by @Dark WindOf Oaths And War
A Year Before The Northern Rebellion
The last of the seasonâs leaves swirled around the Black Tree in a dying marigold trail. Marik watched their gentle dance, fragile as it was, peak as a fallen and broken circle ringing âround the oldest bark of the north. He looked over the numerous shoulders in front of him to catch the last light of day falling behind the clouding horizon. A quiet breeze rolled in. He shivered. The taste of the coming winter stabbed his tongue. It was going to be cold, he thought, very cold.
His commander â the commander of all the men gathered there upon the White Peak â stood tall with his back to them. The white wolf fur at the neck of his cloak brushed against the wind. There was a presence there, important and distinct. Marik knew himself to be of greater height, yet each time he watched the older man he always felt he was looking up a steep slope. Every man present remained quiet and watchful. The man turned to face them with his cloak billowing in the wind behind them. âThis place,â he began, placing his hand upon the raised, eternally frozen stone that sat beneath the tree, âthis place has stood since before my time, defended by the men, the fearsome wolves who have come before us and built our kingdom by the blood⊠by the blood on their fangs.â He traced his gloved hand over the stone carefully navigating the ridges of ancient markings, the markings Marik had long since been taught and knew by heart: mother, elder, and younger. âThey say the ice of this stone has never melted. They say that itâs this ice that makes our bond as a pack. It shall never diminish. Not by sun, not by time, and not even by the strike of a sword, this ice shall never shatter, nor the stone beneath it.â He continued to speak, but a sudden elbow jab at Marikâs side distracted him from the speech.
âWhat is it Gael?â He turned to his youthful and restless friend, making sure his voice was a soft whisper.
âDo you really think that ice has never melted?â
âIâve never seen it gone, so thereâs that.â
âYes, but how could anyone know? Itâs not like they come up here every single day.â
âThe Brothers of the Wolf do, they come here to pray.â
âAnd what if theyâre lying?â
The commanderâs head tilted their way, a momentary silence following. Then, he began again.
âYouâll have us both beaten bloody if you donât shut your damned mouth. I donât think it matters if theyâre lying or not, this is ceremony. And besides, the commander has seen more winters than either of us put together. I think heâd know.â
âMotherâs tit. Thatâs what I say to that. If weâre to be the youngest Fangs sworn in by the oath, Iâd like to know the whole truths.â
âYou there,â the commanderâs tone made Marik flinch, âhave something to say do yaâ?â
âDonât be an idiot.â Marik said under his breath.
Gael stepped out of rank. âI do, in fact. Iâve got lots to say. Why is it youâve got us swearing the oath so soon? Twenty two winters is what the law says, yet the lot of us have only seen eighteen.â
It was a question Marik pondered upon himself. He wondered if they were special, if he was special, and that his talents and this group of menâs talents were a testament of greatness compared to the wolves that had come before them in recorded history. However, that answer rang hollow. The truth of the matter tasted bitter.
âCode is only broken when the greater words speak, and the Elder has spoken.â The commander said. âDoes that satisfy your ever-hungry thirst for knowledge, Gael? Perhaps youâd like to know how to properly handle your sword, it might help you amongst the women.â A few chuckles sprang out amongst the men.
Marik hoped thatâd quiet his friend down, but he knew better. âAs a matter of fact it donât, commander. You say that stone never melts. I say thatâs a load of shit, and I can prove it with my sword, of which I know how to use quite well. Ainât never seen ice that didnât break under a good hit. Maybe itâs youâre getting a little too old to do it yourself.â
The old man sported a satisfied grin, quietly muttering. âThereâs always one isnât there?â An officer next to him nodded with a knowing smile. âSo be it. Come on up and take a shot. It canât hurt to be sure.â
âNow that wasnât so hard, was it?â Gael lazily strutted to the front of the gathered men, walking right under the tree by the frozen stone. He unsheathed his blade. âIâll make this quick.â The blade went up. âYouâll have to buy me a pint after this commââ the sword came down, and a deafening crack rippled through the air in time with a pale blue flash of light. Gaelâs body flew through the air and smacked into the Black Tree. He grunted, slowly dragging himself up to his feet. For a brief moment there was shock amongst their band, but before long they laughed.
âWell, at least youâre in better shape than your sword.â They roared louder at the commanderâs comment, and he was right. Gaelâs sword lay in pieces on the ground. âNow get back into rank, the ceremony is to begin without delay.â
Gael nodded, shaking off his blurry sight, unsteadily making his way back to Marik. He could see the subtle form of a grin on Marikâs face. âDonât you fuckinâ laugh or Iâll knock the shit out of yaâ.â
âIâm not sure you could land the punch, youâre staggering more than a drunken barmaid.â
Gael looked at Marik, but then slowly grinned. âElderâs cock, did you see that? That was bloody magic, thatâs what that was.â
âShouldâve listened to me. Couldâve saved you the pain.â
âYou knew, didnât you, you son of a bitch.â
Marik shook his head. âI only trust in the Mother. My faith is with the pack.â
âOld Wolf be damned, that was a hell of a sight.â
âHm, it was.â
âHe never quite answered my first question though. Why is it you think weâre taking the oath now?â
Marik sighed. âReally want to know?â
âDonât play coy you ass, you know I do.â
âUnrest.â
âUnrest? Is that all you got to say?â
Unrest indeed, if the rumors were true. Word spread from the southern villages of starved farmers and other peasants. Marikâd heard farmers were saying the wolves had horded and stole food, or the taxes were too high. All blame eventually fell on the Lunar Keep and itâs fabled Lunar Fangs resting atop the White Peak.
âI heard it there was a small uprising in a fishermanâs town. A few soldiers killed. They came back and it was a massacre.â
âIâm calling a ball of shit on that. Donât sound like truth to me. The people love us.â
Perhaps they did, once. âJust telling you what Iâve heard. You can take it for what you want.â
âWell I told you what Iâm taking it for, a bunch of shit.â
âFine by me, it makes no difference. If food is short when the cold comes, thingsâll change. Thatâs why weâre swearing the oath now, they need more men.â
âMore men for what?â
âFor war, friend, for war.â
Marik and Gael said nothing more to each other. The commander lit two standing torches on either side of the frozen stone and stepped behind it. A brother of the wolf stood by his side, the priest wearing standard uniform consisting of a full cloak made with a brown wolf pelt; the three markings of Mother, Elder, and Younger sewn across the front. His hair was shaven except down the middle. As for what he carried, there were two bags. One was filled with necklaces, and the other with wolf fangs. The only thing Marik remembered of the priest was that he looked grim.
