Awhei crouched beneath the bough of a large, leafy tree, trying to quiet her breathing. All else lay in shadow, the dense foliage blocking the afternoon sun. A steady tap, tap, tap of water dripping from branches far above was the only sound. The girl remained motionless, trying not to shift even in the slightest, listening intently for any hint of movement. She heard none, but the forest could be perilous.
Within a stone’s throw of Awhei, the great she-wolf crept noiselessly through the underbrush. It stood nearly a hand’s length taller than any other grey wolf that hunted this range, even the big males. Its ears twitched and saliva pooled around its long fangs as it stalked its prey, every sense fixed on the kill.
Awhei tensed at a sharp crack to her right. She tried to hold even more still, but now the girl could feel the great wolf’s nearness, could almost hear its shallow panting. Surely the beast was near enough to strike.
With a burst, the she-wolf pounced. Enormous jaws clamped around its quarry’s neck and, with a powerful shake, snapped the spine. The body instantly went limp. The wolf released its grip, dropping the carcass, which flopped into the underbrush with a thump. The wolf sniffed once and began to tear open the still-quivering underbelly.
Awhei strode forward and bumped the she-wolf’s head away from the kill with her hip. The wolf growled low, a deep rumble that sent leaves skittering across the ground. Nevertheless, it circled close behind Awhei and sat back on its haunches, watching the girl with keen eyes. Awhei drew a sharp knife and cut the hide from the boar’s rump. She carved out a portion of meat to cook later. With a grunt, she turned and affectionately cuffed the she-wolf beside the ear. The beast leapt forward and began to gorge, not stopping until nothing soft remained.
As night fell, Awhei sat against the giant stump of a fallen pine. The wolf, Shadow, lay stretched out nearby, sleepy and relaxed. Despite appearances, Awhei knew the wolf’s shining eyes missed nothing. She marveled at the creature’s beauty and power, as she often did. Death on four legs. Shadow’s sky-blue eyes regarded her with a devotion she’d never experienced elsewhere, and the wolf’s thick coat warmed her, even on the coldest nights.
Hearing something move in the brushwood, the she-wolf lifted her enormous head and sniffed the air. Massive paws flexed, and the muscles on her neck bunched up. The wolf was attuned to the forest in a way Awhei could only hope to imitate. And yet, she loves me.
After the sun had set, the two of them curled up to sleep. Awhei thought back to four springs ago, when she’d stumbled upon a mewing ball of fur, shivering and alone on a patch of dirty snow. The day-old carcasses of a female wolf and the remains of the pup’s littermates were scattered throughout the hollow. Somehow, this little one had survived an attack by some ferocious predator. The girl felt an immediate kinship with the orphan. As she approached, the pup snarled and bared its tiny, sharp fangs. But weak and cold, it didn’t fuss much when Awhei pulled it close. Having no milk to offer, the girl chewed bits of rabbit flesh she’d saved for later and held them under the pup’s mouth. The little wolfling gulped them down, then looked up, expecting more. That night, the tiny wolf slept under Awhei’s arm. The following day, as she walked out of the vale, the grey pup followed, never far from her side. Amused, Awhei named the wolfling Shadow.
All these years later, Awhei and Shadow still ran together, a pack of two. As Awhei lay by the waning fire, the enormous she-wolf pushed up beside her. The girl considered their many seasons together. Everyone Awhei had ever cared for had deserted her. Shadow never had.
Like Shadow, Awhei had been abandoned young. Her mother forsook her in the very act of giving birth, and nearly eight years later, her father left her, overcome by grief. He blamed her, Awhei was sure, for her mother’s death. Now, almost nine years had passed since he’d gone, and no one else had claimed the girl until the wolf pup did. They seemed a good fit. Because Shadow had grown so large, it was rare for anything in the forest to challenge them. The pair were left alone for the most part, which suited Awhei just fine. She told herself she wanted nothing more.
