returned once more, awakened by the touch of the divine. “Sacrifice is all. Know that you have walked your life’s path with excellence. No one will ever dare to shame you! My kin, I ask you as a sister in blood. Have you come willingly? Do you have any fears? If yes, voice them and be exiled.” Lacerated One studied the faces, shocked at the suggestion, and saw them harden with resolve. “I understand. Should you change your decision, say it at any time, my kin. Blessed be.”
Exiles were rare. The tribe viewed this as either shameful or unthinkable. Exile meant transitioning from the tribe’s laws to the state’s laws and leaving the tribe’s lands to live among the Normies. So far, only three seniors have asked to be exiled and spent their last days in nursing homes run by the Reclamation Army, occasionally speaking with their families via video feed and slowly losing more and more of their personalities as age took hold. One even returned and begged to be culled, afraid of forgetting everything forever. Against all traditions, Soulless One granted the outsider’s request and was punished for it later.
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Every Culling Lacerated One asked the same question, as if desperate to keep her kin from death. But old traditions die hard, and there was a reason for their existence. Twice the tribe had nearly faced extinction because of their efforts to prioritize the sick and elderly over the healthy, a decision their enemies had exploited in full. They had no right to subject the Reclamation Army to the same risk by forbidding culling, even if the government had offered their aid. Strong to the end, until the day comes when the world is reunited and the tribe no longer needs to kill. Whether she liked it or not, Lacerated One had to uphold the laws.
No one asked to be exiled tonight. Even knowing what awaited them in the hut, no female or male backed down. They stay true to their beliefs and traditions to the end. A line was formed, and fifty shamans entered the hut one by one to perform the honor killing. The elders’ friends and families gathered around, howling wailingly when a shaman carried their kin inside.
Please, Sprits. Take my life, take my life essence, and give it to my soulmate and our cubs. Janine’s eyes focused on the trembling Impatient One, who walked toward the hut under the hawkish gaze of Soulless One. Another test. Fail it, and the name will be returned. Pass it and take another step into the ranks of a shaman. There was sobbing, and Soulless One took a female from another shaman, kindly addressing the failed initiate by her name, convincing her that there was no shame and that the burden of shamanic duty was not for everyone. Impatient One persisted, gritting her teeth. Please make him young again. Please. Haven’t I served enough? Haven’t I given enough? Please, just one wish. Take from me and give to them. Put me in his place and let him live.
There was no answer, but she never expected one. Sacrifice was their lot and the price they paid for the abundance of gifts that the Spirits deemed fit to bestow upon them. And now Colt was sacrificing himself to take the load off the Tribe. The moment Impatient One stepped inside the hut, Janine let out her strongest howl yet, sending her grief and love to the white disk of the moon and the numerous stars that dotted the sky above.
All our sacrifices. They mean something in the end... right? Janine craned her head, sensing a familiar presence. Ravager stood against the moon disk, so far away that her face was unreadable. Speak to me, Blessed Mother, Spirits. Our lost friends, cubs, and those of our kin we kill in domination, and these cullings we do to stay strong and mighty… Tell me it wasn’t for nothing.
****
Janine rolled out of bed, sweating and rubbing her eyes. The warlord shook her head, banishing the dream, and glanced around her room. A black beret lay on a table close to a mirror. During the study, Marco fell asleep, and Impatient One carried him away. Empty beer cans in a corner—the remnants of her and Martyshkina’s somber party. Glasses were scattered on the table, all in need of cleaning. The memorial stone, covered by engravings of her entire family, gave off a pleasant scent of Colt and her missing soulmates and children. A whiff of that scent gave her strength. There were also wooden figurines, toys made by her long-dead daughter. Janine kept some and sent most of them to her great-grandchildren in remembrance.
The warlord picked up cans and trash from the floor and tossed them into a small opening in a wall that led to a recycling area. Waste was not a thing on any crawler. Rotten food was reused as fuel or turned into a healthy and safe nutrient paste; broken equipment was repaired; and even dead bodies lost their organs to save the stubborn living who refused prosthetic replacements.
She pushed aside a wardrobe to reveal a poster of her smiling family attending a fair to buy new pants for Marco. Even Impatient One forced a smile as her brothers poked their heads through a special wooden cutout depicting a pair of giant roosters. No one really knew who these animals were, but Ignacy and Bogdan looked so hilarious that Janine later asked a Normie to enlarge the photo to make a poster. She hid it from her officers, but the sight of her family helped ease their worries.
In the closet was a small bowl filled with photos. She and Marty and their friends, the Loser Pack, as Terrific’s sharp tongue called them. For the most part, they weren’t filming themselves triumphantly over trophies. No, these pictures were of them doing stupid shit, getting drunk, stargazing, smoking—a habit she had to spend years getting rid of later. There were they jumping in quicksand or rummaging through toxic cannisters in search of a laser pistol or something that could be exchanged for tokens to buy a pack of playing cards.
Someone was missing in every photo. Sometimes it was Janine, Marty, or another member of their pack, because they didn’t know how to set up a delayed photo in those days. So many of their friends were left in the past, killed or culled. Seeing them in their offspring was a mixture of distraught and comfort. Distraught, because it reminded her of Marty’s mortality and because she missed their silly antics and voices. Comfort, since it reminded her that life moved on and things did turn for the best.
Longevity was a wondrous gift and a potential trap for the unprepared mind. It provided you with countless opportunities to do so many things, but it also threatened to poison your soul by caressing wrongs, inflating them over time, and trying to blow them out of proportion. Death and loss are a natural part of life. It is foolish to believe that your friends and family will live forever. The pain of losing them should not overshadow the fact that they lived full lives and gave birth to many cubs. It is the duty of those who remain to fight on, to build a better world for the generation younger.
Shrugging off her melancholy, she came to the mirror and spread her pelt to examine the spot where Ravager had pierced her body. Nothing remained but tanned, rough skin; even the scar itself was gone. Curious. Yesterday, there had been a pale, thin line. Janine had heard rumors about the healing powers of Ravager’s drool, but she had never given them much thought.
I wonder if it’s possible to convince the Blessed Mother to donate some spits... She’ll probably beat me up, but it’s worth a try if it can save lives. Yes. Enough moping. Duty time.
Janine checked if the scar Blood Graf had given her was still there and then examined the implants. By all rights, these were the things of the past—brutal devices reinvented in the post-Extinction world that connected her nerves to the power armor, allowing her to react faster and use the suit like a second skin. Compared to today’s sleek implants, they were torture devices; their sockets protruded like festering pimples, the edges of her skin around the steel had turned white from necrosis, and the once shiny metal had rusted a bit. But Janine had decided never to replace them, for to do so would be to remove the last traces of her boy from this world.
So she grabbed instruments and medical gel and began to clean the implants and apply medicine to the surrounding skin, according to Maxence’s prescriptions. It was amazing how the man changed after getting enough rest. The good doctor even put on weight!
“I am okay,” Janine promised her reflection.
Life was strange. She offered Colt to leave the army and take him and the family to the Core Lands, but he refused. Yet here they were, traveling to a place where she dared hope some of her offspring would choose to go on their own. Perhaps it was a cruel joke of fate, but if by chance her boys or girls like it here and ask to stay at the cost of exile… what a day it could be! Does she have the right to nudge them a little…
An alarm roar sent a jolt of electricity through her body, and Janine grasped the Taleteller, barging from the doors. The two Wolfkins assigned to guard her in the absence of the shamans followed her, eagerly releasing and retracting their claws. Red flashes lit up the corridor, and a special sequence that arrived on her terminal informed Janine that she was urgently needed in the launch bay.