âLine up before the stone, my brothers. Here, on the highest peak under the cold touch of our Mother, you shall become wolves.â The commander spoke and his men listened. âHere, the Elder shall look down upon you and smile with bared fangs, knowing, knowing that you are on the path. Not his path, but of your own, forged by your own hand, your own blade.â He swept his cloakâs cape to the side, revealing his scabbard. With a swift motion, the commander unsheathed his sword. âCome, my brothers, one by one you shall bend the knee and swear the oath. Then, you shall rise again, reborn as one of the night and you will fear no darkness for you will become what men fear when the sun is gone.â
The oath takers cried out their approval, and only Marik did not join them. In front of him, he watched his fellow brothers-to-be step forward before the stone and kneel. They proclaimed their loyalty and swore the oath, rising before the commander and the priest so the priest could endow them with the symbol of their status as a wolf amongst the Lunar Fangs. When Gael finished and rose to his knee, Marik could see his friend smiling over at him with immense pride. At last, Marikâs turn had come.
He stepped forward and knelt. The commander held his sword double-handed, close to his chest. With a sense of grave importance, he spoke. âMarik of Sorg, son of Meridia and Lorik, you have come forth to follow the wolfâs path with the Youngerâs ferocity, the Elderâs watch, and the Motherâs protection. Speak the vow, and the light of the moon will guide your way.â
Marik breathed in. The silence broke only by the soft howling of the coming winds. He closed his eyes and hung his head. âFor Motherâs kindness I shall honor her as a loyal son. For the Elderâs wisdom I shall heed his call, and for the Youngerâs spirit I will forge my path through the worthiness of my own fangs.â He raised his head and opened his eyes. âUnder the light of the moon I will run with the pack unyielding, no matter what beast or man, I will not abandon my brothers. The darkness will fear my blade as I bring the stab of truth and light. I swear my life now, to the pack, for I am not just a man, but a wolf⊠a wolf bound to Motherâs justice and the peace of all, a binding that I will carry forevermore in life and in death on the White Tundra beyond.â He finished the words heâd remembered as a child, dreaming to be a part of the fabled band of men, the heroes of yore. It did not feel as good as he had hoped.
The commander laid his sword on Marikâs shoulders and his head with deliberately slow motions. âRise, Marik of Sorg, as a true wolf.â
Marik did so, and the priest took the commanderâs place in front of him. The priest took one of the necklaces and placed it over Marikâs head. Slowly, he strung three wolf fangs onto it. âBy the Youngerâs spirit, you are imbued with power. By the Elderâs wisdom, you are imbued with vision. And, by the Motherâs kindness you are imbued with just cause.â He said. âYour bond however, is greater than mere words can offer. It is a bond of blood. Hold out your hand.â Marik did so, and the commander gave the priest his sword. Unlike the other men, Marik did not flinch when the sharp tip cut his palm. The priest purposefully smudged the blood over his hand, and then lifted Marikâs hand until he felt the heat of it over his own face. Just like the others, when he removed his palm, his bloody print marked his face. âAnd now, you are born anew.â
Roars of approval came from the men. Gael welcomed Marik with a tight embrace, smiling. âWeâre Fangs now, brother, can you believe it?â
Marik found he couldnât return that joy. He watched as the last few men swore their oaths. This was what heâd wanted since he was a boy, yet he didnât feel pride or warmth. Instead, he looked out at the vast range of Northern mountains. The only thing he could feel was the cold, and he remembered then, that he thought itâd only be colder soon.
Young As Old
Five Years Into The Northern Rebellion
It was just three years prior heâd seen the commander limp, and bloody as the poor man face down on the mud-stained snow in front of him. Wasnât a wolf, but it didnât make much difference. A corpse was a corpse. Luckily for this man, itâd been quick. An arrow right through the throat; couldnât have stayed alive very long. The commander went out screaming in agony, so much so he remembered drawing his sword to slit the commanderâs throat.
The village around Marik burned as he sat there on a lonely rock. He rested as one of the buildings collapsed in a heap under the tireless assault of the flames. His blade lay at his feet, soaked in crimson. Several corpses littered the ground, either cut by the blade, shot down, or trampled by horses. Marik wiped the sweat off of his brow before he heard the yell.
âWatch out!â
His head jolted to the side, seeing a forgotten man coming towards him with a rusted battle-axe. Heâd be dead if it werenât for the sudden strike of an arrow impacting the rebelâs chest. His would be assassin crumpled to the ground in a pained groan, followed by an all too familiar gurgling death rattle. Marik slumped back down onto his rock in relief.
Gael came running up to him. âLucky son of a bitch, if it werenât for me youâd be dead right now.â
âAye, that was a good shot.â
âWasnât it, though? See youâre admiring another of my works.â He pointed to the dead man with the arrow in his throat.
âShouldâve known that was you.â
âYeah, shouldâve, and you shouldâve been standinâ rather than cockinâ around on a field of battle.â
âWas he the last?â
âThink so, fuckers didnât stand a chance did they? Was good to come here under the cover of dark.â
âSurprised the new commander listened to me.â Marik looked around, noticing the darkness was beginning to lift with the sun slowly beginning to rise. Theyâd travelled in this direction under the advisement there were rebels hidden here storing weapons. Most were tired, but Marik believed it was best to hit a sleeping beast rather than a woken one.
âHeâd of been a fool not to. The boys respect yaâ more than him.â
âWhere is he anyway?â
âLittle ways past the village I think, there was a runner amongst âem, a deserter if I heard right.â
âDeserter?â
âCouldnât believe it either, what bastard could spit on our oath? I want to see him for myself and let him know why they call me Quickshot. Put two right into that fuckerâs eyes, and maybe one in his cock. Thatâll serve him right.â
Marik laughed without humor. âSo this is WindwoodâŠâ He uttered the name of the small lakeside village. The trees around them were adorned in soft white, and the lake had a thick sheen of ice atop it.