So Awhei lived on her own, separated from her kin, an Asharen clan who dwelt in the craggy peaks of the Mountains of Korath-Na. She shut herself off from them and rejected their voices in her head, the mind-link. She preferred it that way. She needed only Shadow.
Usually, Awhei felt safe lying beside the wolf. But on this night, monstrous beings plagued her dreams. She was running but had nowhere to flee. She could smell death in the air, and she was suddenly alone.
The next morning, she awoke unrested and haunted by images from her sleep. Probably just the remnants of her memories from the day before. She felt something was off, but she couldn’t say what. She ran her fingers through Shadow’s coat, then signaled for Shadow to lead the way.
The wolf tilted its large head to the side, huffed loudly, then glided out of the glade, all stealth and vigilance.
Awhei followed, her step light and her senses alert as always. The forest is dangerous, she thought. Even Shadow cannot protect us from everything. Best we tread with care.
The pain Leuk bore was like a heavy stone far beneath the surface of a fast-flowing river, its presence barely noticeable. One part of that burden was for the things he'd lost. One part was for what others demanded of him that he couldn't give. And one part was for who he knew he'd never be.
If he'd known how to look, he might have noticed signs of the rock beneath the water's flow; how the river's surface reflected flatly and how small, curling eddies formed at the spot where the stone lay below. To be sure, these signs hardly betrayed the truth of the stone's staggering bulk.
But on the day Leuk's world shattered, that boulder surged up violently to crash through the placid surface of the current, forever altering the course of his life's flow.
* * *
Leuk padded silently through his home in the early-morning dark. It was comfortable and warm, the way a dwelling becomes after many long years—a place of safety and routine and contentment. The peace that filled it had less to do with the absence of noise and more with the memories that echoed quietly through it, memories of joy, laughter, and gentle words of comfort. It had more to do with the solid, seemingly endless sense of belonging and purpose. And it reflected countless days of hard work. For generations, his family had held this land, the flocks and fruit trees and the wide fields laden with grain. Life was difficult in this remote valley. It could be said that none in his small village had an easy time of it, but neither did they want for anything. And there was, most days, a simple, predictable flow underlying their daily routines.
At this hour, his ma was the only other person awake. She sat quietly by the last dying embers in the kitchen hearth. As Leuk entered the room, he could still smell the remains of supper from the night before, mutton stew with carrots and potatoes. Lilia, his baby sister, had prepared a lovely drink made from early-spring melons and bright sunshine—or so she'd said, clapping her hands together in breathless delight. His younger brothers had argued over the last few bites, and his ma promptly sent them out back to end the bickering. His pa had just smiled and puffed on his pipe, sending long, twisting curls into the air.
A gust of wind rattled the window, and a chair creaked in the dark, dispelling the moment of happy remembering.
"Are the sheep all in and ready for shearing?" his ma asked as Leuk reached for his bow and quiver.
"It took me a full day to track down the last three. They'd found a quiet spot all to themselves, out beyond Still Creek. But I've got them all settled now," he said.
"Of course you have. I needn't have asked," she said. A smile lit her face, which he could feel more than see in the early-morning shadows. "Well, off with you, then. Bring us home something good to eat."
Leuk nodded. His ma always chose to believe that, somehow, he'd get things right. Her willingness to see only the best in him, even when he might not deserve it, was one of the things Leuk cherished most about her. Yet, it saddened him that she didn't see how he chafed under the burdens expected of him. Nevertheless, he leaned in and gently kissed her on the forehead, grateful for her goodness. She reached up and softly brushed his face with a hand rough from living.
"I'll be back before midday tomorrow to help set the fence posts," he said, turning to leave.
Leuk felt her gaze follow him until the door shut behind him. He carried the warmth of her with him as he trudged through the chilly bleakness outside.
