Ryan
“What happened to you?” Andrew asks as I walk back to where he’s waiting with a few wolves and men in their human forms, all of them carrying goods or pulling carts with our tents and what I hope are peace offerings for our new neighbors.
Andrew’s light brown hair nearly touches his shoulders now compared to the short cropped hairstyle he used to wear in Crescent Falls. His dark eyes, the color of coal, are brighter, though. Happier. More at ease.
I look my lead warrior, my meager forces commander, up and down as I walk up to the group. The left sleeve of my long sleeve shirt–handmade from linen spun and sewn by hand–is stained with blood. I look down at it and shrug. “I met some friends.”
“Friends?” Jacob, who used to run my garage, chuckles.
I smirk as I rest my hands on my hips and scan the small caravan of men and wolves who’ve been traveling with me for the better part of the day. We left the new territory of Silverhide this morning, before dawn, hoping to reach Endova by dusk.
“We’re nearly there,” I tell the group, tilting my head toward the muddy, not-so-well-beaten trail. “It’s clear.”
“I dunno,” Andrew teases, looking me up and down. “You sure we’re not going to run into these new friends of yours?”
I don’t pay him any mind as the group starts walking again, the carts bumping over puddles of mud and rocks.
I fall into step behind them, nursing the sharp ache in my shoulder. It’s just a muscle wound, thank the Goddess. Whoever put an arrow through my shoulder is a terrible shot.
But judging by the wolf I’d encountered, it was likely one of the girls in her company.
My pack left for Eastonia two years ago. We made it in one piece. The journey hadn’t been easy for the second wave of mostly women and young children once we left the Roguelands and the packed, dirt roads we’d traveled on, and the numerous villages we’d been able to stay in on our way.
But once my pack set foot in the valley we now call home… well, it’s been the best thing I’ve ever done.
We miss the modern conveniences from time to time. Television isn’t a thing here, obviously. My Uncle Ryatt’s impressive powers somehow fuel the lights we picked up in the Roguelands and installed through the small village we constructed over the last two years and somehow allow us things like hot, running water.
But it hasn’t been totally comfortable. We nearly starved that first winter. I had to return to the Roguelands to buy cattle, seeds, and extra supplies that next spring. My pack spread out, starting farms, raising animals and planting gardens, but we didn’t have anything to trade or use to barter with our only neighbors when their only communal event–The Harvest Festival–came around.
They also wanted absolutely nothing to do with us. All but Jerrod, the patriarch of the Endova pack, and the closest tribe to our village at only thirty miles away.
He sent some of his tribe to help when an illness swept through our village. His hunters showed us the best hunting spots in our little sliver of the Deadland, and what creatures to avoid.
Because there are creatures out here. Stuff out of nightmares, honestly. Stuff that even the fanatic movie directors back in Crescent Falls couldn’t cook up in their wildest dreams.
Andrew falls into step with me as the first lights of the village of Endova glisten over the softly rolling hills at the base of the forest. “Are you still going to Moonrise next month?”
“I have to,” I reply dryly, rolling my aching shoulder with a wince. “My parents are visiting. My brother, too, with his sons. James will be in charge while I’m gone.”
Andrew nods. “Sydney will want to see the village. What you’ve done is pretty impressive–”
“What we’ve all done,” I correct, glancing at him. Like James, I’ve known Andrew since I was a kid. His dad is one of my dad’s generals, but he broke with our born pack to join Silverhide when I started it. Most of my pack members came to me in that way. Warrior training buddies. College friends. Guys I met during drunken, riotous nights at the bars. Eventually, people started finding their mates, bringing women into the mix. More people started showing up at the gates to meet me, to gauge whether they wanted to join. Soon, I had a hundred members, all sharing a common desire.
Live freely. Be outside in nature. Get back to our roots.
What better way to do that than by nearly starving to death or being eaten by not-so-mythical creatures in some far off land?
Jacob motions for the wolves pulling the carts with our supplies for what will be a three day stay to pull off to the side in a grassy clearing surrounded by trees just outside of the village. “We’ll set up camp here,” he shouts to me. “You go ahead!”
I nod, stepping out of the way of another passing cart.
Andrew, who I’ve tasked with learning the customs of the strange tribes who’ve inhabited the Deadlands since what I assume must be the dawn of time, falls into step beside me. They’ve lived in relative peace here, fending for themselves against all odds. When Ryatt offered me this opportunity, I expected there to be nothing here. No grass. No trees. Just miles and miles of rolling, barren… nothing. It had been like that during our first days traveling to the center of the Deadlands, well past the ancient settlements of what was once a great, thriving metropolis. Ella told me the Firestone Witches used to have cities all over the place, but the Deadlands fell to some great blight way back in history I’ve failed to study.
The barren land eventually gave way to thick forests that surrounded rich valleys of grass and wheat. Bushes covered with berries grow all over the higher hills, and the woods are full of elk, deer, and other small creatures.