âThought itâd be nicer, myself. Looks like shit to me. Nothing can beat the city of Lunaris Point, nothing.â
Marik said nothing, he actually thought Windwood would be a nice place to live with the dawning sun glittering over the ice. He pulled his cloak further over him to stay warm before standing up and retrieving his sword from the ground. âLooks like theyâve got the deserter.â He nodded in the direction of the returning men and the single chained man lead at the vanguard.
âIs that? No, it fuckinâ canât beâŠâ
âWhat?â
But, Gael didnât listen, his jaw agape wandering forward to catch a better look. âIt is, I donât believe it, thatâs Aurin. Motherâs tit, thatâs Aurin right there.â
Marik perked up at the name. Aurin of Heltemot, The Black Malice, Wielder of the Black Sword, The Great Wolf. He went by Gaelâs side to watch. âCanât be him, youâre imagining things.â
âSwear to Mother, Iâm not. Thatâs him alright, only him wears a cloak as dark as that.â
âI donât see a black sword on him.â But just as he said it, Aurin was shoved to his knees, and his swordâblack as the midnight skyâtossed in front of him unceremoniously.
The new commander rounded up to the front and emptied a bag of things beside the deserter. A mandolin, a doll, and a piece of cloth with a scene stitched onto it Marik couldnât make out. Aurin grimaced when the instrument fell hard on the ground, though it seemed the snow padded its descent.
Aurin was a favorite topic amongst bards throughout the north, and his tales of heroism in the War of Northern Independence and The Northern Rebellion were legendary. He was perhaps the most famous of all figures that Marikâd ever read about, and the reason he became a Fang. The legend had to be over forty winters old at this point, and the wrinkles of the manâs face spoke that truth. But, Marik thought heâd see more if he had the chance to meet the man, see an essence of greatness, a glowing aura like the stories always said. Instead, the man just looked tired.
Gael and Marik shared a look of silent awe. The new commander hopped off of his horse and stood over Aurin.
âTo find our Kingdomâs greatest hero here isâŠâ He couldnât find the right words. âLiving amongst rebels and, and helping them fight against his own kin.â The new commander wore a grave look on his face. âIâve no happy words for this.â
Aurin scoffed. âThen donât try to find them, there are none.â
âTraitor.â The new commander tasted the word. To Marik and Gael, the sound was harsh, unkind. Many of the men around seemed equally troubled as they were that the greatest of their pack had betrayed them. âWhy?â
âA wolf bound to Motherâs justice and peace for all.â
âWhat was that?â
âYouâre a cunt, and Iâve got no need answering to you or anyone else.â
It seemed that answer made the legend easier to hate for a few of the men, even Gael had forgotten his reverence. âBleedinâ son of a whore, who does he think he is talkinâ to us like that. Filthy traitor.â He spat on the ground. âI say we cut his head here and be done with it.â
The new commander held up his hand. âNo.â
âNo? You heard him, sir, thereâs no talking to thisââ
âYou heard me, Quickshot.â
Aurin chuckled. âCan he shoot an arrow as fast as his tongue speaks?â
âYou shut yourââ
âGael!â
Gael quieted down, though mumbled in discontent to himself.
âWe are bound by our oath and the code. A traitor is to be taken back to the Black Tree, and executed upon the frozen stone.â He paused and looked around. âSo? Is there anyone here who volunteers for the task?â
When none answered, Marik stepped forward. âIâll do it, sir.â
âGood man, youâre more wolf than most.â
Marik nodded in thanks. âShall I take his stuff with me?â He motioned towards the things the new commander dumped onto the ground.
âEven if he is a traitor and a deserter, one final kindness seems in order for a hero. You have my permission.â
âYes, sir.â Marik gathered the items and put them back into the bag before going to his horse and tying them on.
âIâll go with him.â Gael cut in.
âI have need of you on the front, Quickshot.â
âYes, but, Iâve been Marikâs friends for years and heâd be dead without me looking after his ass today.â He grinned over at Marik. âSay Aurin escapes and kills him, youâll have lost a good soldier and gained a powerful enemy.â
âHmm, yes, I suppose youâre right. Very well, you may go. I expect you back when this is all finished.â
âWe will be, commander.â
The new commander gathered the troops while Marik and Gael took a third horse for their prisoner.
âWant to see him dead as I do, donât yaâ?â Gael asked.
Marik grabbed the reins of his horse and the other. âJust following the code, Gael, thatâs it. A deserter cannot enter into the White Tundra, and only his blood can cleanse him of his wrongdoing.â
âDonât tell me you like this bastard or feel bad for him.â
âNo. But neither of us would be here if it werenât for his stories.â
Gael kept quiet after that, and Marik gathered Aurin to his feet to lead him to the horse.
âI donât suppose you can take these chains off of me?â
âGet on, Iâll help you up.â
âWorth a try.â Aurin smiled, but Marik didnât see any emotion in his eyes. He helped him up on the horse and the three of them began to trot along. The fires of the late nightâs battle had died off. Nothing but burnt wood and black smoke floated into the morning sky.
This would be a nice place to live, Marik still thought.
On The Wolfâs Path
Two Months After Windwood
The path was long, and the path was cold. Winter had become increasingly harsh and unforgiving during their trip. Marik couldnât see a thing in front of him as blizzard conditions engulfed them in a white walled haze of falling snow. Heâd donned his heavy cloak and the only reason he hadnât lost Gael or Aurin was because of the rope ties keeping them together, that and Aurinâs black cloak. The wind howled around him as they cut through a mountain pass, and the bite of the gusts were such that not even his gloves could protect his hands from the stabbing flurry.
âElderâs cock, Marik! We have to get out of this bloody cold, I canât see a fuckinâ thing.â
âHeâs right, you know.â
âI wasnât talking to you, so keep your mouth shut.â
â As you wish, my lord.â
âDonât call me, my lord.â
âWould you rather me call you⊠my queen? A little ugly to be a woman, but if these are your wishes.â
âYou basâlet me cut the fucker now, Marik. At least let me beat on him awhile.â
Despite himself, Marik nearly found himself laughing in the cold. But, the crackling of his hand and the difficulty to bend his finger told him they needed to find shelter or die.