As he made his way to the outskirts of the village, Leuk passed Short Tam, the town drunk, curled up in a ditch a few steps from the tavern. Caud and his boys were already up, milking their cows, and a light glowed in Widow Tess's kitchen window. No doubt she was baking bread to sell later that day. A few others stirred, but this early, a sleepy tranquility cloaked the valley. Edan's twin moons, Certa and Rione, lit the night sky, one shining pale yellow and the other blue, casting a pallid glow over the village below.
Passing through the first boundaries of the forest, he paused to examine his surroundings. Even at the edges of the wilds, there was a basic, underlying buzz that lay beneath the normal woodland sounds. It was always present, constantly stirring, almost beyond detection, and it could only be felt in your bones, once you knew what to look for. Oddly, Leuk could not feel it now.
As he wound his way up the slope above the village, the sun broke through the trees. Birds chirped as they flitted from branch to branch, and the scent of flowers in bloom filled the air. Water cascaded down as melting snow from above swelled the streams' rocky banks. Loamy scents and vivid greens pressed in all around, and the breeze rustling through the leaves made a kind of music that mingled with the warble of noisy birds.
Leuk always felt a certain euphoria settle over him as he wandered among the trees; indeed, he had felt that way for as long as he could remember. It was as if an earthy presence called to him in the glistening light of the forest glades, beckoning him away from the mundane. Most days, he worked hard at tasks around the farm—at seventeen, he was nearly a man, after all. But whenever he could find an excuse, Leuk would take his hunting bow and follow game trails up the steep slopes to the north, far from the farm's constant chores and responsibilities.
The sliver of self-reproach Leuk felt for shirking work at home was buried deep inside him, in fact, pushed down over the years. He reasoned that the responsibilities expected of him would be answered by a lifetime and more.
Climbing higher, absorbed in the hunt, Leuk stumbled upon a narrow gap between towering granite walls. The opening was well concealed by thick foliage. He'd explored every ragged boulder and burned-out stump in these hills, yet somehow he'd never come across this spot.
The entrance concealed a strange space filled with shadows and diffused light. As he peered into the space beyond, a shiver ran down Leuk's spine, making the small hairs on his neck stand up. He strained to catch the strange sounds that echoed from within, too faint to make out. They seemed a variant of the song he always felt pulling at him in the wild, but more primal, more intense. Leuk found himself breathing softly, worried he might disturb something he should not.
But of course, curiosity got the best of him.
Squeezing through the opening, he found himself in a glade, hedged in on all sides by the sheer stone of the mountain. The air felt heavy, unusually dense, as if something were pressing on his chest. At the same time, a peculiar sensation niggled at the back of his head, an elusive thought struggling to take shape. Above it all, he could make out a low humming sound. Like a hundred insects' wings buzzing all at once, he thought. Or like leaves on a tree shivering in the breeze.
In the middle of the ravine stood a large boulder, polished smooth on one side. Writing covered the flat stone face. Tracing the markings with his finger, Leuk was fascinated by the detail and beauty of the flowing script. Although he'd been taught to read, the characters on the stone were unlike anything he had ever seen. And though he couldn't decipher their meaning, the markings felt familiar, as if they had a pattern to them.
Leuk's eye caught on something that glistened in the sunlight. He crouched beneath an overhang of rock. Buried under a tangle of weeds, he found the decrepit remains of an ancient longsword. A curious prickling washed over him as he studied it. Embedded in the sword's hilt was a blood-red stone that glinted in the sunlight. The gem beckoned to him like a familiar song echoing from far away. It whispered of life and boundless vitality—of the loamy earth in the fields at home and of the wily wolf that hunted by moonlight.
When Leuk reached for the ancient weapon, the blade crumbled away from the hilt. Disappointed that the sword was ruined, he labored for some time to loosen the gem from what remained of the pommel. When the stone finally came free, a sudden stillness fell over the glade, and the always-present sounds of the wild fell silent. At the same moment, the strange humming ceased. The silence was striking. It reminded him of the stillness that had filled his home earlier that morning, of haunting memories, long, and power-filled.