The hunting has been my favorite aspect of this move so far. Everyone enjoys it. We can spend our entire days hunting or out working with our hands, building whatever we need, farming, and gathering at night to eat the spoils of our hunts and hard work in the fields.
It’s almost enough to blur the memories that still haunt me at night.
Andrew and I follow the group who didn’t stay to set up camp into the village, walking between what looks like two small hills.
But they’re not hills. All of the buildings in Endova are either built into hillsides, or completely covered in dirt. You can walk on top of them and not know an entire house lies beneath. A fire that never seems to go out even in the worst weather burns at the center of the village. People dressed in homespun in bright, rich colors stop to look at us as we pass into the center of the village where laundry still hangs on lines roping from house to house, and a few shops are shutting down for the night.
The villagers give us our space as Andrew pulls me aside, the rest of our group continuing toward the largest building of them all, the only one not covered by earth. It’s two stories tall and made with thick, dark stone. The meeting hall. Not the pack house. There is no Alpha here.
In the shadow of one of the hill houses, he hands me a fresh shirt. “You’re bleeding all over the place.”
“Will the elders really care that much? They know what we’re up against out there in the forest.” I shrug out of my shirt regardless, wincing as blood trickles down my arm through a bandage roughly and hastily wrapped around my shoulder. It’ll heal–slowly. I possess none of Sydney’s gifts. While I’m able to heal more quickly than a human, all this moving around isn’t helping.
“They care about a lot more than you realize.”
“Which is why I brought gifts, right?”
Andrew nods. “They will barter with you, offering you gifts in return. You have to accept everything. It’s an affront if you don’t.”
“Everything?” I chuckle.
“Everything, seriously.” He wads up my bloody shirt and tosses it in the cart loaded with gifts for the tribe. Meat from a recent hunt. Spring berries. Some of our stash of last year's grain harvest. And a half barrel of the strawberry-rhubarb wine Dahlia, James’s mate, made.
But the most precious gift is the incredible pelt that catches the light of the fire as the cart passes us. It shines like liquid gold as the men near the entrance of the meeting hall. “Let’s get this over with, then,” I grumble, shaking out my arm.
Andrew follows me into the meeting hall, which is swarming with bodies and music. A hush falls over the crowd, some of which are standing, and others are seated at several long tables toward the walls. The scent of wine and mead fill the air as people part to allow us to enter, and soon the only sound to be heard over my steady heartbeat are the cart wheels bumping over the uneven stone tiles.
A group of elderly men stands toward the head of the room. Jerrod, their patriarch, is impossible to miss. Tall, broad, with a long, black beard and small green eyes, he turns to me, his mouth stretching into a warm, welcoming smile. “Alpha Ryan,” he says in a thick accent, bowing his head. “It’s an honor.”
“The honor is mine,” I tell him, bowing in return. Sure, I’m technically the Alpha King… of my own people. A hundred of them. These people don’t care. “I’ve brought gifts to thank you for your hospitality and allowing us to join your spring hunt.” I motion for the cart to be brought closer. The wolf pulling it comes to stop, panting slightly.
“Poor boy. Hurry, unfasten him.” Jerrod snaps his pudgy fingers, and two men come running up to his side. “Have this pup brought round some clothes, food, and wine.”
“He’s fine,” I assure him, but Andrew elbows me hard in the arm. I grunt in pain as my wound aches. The wolf is led away, and I glare at Andrew as I motion toward the cart. “Meat, grain, berries, and wine–”
Someone gasps, then shouts ring out in their rough, hard to understand accents.
“Is that…?”
I notice a woman pointing a finger at the cart, at the pelt rolled up and sitting in the back.
“Oh,” I smile, walking around to fetch it. I’m rather proud of this pelt, honestly. I’ve never seen a more beautiful creature in my life, and honestly, it almost felt like a sin to hunt and kill it, but after three weeks tracking it, I had to come back with something. I lift the pelt into my arms. “An elk hide, I believe. I’ve never seen one this color–”
“My Goddess,” Jerrod says, his eyes going wide. “A golden elk?”
A commotion erupts as people jostle toward us, trying to get a better view. I look at Andrew in confusion, but he shrugs, scratching his head as I’m surrounded. Several hands reach out to stroke the pelt, followed by murmurs of shock and awe.
For a moment, I wonder if I’ve done something wrong.
But Jerrod steps forward.
“Uh, here,” I say, shoving the pelt into his arms. He nearly drops it.
The crowd goes quiet as Jerrod runs his meaty hand over the pelt. Is he… crying?
A glimmer of red catches my attention in the far corner of the room. Red, thick, curly hair inlaid with… seashells?
Dark brown eyes meet mine in a glare. I glare back, the wound on my arm singing in pain.
Well, well, well. If it isn’t the little red wolf who looked like she was ready to rip my head off earlier today.
“This is for us?” Jerrod asks, stealing my attention away from the beautiful, furious looking young woman trying to melt into the wall.
“It’s for you, Jerrod,” I tell him.
His eyes go even wider, if that’s even possible.
“For this, I give you my daughter.” He snaps his fingers, and people start moving.
“I…. What?”