âNo, youâre right, youâre both right. We need to get out of the storm. Has to be a cave somewhere on this pass.â
âThere is.â The traitor said. âWeâre not far from it either if my count is right.â
âYour count? What, you been countinâ the steps the horses have taken?â
âI have.â
âHow much longer, Aurin?â Marik asked.
âIâd say a little over two hundred.â
âLoad of shit.â
âYouâll see, should be on the right.â
Two hundred steps and then some later, Marik could make out the mouth of a cave on his right hand side. He was surprised and thankful to see it, but Gael had far more trouble when it came to believing.
âFuck me, thatâs⊠You sure weâre not carrying around some wizard or whatever the ploughinâ shit they call âem?â
âThatâs not how magic works.â
âYou hear him, Marik? Not how magic works, he says. Heâs a damned wizard, we oughtaâ toss him off and leave.â
âIf he could do magic and get out of his bindings, donât you think heâd have done it a long time before this when one of us wasnât looking?â
âI stillââ
âEnough, get inside.â
The caravan of three went into the cave. Marik found a suitable rock to post the horses to. But, venturing too far into the cave there was darkness and no light. So, he had Gael fetch sticks and whatever wood he could find for a fire. Aurin sat on the ground with his back against the wall, remaining quiet.
âYou donât know how to perform magic, do you?â Marik asked.
Aurin found the question funny. âAfraid Iâll make these bonds disappear? Fret not, young Marik, I am but a man.â
âThere are men who can do it.â
âYes, women too. I knew a rather talented sorceress once, I think if she wanted she could have done magic as strong as the kind done to the frozen stone.â
âReally? Who was she?â
â⊠Just some old hag who lived alone in one of the many woods around here.â
âIs she still alive?â
Aurinâs chains rattled as he fiddled with his hands behind his back. âNo, she died a few years ago.â
âOh.â
âYou sound disappointed.â
âIâve never seen magic, well, except once.â
âYouâve got me sitting in suspense.â
âIt was Gael. Not him doing it, but he caused it. Broke his sword trying to crack the stone.â
Aurin laughed. âAnd a great flash of light sent him flying, did it?â
âYes, howâd you know?â
âHad an idiot friend just like yours.â
âHeâs not an idiot.â
âNo offense was meant, you can lower your guard.â
âWould you lower your guard on yourself?â
âHm. No, I suppose not.â
Marik sat on the opposite wall, watching Aurin with care. âHeâs deadly, you know. Can shoot an arrow quicker than a man can say a word, and accurate too.â
âYes, yes, Quickshot they called him, and Iâm the Black Malice and a host of other names that mean nothing. You should be happy you donât have one, Marik.â
âWhyâs that? Theyâre terms of respect for heroic deeds.â
âHeroic are they?â Aurin looked him in the eyes. âI rather think youâve done your duty as a wolf well, Marik, for you have no name that Iâve heard.â
Marik didnât answer as Gael returned to the cave carrying a bundle of sticks and even more in a sack on his back. He also threw down a rabbit.
âWhereâd you get that?â
âGot lucky, saw it running into the storm right in front of me. So I took a shot, blind as I was. Probably not much meat, but itâs better than the shit rations they give us.â
Marik helped Gael light the fire, and the two of them started cutting off the skin and roasting the meat over the flame. When it was done, Marik cut the meat into a fair and even amount for the three of them.
âHey, why should he get the same as us? I killed the damn thing.â
Rather than argue, he simply gave Gael more.
âThatâs better. Stick for our own, not traitors.â
Marik tried to hand Aurin the meat, but the traitor rattled his chains. âBit difficult to eat with my hands behind my back. Could always take these off, though, I donât mean any harm.â
âMotherâs tit you donât, donât listen to him.â
âIâm not stupid, Gael. Howâs this, Iâll feed it to you.â
âCanât just bind me so my hands are in front of me?â
âYouâre a war legend for a reason, I wonât be tricked.â
âFine, so be it.â
Marik fed him the meat before sitting back down to enjoy his own, the three sitting there by the light of the fire while the storm continued to rage outside. After a while, Marik went to inspecting his sword and their rations for the journey ahead. Gael looked at his bow before putting it down.
âWhy did you desert us?â He said to Aurin. Gael had asked Marik this question hundreds of times on their journey here, and each time Marik told him he didnât know nor did he have any theories as to why. âYou swore an oath, to all of us. We may not have been old enough to see you make it when you did, but you were making it to us just the same.â
âOaths come and go, made and broken, again and again. Lived long enough to know that.â
âAnswer me yaâ bastard.â
âMy reasons are my own.â
Gael grunted in disgust. âNo reasoninâ with a traitor. Iâm goinâ to bed.â
Hours later, Gael lay asleep curled up by the fire under his cloak.
âYou awake, Marik?â
âOne of us has to be watching you.â
âWould you mind bringing that bag over to me?â
Marik felt too tired to argue, so he did it, bringing the bag over. But first, he looked over the things inside, taking note of the piece of cloth. A violet floral pattern encircled an old looking wolf howling by a black tree.
âWhere did you get these things?â Marik handed the cloth over, and the doll as well, laying them on the floor so Aurin could see them.
âOn my many travels.â Aurin seemed to linger on the cloth. âAre you familiar with the tale of the Elder and the Mother, the tale of the stone?â
Marik shook his head.