Holding the gem in his hand, Leuk felt a curious stirring, a longing that overcame him for a heartbeat and then was gone, leaving only a dim remembrance of something lost.
Shaking off these feelings, he tried to guess how the sword had gotten there and who might once have possessed it. Even the half-drunk storytellers at the tavern never sang of heroes fighting in the hills above their home. Such things didn't happen in the Khor Valley… nothing as spectacular as the old stories from distant places and from long ago.
Coming to himself, he was surprised to find that twilight had descended upon the peak. His attention had been so focused on the sword and the stone that time had slipped by unnoticed. Leuk chided himself for wasting an entire afternoon only to return home without meat. He carefully stowed the red gemstone in an inner pocket of his shirt.
Nestled among the white-barked aspens in the mountaintop wilds, Leuk should have been at peace, as he always was at such times. But on this night, he slept fitfully. Grey wolves howled at the bright stars scattered amongst the two glowing moons, their plaintive calls voicing the disquiet that he felt. Rising early, Leuk found himself unable to shake off the vague dream-memories of darkness and danger that had plagued his slumber. Foreboding clung to him throughout the morning as he made his way home.
Whiffs of smoke on the breeze were the first sign of trouble, and he knew at once that something was wrong. He scurried recklessly down the slope, sliding on loose gravel and weaving through the underbrush. His heart raced, spurred by a creeping dread he could not name.
Crossing the shoulder of a slope, Leuk looked down on a scene from out of nightmares. His vision blurred, and his mouth went suddenly dry. For as far as he could see, every building in Pallidor was razed to the ground or in flames. Livestock lay slaughtered, their carcasses already bloated in the midday sun. And fields that, just yesterday, had stood tall with new growth were trampled underfoot.
Stumbling through the outskirts of the village, he stared in horror at all the human bodies. People he knew, folks he had grown up with. Old Man Caud lay crumpled, as lifeless as the cattle scattered around him. Widow Tess's home was a smoldering wreck.
Struggling to breathe, he called out several times, but no one answered. The silence was not merely a poverty of everyday sounds; it was the stillness of golden stalks of grain cut down, or of ice that glistened bitterly on the surface of a pool, absent all warmth of living and love.
He staggered down the dirt road. His head began to thump. Impelled by a need he could not reason with, Leuk at last reached the bend in the river where his family's land lay. The smoldering frame of what had been his home loomed through the haze. The kitchen hearth was all that remained intact, bare and blackened.
A horror distilled from out of the soot and smoke. His two younger brothers, Cedric and Forl, must have run out to meet the danger before it could reach the farm. They had always been brave. Now he saw their discarded bodies, bloodied and cold, slumped over in the mud. A lifetime of living cut short.
As Leuk shuffled forward, the broken figure of his father appeared out of the gloom. He still grasped an old wood-handled ax. Pa would have fought with the ferocity of a bear defending those he loved. But his chest was crushed in, and his limbs sprawled out at impossible angles.
Just beyond, Leuk saw his mother with a ragged gash across her side. He remembered her smile the morning before, her unfailing confidence in him. His eyes stung, and a deep emptiness settled in his chest. Part of him wanted to turn away, to pretend what he saw was not as it was.
A few steps farther, he saw his little sister lying in the dirt by the front porch. Beautiful, sparkling Lilia, now ashen and still. How many times had she made him laugh? Made them all laugh? Infusing sunshine into everything she did, her smile alone could light up the day. But she wore no smile now and never would again.
Home and family. All that was familiar. Everything that mattered.
Leuk collapsed among the ashes, staring at the burning rubble around him. Why kill everyone? Why raze the whole village? This had to be a terrible dream; the blood and smoke couldn't be real.
From a dark place within him, an accusation rose that Leuk could not contest: You might have protected us… Why didn't you? The voices in his head suddenly swirled with demands for which he had no answer.
