9
I came to the tribes from a Queen to the north. That’s all I ever learned. The Kind accepted infants like myself to keep the blood fresh and safe from inbreeding. The Queens traded infants between themselves, as well. This was by consent of the families; I’ve been told this by several of them. It is considered an honor to trade a child for another realm’s child, and to raise it as your own. The Queens sponsored this arrangement in many ways. Once the child was married, or over twenty-four years of age, they could request information about their real parents. The Queens kept records - the Kind did not. The parents could not request information - this was a harsh world, and some children died. Bad blood came easy, and the stains were long lived.
I came to the Kind at the age of three, was chosen that year, and marked by Rarn. Rarn would be the only family I would know. My training began the next day, which became my new birthday. Fenrir, was born that day. I don’t recall my true name. I was not Rarn’s first Fenrir, and I would not be his last. He told me, there must always be a Fenrir.
As I grew I became aware of what my training was for, what my purpose was to be.
The training was harsh and painful. Rarn was first generation, meaning he didn’t change. He was as he was. He didn’t shift. He looked like a wolfish man, or a beast man. Most first generations died during the creation of the realms. There were only three in our area. A pitiful sum from the thousands created. I didn’t know he was insane, since I had no point of comparison. But, even if I couldn’t put a name to his behavior, I felt the crazy in everything he did. Because everything he did, he did without limit. To be better, you had to train harder than the rest- damn the consequences.
It is that lack of a limit that caused my first shift to happen years before it should have. I was only ten. Seven years too early. It could have maimed me or crippled me. Those who shifted that soon often didn’t survive the change. That’s when the council got involved. That’s when I learned what I was to become, and how that process happened. Also, that’s when I was taught to read and write. Rarn fought this every chance he got and treated my tutors poorly. It was a waste of time and energy, he said. As soon as my tutors were gone, he put me through physical drills and combat.
What is true for me now, was just as true for Rarn then. He was hard as iron. His reflexes were beyond vision. Only hearing and touch could save me from his attacks - unless I shifted, which I was forbidden to do by the council. If it looked as if I might lose control, Rarn backed off. A man without a limit, had found something resembling just that. I didn’t put the two together then, but the council must have been rather angry at Rarn back then. I know he had many enemies. However, he was a first generation, and one of the five trainers. Each of those offices carried a lot of power, and he had both. The only one with both.
Most of Rarn’s hair was gray when I was five. By the time I was fifteen, he lost most of his body hair. His skin had large dark blotches and looked too big for him. He wore robes most of the time because of this. Rarn talked to himself, mumbled about the order of things. He never seemed aware of doing this.
That he was insane was true, but he was also highly skilled in war, battle and combat. I never saw him bested, and he was challenged all the time. There were days he faced three challengers before lunch. Perhaps he only did to me, what was done to him. I don’t know. Rarn was right too - it was the reading that made me falter.
I was being trained as an executioner. I was also being trained to survive that position. If someone decided to kill me for performing my duty, that someone could never succeed. Not ever. I had to survive. Always.
Trouble was, eye for an eye was bullshit. It never worked. Ever.
You couldn’t tell someone, don’t kill or we’ll kill you. If there was any justification for killing, there would always be murder.
I believed that, in my gut. Everything I read, showed me the validity of those beliefs. Justification, and entitlement - these were the demons of humanity. Those were the heralds of war, murder, and destruction.
I was never asked to be the Wolf of Destruction, but I would be trained as him. At the ceremony, the council would ask me to take the position, the mantle. Thus, I trained, and I learned my lessons, and I slept lightly, ready for attack from Rarn. Rarn was my only family. And my first enemy.
Once I discovered I would be asked to be the Wolf of Destruction at the ceremony, and not by Rarn, I was much happier. After the ceremony, I could leave. I could leave, and never come back. I didn’t know what I would do, but I had plenty of skills. I’d survive out there. Sure, the dangers were plenty, but I was trained to defeat even worse. I. Would. Survive. I told myself this day after day, in secret. Never out loud. To Rarn, I pretended. I pretended hard because tough as nails as I was, I feared Rarn. He was crazy. And crazy can be beat, sure. Whether or not I could defeat him was up for debate, I can say that much. However, unpredictability in a man like him, now that was a killer.
When the day came to take the position, I stood before the council, and answered, “No.”