âI didnât think you would, itâs not a tale they tell much anymore. As it goes, the Old Wolf and the Mother were lovers bound by fate. Their passion was without equal and it had no conditions. Their world was before ours, much, much before, during a time of chaos. It was they who created the north and the landmarks we know here. Old magic, the strongest sort. At least, thatâs if you believe the old stories. It was a sort of paradise theyâd made for each other. But it was lonely, just the two of them. So, they molded the beginnings of us, and they also had a son. The Younger. There were no hard winters then, just the soft fall of gentle snow and the glow of the sun on crystalline waters⊠the vibrant bloom of flowers.â
âSounds like the beyond.â
âYes, but it was better. None went hungry, and there were no wars.â
âWhat happened?â
âThe Younger fell off his path, and lost his way. He found a lover, but the fateful pull of a hunter whom thought he had hit a deer robbed her of him. The Younger discovered the feeling of hatred, and revenge. He killed humans, and the blood tainted his fangs until the lust for it overtook him. Men fought against wolf, and all the Motherâs children were dying. The Old Wolf, the Elder as heâs called now, did what he could do to quell the fears of men. He swore an oath no father should have to take. To kill his own son.â
âGo on.â Marik said, enraptured.
âHe met his son upon the highest peak of our lands. The White Peak. They fought for endless hours, ripping and tearing. The Elder didnât have the heart to kill his own son, but when he saw the hate in his eyes he knew the Younger was lost and in a pain worse than dying. It was with mercy he struck the killing blow, ripping out his throat. And the Mother, the grief was far too much. She promised to watch over all as a guiding hand from beyond, and she passed on, taking the form of a black tree. And the Old Wolf made yet again, an oath no mortal could have done. His love was so much that he promised to remain attached to this realm until the Youngerâs spirit was back on the path and they could both join her on the Tundra beyond. Thatâs him, howling in grief on this cloth, right before he became the frozen stone.â
Marik sat quietly, wondering over the story. It was the greatest tale of the Mother, Elder, and Younger heâd ever heard. He couldnât find any strength to call Aurin a liar, for the words he had spoken sounded true. Great, and terrible. The saddest story heâd ever heard.
âDo you think the Elder is still with us, waiting to be free⊠After all this time?â
âItâs not for me to tell you what to believe, thatâs just whatâs on the cloth. You wanted to know what it was.â
Neither of them knew it then, but Gael was awake, his eyes open as had turned at some point away from the fire, just looking at one of the walls. He had heard the entire story.
âYour friend,â Marik started after the long silence, âthe idiot. What happened to him?â
âHe died.â
Marik glanced over at Gael and he frowned. He said no more and went to sleep when Gaelâs turn to take watch came. A few hours later, the sun had risen and the storm had lifted. The three were out on the road again, and Gael didnât seem to be in the mood to insult Aurin as he usually was. Back on the path between mountains, their horses trotted through the snow until the party reached the end coming towards the entrance of a forest.
The three wandered through, and despite the clear sky, Marik didnât feel right. There were no birds singing, the wind was not blowing. An unusual winter day.
âMarik, watch out!â Gael cried.
A battle-axe flew through the air right past his face, embedding itself into the trunk of a tree. The horses kicked up and whinnied frantically. Marik nearly was thrown off. He regained balance, and hopped off of his horse, drawing his blade. The man whoâd thrown the axe drew a horn.
âShoot him!â Marik yelled.
Gael drew an arrow and released it. The man was dead instantly, but he was too late. That horn was blown, and they could hear the sound of other men nearby.
âFuck, fuck, fuck! Should we run?â
âNo, thereâs too many, I can see them.â
There was a dozen, at least. Rebels armed and thirsty for a kill. Not even Gael had enough arrows to shoot them all down.
âElderâs cock, Motherâs tit⊠Youngerâs⊠shit, I donât fuckinâ know!â
âI think you might want to consider unshackling me this time around.â Aurin chimed in.
Gael and Marik looked at him at the same time. The charging band of ruthless rebels came closer.
âYou might want to consider faster.â
There wasnât a worse time for Gael not to have an answer for Marik as the two debated silently between eachother, looking back and forth between their coming death and the oddly calm deserter on the horse.
âFuck it!â Marik said. He went over to Aurin and unbound him. Right after he fetched Aurinâs sword that heâd kept, pulling out the black blade and handing it to him.
Aurin jumped off the horse and joined them in waiting for the rebels. They were almost there. Gael and Marik still watched him.
âYou might want to shoot them, Quickshot. Iâd rather not fight them all once theyâre here. Iâm not about to kill you.â
Gael went into action, drawing and killing two men immediately with blinding speed. A third and a fourth came not much long after. Rather than use his sword, Gael backed away so he could hit the rebels from a distance without hitting Aurin or Marik.
Aurin jumped into battle first. Marik had never seen anything like it. He may have joined the Fangs because of the legends, but he always thought they were embellished a little too much. Some called Aurin a demon on the battlefield. A whirlwind of chaos, rage, and hate. The look he saw in Aurinâs eyes as he slew three men was nothing short of hatred. His sword strokes were intended to kill, and kill painfully.
A striking spear caused Marik to jump into the fray. He dodged it narrowly. Another lunge nearly missed. He waited. Watching. When the next stroke came he dropped onto the snow and rolled over, slashing the manâs ankle and sending him to the ground unable to get up. Marik plunged his sword into the manâs back, finishing him off. He turned back to see that Gael had dropped two more, and Aurin had a field of bodies around him.
But, Aurin noticed a man had swept behind Gael without him noticing. Without another choice, he hurled the black sword into the man charging behind him. Gael jumped as he glanced down at the dead rebel.
âWell Iâll be fucked!â
Marik could see they now surrounded Aurin, the last three men left. With no weapon he was as good as dead. But Marik was swift, diving into the middle of them, parrying all three of their strokes. Heâd stopped thinking some time ago. It was just them and him. A clean swipe slit one of their throats. He grabbed one of their arms and forced them to be stabbed by his own ally.
With that sword stuck, the last man struggled to pull it out. He met his end with an arrow in the head before Marik could kill him.
Gael walked over to Marik and Aurin. The three of them breathed heavily as their eyes explored the mess around them.