The sun reached its highest point, and the shadows began to lengthen. Tears welled up and tumbled down his cheeks, then, as the afternoon wore on, ran dry. He was covered in ash, and the tang of burning things filled his mouth.
Then, from beyond the smoke and the stench of death, came the sound of footsteps. At first, Leuk couldn't make out who approached, but he was resolved to avenge his family. That, or he would perish in the attempt. Leuk had never craved retribution before, and the taste of it now made his stomach turn. But what other course could he take? How could he find peace otherwise? How else could his dead find rest?
Emerging from the haze, an old man strode purposefully toward him. He held a silver rod in his right hand. He was not tall and had a slightly rounded middle. His hair was thin and grey. His countenance was open, even friendly, though he was clearly moved by the destruction around him. He stopped a short distance from Leuk. For a time, neither moved.
Softly, the man asked, "Were these your kin?"
Leuk nodded.
"I am sorry," the old man said. He quietly picked up a nearby shovel and began digging.
Seeing the old man labor thus released something that had a hold on Leuk. Silently taking the tool from him, Leuk dug until a large hole was formed. Then, together, they gently lowered five broken bodies into the loamy earth. Leuk covered them with soil, sending them back to the dirt. He wished he could cry for them in that moment. Tears had flowed freely before, but now he only felt an aching emptiness inside. When he finished, the old man offered him a tin cup filled with water from the river. Leuk drank to soothe the dryness in his throat and to try to wash away the bitter taste that remained. For a while, they sat in silence.
"My name is Thaern—"
"I know who you are." Leuk did not look up as he spoke. Throbbing filled his head, and his eyes stung from the lingering smoke. He couldn't help but notice that, despite everything, songbirds still chirped merrily in the afternoon light.
"I live in the hills north of the—"
"I've passed by your place on the way to hunt," Leuk said, interrupting again. He fidgeted with the tin cup, turning it slowly. "I've seen you in town for supplies, and I've listened from outside the tavern window to the old stories you tell." The tavern was now a blackened heap of debris, and only the stone chimney remained.
I have lost everything.
He looked up to find Thaern studying him. The old man's hair might be grey, and his face might look soft, but his eyes glinted with true strength. And Leuk could sense a kindness in his gaze that surely could not be feigned.
"I heard a great commotion last night and came down as quickly as I could," Thaern said. "By the time I arrived, it was over. There was nothing I could do. I am very sorry."
Leuk rose slowly. You might have protected us… Why did you not? The voices thrummed in the boy's head, growing strident, clamorous even. He stared down at Thaern, a new fire kindling within him.
"Who did this?" he demanded. "Did you see them? Where did they go?"
"Once, I witnessed the aftermath of a similar attack. Even from a distance last night, I could tell who it was that had come to Pallidor. When I made it down the mountain, those who did this had already left. I tracked their passage for a brief time, hoping to discover a reason for the attack."
"Who?" demanded Leuk again, his voice rising. The word echoed harshly across the barren landscape. You could have… Why…? The voices inside raged louder. Leuk shook his head, trying to dispel them. "What did they look like?"
"They were dreadful creatures, tall and bent. They walked with a twisted gait, and their faces were shrouded in shadow." Thaern's gaze locked onto Leuk's. "Terror pulsed around them like heat from a red-hot forge, and death attended their every step."
"Murderers don't look like that. They don't have horns above their eyes or tails like dragons. That's only in fairy tales meant to frighten children."
"The monsters responsible for this are known as the Dumea." Thaern's voice remained steady. "They are malevolent beyond reckoning."
"I've listened to your stories of fallen kingdoms and ancient heroes. But this is Pallidor. There are no monsters here. Pa would have said that, if such terrors ever truly existed, they are from a time long past and a place far from this one." Leuk felt empty and worn out. "We are simple farmers." His shoulders drooped, and his hands trembled. "Dragons aren't real, and we've no monsters in Pallidor."