“Just like that?” Adian asked. “You just said, no?”
“I wasn’t much of a talker,” I told him.
He squinted his eyes at me. If there ever was a look for disbelief, he was wearing it. He nodded his head, as though contemplating my words, rolling them round and round in his mine. “Then what happened?”
“No one spoke for a long time. So, after a minute or so, I asked if I could leave.”
Adian blinked at me, disbelief was a mask on his face again. “Just, asked if you could leave?”
“That’s all I wanted to do,” I said, as casually as ever and poked the fire with a small branch. Adian was good to his word, and had brought back a nice lamb, which he said he bought.
“What did they say?”
“The man sitting at the middle of the table, said, ‘Yes, you may go now.’ Then I walked out.”
“What did Rarn say?” Adian asked, astounded.
“Nothing,” I shrugged. “He wasn’t there. It was a council meeting. He was my trainer, not a member of the council. When I got back, he wasn’t there, so I grabbed up my few belongings, and left. Headed west. I read about the ocean, and I wanted to see it. Then I went north for a time. First few years were good times. Hell, most of them have been good years.”
Adian shook his head and closed his eyes tight. “But, what about the exile?”
“Oh, that didn’t come up until twenty years ago or so. That’s the first I heard of it anyway. It’s just a story. It’s not true. I’ve been back many times. I’ve done jobs for the council many times. Once I crossed the wastes and delivered a child to a realm in the Rocky Mountains. That was tough. Tough enough to do it on your own. Keeping an infant alive on the trip, that triples the hazard.”
“So, all this shit we’re hearing, all this crap from Bryce and Karal, is just that? Bullshit?” he asked. There was no doubting his confusion. There was also no doubting the fact that he believed me. Which I appreciated. In this world, you never knew who you could trust.
I nodded my head and made sure to stare him straight in the eye as I said my next words. “Rumor. Yeah. It’s a rumor, certainly. I’m not in exile.”
“So, what’s this fuck doing here?” he asked, exasperated, and pointing at the unconscious Víðarr.
“Trying to stir something up,” I said. “I think it’s time to look inside his pouch. It’s obviously not a council pouch. If you bring it here, I’ll verify that, but I don’t see the emblem on the buckle.”
Adian tossed the pouch to me, then before sitting down again, he asked, “So you never were the Wolf of Destruction?”
I showed him the back of my right forearm, “Nope, never.”
“What’s that? Why did you show me that?” he asked.
“To show you I don’t have the council mark. If I had said yes, they would have marked my forearm so others would know my office. I don’t have an office,” I explained.
He grabbed the sides of his head and rocked. “This is so fucked up! How can everyone I know, know nothing right?!”
Pulling out the items in the pouch, I caught a scent I didn’t like, but didn’t comment on it as I set the items on the ground between me and the camp fire.
I shook my head. “This is not a council pouch. No seals, no emblems. Check to see if that mark on his neck is even a real mark, would you?”
He looked at me sideways, but got up and checked Víðarr over. He came back with a black stain on his finger. “He’s big, but not trained, I guess.”
I rose and walked over to the unconscious man and began examining his body. His hands were large and scarred like he worked with them. Checking his arms, I found several deep scars from burns. On a shifter, that normally meant molten metal of some type. Our healing would push the metal out, but the scar would remain.
“This man is a blacksmith,” I said. “Couldn’t be three years out of apprentice.”
“Shit, he didn’t stand a chance against you. Or me, for that matter. Why would he take this risk? I don’t get it.” Adian said. His voice sung with whispered wonderment.
“I don’t think he did,” I said and stood up. “I think someone, or something, got to him somehow.”
“OK, that was clear as mud. Want to try that again?” Adian asked.
I looked back at the pouch. “Not really. We need to get this man to the hospital as soon as possible. If he dies, I want to look inside his head, and at his spine.”
“His spine?” Adian asked. “You’re messing with my calm.”
“Good,” I said, and put the items back in the pouch. “Don’t be calm.”
It took us fifteen minutes to lash together a dragging triangle and get Víðarr on it. Adian took my advice, he didn’t breathe easy…wasn’t calm. But not manic either. If anything, his motions as we started for the gate, could best be described as cautious pessimism. Despite my earlier prejudices, I was coming to realize that Myriana’s men were more than I’d given them credit for.