âThat was fucking brilliant.â Gael said. âIâve never seen a man use a sword like that. You had to have hit him from a I donât know how far, but it was damned far.â
âDonât mention it.â
âDonât mention it, he says. Saved my life, thatâs what you did.â Gael grabbed Aurinâs hand and shook it. Marik watched him curiously, and Gael seemed to notice. âI thought he was a coward. I know a fighter when I see one. Donât care if youâre a traitor, Aurin, or a deserter. I can at least be friendly now, from here on in.â
Aurin cracked a smile. âWorks for me. This mean my hands wonât be bound anymore?â
âWhat do yaâ think?â
âI think we should get moving before anymore rebels show up.â
âNot a terrible idea.â
âAnd you can ride unshackled, but no sword. If you try to run, Gael will kill you with one shot.â
âQuickest death youâll ever have.â
Now, Aurin was grinning. âSounds fair to me.â
Malice Made
One Month Later
The candles burned, and the fires warmed. Clinks of glasses and laughter resounded high. After a long travel, the three found a tavern serving plenty of ale and playing plenty of music. Marik thought that it was rather pleasant being out of war-torn country and back in wolf territory. There were no rebels to fear up here, and despite the harsh flurries, he had good company.
He rested in his seat at a corner table, sipping from his mug watching men and women talk and laugh. As musicians played and bards sang, many were dancing. It was slightly strange he thought, watching them. This place seemed foreign. There was no war here, just everyday life. A divide between them and him, though he felt a small comfort here. Old familiarity perhaps.
Then, two ale mugs came crashing down, and there was Gael taking a seat with Aurin. The two roared with laughter sitting down. This was the second time he noticed the phenomenon with Aurin. As genuine as the laughter seemed, he saw something else there in his eyes.
âAnd then I smashed my sword down, and I flew into the damned tree!â Gael continued laughing. âGood thing I hit it from there than in back, wouldâve fallen right off the cliff side. Thatâd be something, huh? The story of the flying fool.â
âCould be worse, you could be a quick shot.â
Gael nearly fell off his seat. He smacked Aurin on the arm. âAnd they say Iâm quick with my tongue, youâre as sharp as your sword. Marik! Finish that damn thing and join us, you could use a forgotten night in your life.â
âIâll be fine with this, thanks.â
âAh, do what you want. Always too grim.â
âOh, leave him alone. Marik can do what he likes, he saved my life back in those woods, like I saved yours. Whereâd you learn those tricks?â
âNobody taught âem. Heâs the quiet one in the troop, but he thinks faster than anyone once things get nasty.â
âA good trait to have.â
âAye, saved my own ass a few times too. I returned the favor when we first met you, though. So, itâs getting closer to even.â
âItâs a long way off still.â
âElderâs cock it is, but enough of war talk and debts owed, weâre here to have fun. Look at these women, weâd be spitting on the Youngerâs name if we didnât show them some spirit.â
âYou can go, Iâll be fine here.â
âOh come on Marik, are yaâ swordshy?â
âHave it your way, Iâm gonnaâ have a dance with that blonde one over there.â He pointed. âIf you ever change your mind, the dark haired barmaid has been smiling at yaâ all night.â
âIâll think on it.â
âThink on it, he says! Thereâs no hope for this one Aurin, maybe you can get better luck than me.â And off Gael went, talking and quickly taking the laughing blonde out onto the floor, dancing happily.
âHe might not be wrong. Could be good for you. Iâve always thought you should get some happiness wherever you can find it.â
âIâm not interested.â
âNot interested in girls?â
âNo, itâs not that.â
âWhat is it then?â
âI canât dance.â
Aurin chuckled.
âItâs not funny.â
âNo, no, Iâm sorry, I did not mean offense my dear Marik.â Aurin mocked. âI shall not harm your honor henceforth.â
Marik let out a little laugh.
âAha! He can laugh from time to time. Come now, dancingâs not so hard. No one really cares out there, and they definitely donât if theyâve had a few rounds like Gael. Get out of that mind Marik, and just say hello to her. Ask her to dance, and thatâll be that.â
âAnd then youâll try to leave.â
Aurin looked hurt. âYou think Iâd betray your trust now after this long a time?â
âYouâve deserted us, remember.â
âForââ
âFor your own reasons, yes, youâve said it many times. Maybe one day youâll tell us.â
âYes, maybe one day.â Aurin watched Marikâs eyes turn to the barmaid. âGo on.â
Marik took a long swig and marched off. It wasnât so hard as heâd made it in his head. He felt ridiculous the way he strutted up to the bar, nerves overtaking him. She laughed though, and he simply asked her to dance. For a few minutes, dancing and twirling with the dark haired barmaid made the war disappear. There was just music, laughter, and her smile. She said her name was Lira. He said heâd remember the name and remember to come back one day.
When the dancing was done, he returned to the table with Gael. Aurin was still there, but holding his mandolin.
âGonnaâ play us a tune there, old man?â
âI think I might, my wife was the singer. Iâm no good myself, not like her.â
âIs that hers then?â Marik asked.
âAye, it is.â And Aurin walked to the tavernâs stage. He sat down on a stool and plucked the strings. The melody played, and it was slow, and gentle. Immediately, every patronâs eyes were drawn to him.
Marik had never heard music like this. Heâd heard old songs paying tribute to fallen heroes, and quick-played strings magically causing legs to shift and the owners of those legs to dance without control of their minds. This was different. Aurinâs every pluck and strum was purposeful. What shocked him was when Aurin began to sing. It was the story of the Younger, but in a way he hadnât heard it, much like the tale of the Old Wolf and the Motherâs love. Aurin sang of revenge, death, and the price of sorrow that is paid eternal as the Younger runs down a lost path down the same road, again and again without being free of misery. The way he saw it, the instrument and Aurin had become one. That mandolin was not a mere tool, for it cried with the outpouring of Aurinâs soul. And every listener there was bound to shed a tear, even the haunted soldiers who sat alone. When it was finished, Marik believed again, that heâd never heard a story so sad.
The three sat there in the later hours as the noise dimmed down and patrons were leaving. Sipping the last of their ale around the candle flame that was on its last breaths of wax.
âWhereâd you get the doll?â Marik asked.
âHm, a long story.â
âWell, then, how about how you became known as The Black Malice?â Gael said, hopefully.
âTheyâre related, Iâm afraid.â
âWeâve been told that story, Gael.â
âYeah, but not from him.â
âIâm rather familiar with it. Aurin riding in on a band of rebels, brandishing his black sword and running through them like water on paper. Cutting them down without being hit, like I was wind. A raging storm, a demon.â
âYes!â Gael said.