"It's true that the Dumea have not been seen in this part of the world for a very long time, but they are very real. You have but to look around," the old man said, gesturing with his hands, "to see the ruin they leave in their wake." Thaern looked sternly at Leuk as he bent to collect his bow and quiver. Leuk turned and started down the only road out of the valley.
"To go after these creatures would accomplish nothing but your own death," Thaern called after him. "I said I know of these monsters. You could not stand against them. The Dumea would sense you and slay you long before you came within bowshot, sparing you no mercy. Just look at the horrors they wrought here," Thaern said. "Besides, they are already long gone from this place, and even on horseback you'd not overtake them."
"What other choice do I have?" Leuk turned back, eyes flashing, barely able to keep from shrieking. He felt where the dried tears made tracks through the soot on his face and scrubbed them away with hands caked in grime. "My village is destroyed. All those I love have been slaughtered. How can I not pursue those who did this? What else remains?" His head felt like it might explode, and his heart seemed like it might break.
Then, a surprising moment of calm settled around them, and Leuk's breathing slowed. His hands no longer trembled. Whatever the source, the sudden change was a welcome respite, a breath of air for one near to drowning.
"Come with me," the old man replied at last. "I had reasons for living near Pallidor. After what happened last night, I must set a new course. Another town, very much like yours, is now in danger, and I must warn them."
His voice conveyed a sense of urgency that stung Leuk. Glancing at the wreckage before him, a part of Leuk conceded that every effort should be made to prevent anything like this from happening to others. But his own loss was still too raw. He was trapped, bone-deep, in the shackles of his own suffering, as surely as a rabbit caught in a snare, unable to shake free.
"They must be told of the Dumea," Thaern urged, sensing Leuk's uncertainty. "Otherwise, more lives will be lost, and a bright hope spanning centuries will be undone. If you come with me, perhaps I can help you find a measure of healing. At the very least, I know those who might offer you some answers." Thaern looked him in the eyes. "Boy, you simply cannot remain here. The needs you feel tugging at you now cannot be answered here."
Leuk hesitated. "What of the dead? Who will tend to them?" The pleading in his words echoed across the lifeless landscape. The farm was a smoking ruin; the cattle were slaughtered, and the crops and orchards were trampled or burned. Every person slain. Still, he didn't know how he could leave the only place he'd ever known.
I needn't have asked. Of course you have. His ma's last words to him rang in his head. She had been so sure of him.
Turning in all directions, Leuk knew he could not stay here, among the dead. He simply could not. When he plumbed the depths of his heart, the simple truth became clear. He desperately wanted to be gone from this place, from what it had become. Anywhere away from here.
And if what the old man said was true, these monsters could not be opposed, not by him on foot and alone. These two understandings broke the snare's grip on him, and it felt as if a great weight had shifted. It had not disappeared, but it had moved.
And then there was the other village that needed to be warned.
"I will go with you," Leuk mumbled at last.
"What do I call you, lad?" the old man asked.
"My name is Leuk."
With his head bowed, Leuk stood before the mound of dirt and silently said his goodbyes. This simple sacrament was a bitter, aching thing. Unspoken promises tumbled about in his mind. Forgive me for not being here, he pleaded silently. I'll set things right. The voices inside him were unsated but, for the moment, quiescent.
Turning stiffly away, he made to follow Thaern, who had stood waiting and watching.
At the old man's home, high in the hills overlooking Pallidor, they gathered supplies and some old scrolls Thaern would not leave behind, then headed south out of the Khor Valley. As evening approached, they made camp. They shared a quiet meal, neither feeling much like talking.
Again, on this night, wolves howled mournfully among the trees. Exhaustion weighed heavily on Leuk, and sleep came quickly. Even so, terrible images of blood and death and screaming monsters plagued his slumber. Above all, a cacophony of voices shrieked demands over and over.
You should have… You should have… You should have…