Aurin picked up the doll from the bag beside him and inspected it for a long moment. âIt was in the first year of the rebellion, and it was in the middle of winter.â He began. Marik and Gael leaned in. âThings werenât going well. I know they probably told you the rebellion would end swift.â
There was no argument in either Gael or Marikâs eyes.
âThey tried to end it quick, the highest officers of the Fangs. Their method was⊠to openly attack villages where the rebels were not hiding in. You see, itâs not hard to draw out an enemy when youâve killed their family.â
âMotherâs titâŠâ
âHm. Only thing is, that made them angrier, and more unified. More joined the cause. I was tasked to hunt down one particular band thatâd been ambushing our supply caravans. We got them, but only a few. They lured us, and in turn, struck a town within kingdom territory⊠Burned it. Burned it all to the ground. Theyâd, ah,â Aurinâs hand shook. âThey raped the women, murdered them, and the children. Eye for an eye it seems. Didnât matter that there was a sorceress there, either. One person canât fight a small army.â
âSorceress?â Marik said.
âIâm afraid I wasnât entirely honest with you, Marik. The most powerful sorceress Iâve ever met wasnât an old hag. She was my wifeâŠ.â Aurin paused, and he stared off deep into a place no one could reach.
âWhat did theyââ
âNailed her to a tree and left her there.â Aurin said sharply. âHung my daughter from the same tree.â He lifted his hand and with his fingers he played with the candleflame. âI wasnât the only mourning husband, or father. So, a group of us went out and we did to them what they did to us. We didnât play a part in the raids that were commanded, we didnât think it was honorable to the code. But innocence doesnât matter in war, and it never will. Slaughtered the people in the first village we could find. And the next one, and the next one, and the next one after that.â His hand was held into a fist now. âWe nailed the women to trees like a road for when they returned there to see. And we hung the children all from one tree we could find, one tree for a whole village of kids.â
For the first time in his life, Gael didnât have a remark. Marik looked down at his hands.
âI know they tell yaâ I made my sword from a black falling star in the sky. No. It was old magic. After the massacres, my blade turned black, and it has remained so ever since. I am cursed. Marked to walk the world as a symbol of hatred. I will never be able to enter the Tundra. Never be able to see my wife and daughter. And so it is deserved. Iâve earned my eternal suffering. Iâm not a hero, not a savior, not any fucking damned thing from a bardâs tale. Iâm just a killer. A murderer. Nothing more.â He said no more, and no one else did either.
Not long after the candlelight had died, the three decided not to stay at the tavern for the night. Rather, Marik and Aurin decided to get the journey done with quickly. As Marik unhitched his horse, he watched Aurin staring up at the nightâs sky.
âYouâll see them again.â Marik said.
âItâs a nice thought, but thatâs all.â
âYouâre a damned hero, Aurin. Our own, our own kind betrayed you and spat on their oath. Thatâs not your fault.â
âAnd what about you?â Aurin cast a look on them. âDo you say that to yourselves? Gael talks the silence away when he canât drink, and you, Marik, you donât want anyone to see the blood on your hands.â When neither responded, he smiled sadly. âYouâre both young, so young. In the end, a man always knows whatâs right or whatâs wrong. The difference between me, Marik, and you, is that you wouldâve killed me before I laid a hand on an innocent. I broke the oath to the pack then, and the one to my wife promising I wouldnât let war change me.â
âThatâs not true, I donât know what Iâd have done.â
âYes, you do.â Aurin said with such calm and reserve. Marik couldnât find it in his heart to disagree.
âIâve made my choice, letâs move on.â
Right as they were about to leave, three men in Fang cloaks approached them. One had a scar on his cheek. The scar-faced man stepped forward. âAre you The Black Malice?â
âAye, thatâs what some call me.â
âThey also call you bloody traitorous filth.â One of the others spat.
âHey, weâre just leaving. No need to start a fight.â Gael intervened.
âAh? I heard you were laughing with this pile of shit. See, that makes yaâ a traitor too.â The scar-faced man said.
âAnd that scar makes you fuckinâ ugly, I bet even whores refuse to lie withââ Gael took a fist to the face, sending him tumbling backwards.
Before he could react, Marik saw them draw their swords.
âDeath to fuckinâ traitors!â The scar-faced man attacked. Aurin blocked the blow and entered into a duel.
Marik engaged one of the others, and Gael took the third. For each of them the fight was more difficult than their battle with the rebels, these were hardened wolves, the toughest warriors of the north. Thankfully, Marik hadnât had much to drink so he had his wits about him. He grappled his foe and took him to the ground where he found an opening to sink his blade into his gut. The man groaned, but went limp atop him. Marik shoved him off in time to see Aurin cleave the scar-faced manâs head clean off. Gaelâs man was dead, lying next to Gael. But, Marik thought, there was too much blood on the snow for one man.
ââŠNo, no, Gael!â Marik hurried beside him. He took a quick look at the wound. âYouâll be fine, weâll get you patched up, alright?â
Aurin said nothing, but his eyes betrayed his thoughts.
âMarik,â Gael coughed, âIâm not gonnaâ be alright you damned idiot, fucker got me good.â He coughed again. âGot me fuckinâ good.â
âIâm going to get you out of here.â Marik tried to lift him up, but Gael groaned and smacked him.
âStop touching me you fuckinâ tit. Iâm dying⊠Iâm dying.â
Marik searched Aurin for help. âIsnât there anything we can do?â
âOnly wait.â
âSee, listen to Aurin, knows what heâs talkinâ about even if he is a smart-tongued bastard.â Gael had the gall to still grin with bloodied teeth. âWhat are you crying for? Was gonnaâ happen to one of us someday. Least I took the fucker with me, and hey, Iâm gonnaâ,â he coughed, âIâm gonnaâ die drunk. Better than what any man can ask for, right Aurin?â
âThatâs right.â He smiled softly.
âGonnaâ go to the Tundra, and run crazy with the pack, and drink every damned thing they have.â
Marik laughed a broken laugh. âSave some, will yaâ?â
âFuck you, you donât even like drinking.â He coughed with laughter. Then, Gael took Marikâs hand and held it firm. âYou remember me, huh? Donât let me be some ghost hanging on your shoulder unless⊠âless Iâm telling you to stop being a swordshy fucker. Better come back here, when itâs all over. Talk to the barmaid.â
âI will.â
âSwear to,â this coughing spat lasted longer, âswear to me.â
â⊠I swear Iâll come back.â
âWatch his back while you can for me, Aurin?â
âI will.â
âGood, goodâŠâ Gaelâs breath began to fade, and his strength too. Eventually he lay still in Marikâs arms. For the first, and last time in Quickshotâs life, he wasnât quick enough.
On The Path Again
A Week Later
The early darkness of morning was as black as the night heâd watched Gaelâs pyre burning. With Aurin by his side, the two rode their horses forward in companionable silence until the end of the road began to slope upwards the grand mountain in front of them. The White Peak.
âWeâre here.â Marik said.
âWe are.â
Neither of them moved.
âWell, shouldnât be longer now.â Aurin said and continued on.
âNo, it shouldnât.â
After an hour the two made it to the familiar opening of the path, leading out onto the mountainside facing the vast snow-capped range lit by the descending gleam of the moon and the infinite stars. There was the Black Tree, and the frozen stone, both sitting still as lonely as Marik and Aurin.
Aurin was the first to dismount, making his way towards the tree and sitting down against its trunk. Marik simply watched him there, not yet getting off his horse. Eventually Aurin turned his head.
âAre you going to join me or not?â
Pulled from his thoughts, Marik jumped down and sat down beside him.
âIâve forgotten how beautiful this view is.â Aurin said.
âYeah, itâs something.â
âWhenâs the last time you laid back and watched the sky?â
âI⊠I donât remember.â
âThatâs a shame, those little things are important. I still remember the last time. It was when I first met Skye, my wife.â
âWhen was that?â
âTwenty years now. See, she was just beginning to master her magic then. I was doing ordinary work, asking questions to find a local thief. Went to her house and knocked on the door because my eyes and ears claimed she'd have information. She told me to leave. I told her I just wanted to talk.â
âWhatâd she say?â
âTold me to ask my questions through the door. But, I wasnât gonnaâ have that. Just said Iâd knock on the door until she opened it. She did, and I could tell why she didnât want me in. Skyeâd botched a spell, and it singed part of her hair off⊠She looked ridiculous.â Aurin smiled, looking a ways off. âAfter the questions, I thanked her, and asked where I could get my hair cut like sheâd had it. Donât ever say that to a woman if youâre not sure she has a sense of humor. Anyway, she laughed, and asked me if Iâd like to take a walk that night. Iâd never heard of taking a walk with a woman at night before, so I just had to go. We ended up walking down the riverâs bend and sprawled out on the grass, listening to the water flow, and watching the stars. Was never happier in my life tilâ that night.â
Marik sat quietly, watching those same stars, thinking about how many other people were doing the same thing at that moment, and how many people shared similar, simple memories.
âWe donât have to go through with this.â Marik said. âYou can take your bag and go. Just leave the cloak, and leave the sword. Few will know your face.â
âYouâd break your oath? Just like that?â
âJust like that. Youâre family, and you donât kill family.â
âThe Old Wolf did, because he had to.â
âBut I donât have to.â
âThat means a lot to me, Marik. After all that Iâve told you, after all that you know about me and what Iâve done.â
âItâs done, you canât change any of that. Just like I canât change that Gaelâs dead.â
âNo, no you canât.â
âSo, leave. Go. Make a new life somewhere.â
Aurin stood. âIâve already made my choice.â
âAfter all of this, you expect me to kill you? I wonât do it.â
âWill you make an old man fall on his own sword?â
Marik looked down.
âIâve lived long enough. Iâve also lived trying to undo my crimes, helping those Iâd called my enemy. They ended up being a lot like you, a lot like me, a lot like my wife and my daughter.â Aurin went over to Marik and held out his hand. Marik took it, and Aurin helped him up. âWe have lost the path, this pack of ours. But, I think, finally, youâve shown me that we can find it again.â Aurin walked over to the stone and placed his hand upon it. âAnd the Younger returned to the path, knowing he could only light the way through sacrificing all that could make him happy for the sake of all. His blood was the price.â
âSounds like one of your stories.â
âPerhaps it is. Perhaps it could be.â Aurin turned to Marik, and unsheathed the black sword, handing it to him. âUse this.â
âI wonât.â Marik recoiled.
âNot for your oath to the Pack. For me, do this for me.â
It was the first time heâd seen tears in Aurinâs eyes. Marik took the swordâs hilt. Aurin stepped forward and embraced him. His hug was warm, and tight, and long.
âJust by meeting you, Marik, this hasnât been a wasted life.â He broke the embrace and turned towards the stone, getting down onto his knees and leaning his head forward.
Marikâs hands shook. He tried to wipe away the tears but they kept coming. Silently, he sobbed as he stepped forward. âI wishââ
âI do too. I do too.â Aurin closed his eyes. âDo it the warriorâs way.â
Marik went behind him on shaky legs. He held the sword with two hands, angling the blade down towards Aurinâs bent neck.
âCome, donât make meââ
Blade met flesh, and Aurin passed in an instant. Marik wailed with despair as he fell onto his knees. Aurinâs body fell forward, bleeding out onto the frozen stone. And then, something curious happened. As the blood soaked over the ice, the ice began to melt. Marik wiped away at his face, his eyes widening in amazement. The black sword of hate began to be no more, the darkness of the blade lifting completely. Then, the tree itself changed to an ethereal shade of violet, and colored leaves began to sprout. The sun lifted, cresting on the mountaintops, rising on the sky. Dawn beamed through the heart of winter, and Marik felt warmth for the first time since the war began.
He burned Aurinâs body alongside his mandolin and the cloth, but he kept the doll. One must never forget what made the Younger lose his way. Marik managed to smile, remembering this moment that he watched the great blue sky. After a time, he got on his horse and left.
No Fang knows what happened to Marik, all that theyâd ever found was his cloak by the Mother Tree. They did not know that heâd gone back to find Lira, and they did not know he found his own path where he lived in a nice place on a lake.