Chapter 28
SKALD DREKKI
But it was impossible. He ventured out once more having only rested briefly.
There was a nagging desire to be active after so much inactivity.
The presence of the hatchling within rún-ketill chipped away at his resolve.
He wanted to know more. He wanted to see more.
He felt as if he’d been awaiting such freedom all his life.
He refused to squander it now. And he was determined to find more answers.
The Others were terrible creatures, weren’t they?
They’d left a hatchling, alone, to perish in the storm.
What other awfulness would they do? Or was it something else? Had it been a mistake after all?
He’d considered his motivations in rescuing the hatchling. It had been instinctive. A need to save something too weak to fend for itself. But he felt uncertain about himself for the first time since accepting his future role as Speaker.
If he could feel like that about the Others, did that make him unworthy of his position?
The Speaker was supposed to be detached from the needs of the Others, and to consider only the needs of drekkikind, and to act as a conduit between his kind, hidden from the Others, and the Others who he could see.
Naer-Vera had taught him so. There was, he realised, a contradiction in what Naer-Vera had cautioned and what actually happened.
His kind relied on the Others to help maintain the secrecy of the Speaker of his kind.
They were his servants. His own kind didn’t aid him. It was a strange situation.
He’d thought through the dilemma until growing restless and angry with himself.
He’d banished the thought. He was the Speaker.
He’d been Chosen at the Testing. There was no one else to take his place at the moment.
It was his. He knew no other drekki within rún-ketill had been hatched with eyes that foretold their destiny as Speaker.
He’d have to learn to act with more wisdom in future and less instinct.
Even if the hatchling had been helpless and in need of protection.
He leapt from his ice-locked ledge, high up on rún-ketill, and once more felt the exhilaration of flight, as his wings opened wide. The gentle wind flowed beneath his massive wings as he powered through the air, following the same journey of yesterday.
As the sun lightened the shadowed land beneath him, he detected a small scattering of smoking buildings, now he knew where to look, and even the occasional Other scurrying over the surface of the land.
He counted those he saw, mindful of the strictures of Naer-Vera, and when he reached the far distant coast, where blue ice met green ice, he turned back in surprise.
So few. He’d counted no more than eighteen Others.
He’d counted no more than twenty-one steadings.
To be sure, he flew back the way he’d come and then far across the southern parts of the land.
Again, he detected no more than seventeen dwellings and fewer than ten Others.
There were no grazing animals and nothing like the number of dwellings he’d been led to expect by the images in the Archive. It puzzled him.
To confirm his suspicions, he flew west and north as well, always with the same result. He didn’t understand why the knowledge unnerved him. Surely, he should feel relief at the lack of Others.
But he didn’t.
He didn’t know what he felt, but it wasn’t satisfaction that the Others seemed so few.
As the scant light began to flee from the sky, he hovered over the eastern lands. Soon, the wind would turn ferocious. He should leave, but something drew him back and kept him firmly rooted in position. Something, or someone, tugged at his mind, shouting for his attention.
He’d almost convinced himself to leave when a sudden hunger swamped him.
Such overwhelming hunger. He’d only fed two days ago from the blazing channels of lava.
He shouldn’t need to feed again for many days.
Yes, he’d flown a long way but not enough to warrant what he was feeling now. His stomach clenched with pain.
Temporarily, he lost height as a feeling of hollowness engulfed him.
His wing strokes faltered. Struggling to retain his height, he noticed movement below.
Pale shapes slunk across the snow. He knew their name.
They were wolves. If they’d not been in motion, he’d not have seen them in the deepening dusk.
The animals moved as one towards the home of one of the Others.
His giant nostrils wrinkled, but all he smelled was the sharp bite of the wind.
Still, the scent of something he could eat to sate his hunger flooded his mind.
He could almost taste it. With an effort, he reasserted his thoughts, pushing those of the pack below him to the edge of his consciousness.
He was no wolf. He didn’t need to eat meat, as they did.
He hovered, fascinated. He felt what the pack was feeling.
He was seeing what they were seeing even as he watched them from a great height.
The wolves circled the building cautiously.
One of them thrust itself at a part of it that Skaldi reasoned must be the entrance.
A sharp splintering sound split the air.
The animals rushed into the building. The smell of rotting flesh rushed out, but he couldn’t scent it from all the way up here.
He was conscious of what the wolves were smelling.
The Others inside were dead, Skaldi understood.
They’d perished during the pitch darkness.
While he couldn’t see what was happening within the dwelling, the noises coming from inside told the story quite eloquently.
All animals must feed. He knew that. The relief and desire from the wolves on finally being able to fill their bellies swam with his thoughts, even though he tried to keep them at bay.
Fascinated by what was happening, he was unable to wrench himself away from the wolves.
Nothing Naer-Vera had taught him had made him anticipate being able to perceive the thoughts of other animals, aside from the Others and others of his kind.
Now he was as acutely aware of what the wolf pack was projecting as he’d been of the desperation felt by the hatchling.
Something else within his mind vied for attention, too. At first, he didn’t understand the frantic succession of thoughts, feelings and senses thrumming through his mind, entirely at odds with the satisfaction of the wolves. They compelled him to act.
He landed abruptly, with a sharp snap of his huge golden wings, some distance from the squat dwelling.
He folded his wings tight against his body and shuffled forward through the deep snow, holding his body tight to allow his legs more room to advance.
There ahead were imprints in the snow that didn’t belong to the wolves.
He followed them, sweeping his tail from side to side to mask his massive prints.
The trail ended abruptly beside a small building, just to the side of the main dwelling.
There was an Other here. He could sense their terror as if they were screaming, far more forcefully than even the hungry wolves.
His wings threatened to extend as he fought the urge to escape.
It was much harder to push the Other’s fear away than it had been to drive away the wolves’ feelings of hunger.
Suddenly he understood the terror. The wolves were starving. Ravenous. They’d eat everything here, including the Other sheltering inside the small building. One of the wolves had already picked up the scent of the Other. It was busily sniffing the prints he’d followed.
Any moment now, it would alert his co-hunters to the presence of fresh meat.
But before the wolf could howl, Skaldi rushed towards him and batted him with his front claws.
The white wolf yelped, the sound sharp and unsettling.
It fought for purchase on the icy ground and immediately rushed back inside the dwelling.
Terror pulsed from the wolf, unable to see his invisible assailant.
Skaldi followed the wolf with steady steps, his tail high, using it to balance more easily, as he hurried to ensure they couldn’t attack the living Other.
Disquieting crunching and the yips of wolves fighting over the same food could be easily heard.
He didn’t begrudge them their meal, but understood the Other was disgusted at the thought of their fellows being eaten by animals.
If only I’d set the fire.
This wasn’t his thought. He knew that. And yet, it was so strong, so very, very strong.
He was too large to fit through what looked to be a squat tunnel.
But he remembered what Naer-Vera had taught him.
If his thoughts remained focused entirely on his intentions, he could create fire.
He could do it. Now. He thought of searing hot flames and with a rush, blew leaping yellow flames over the snow-covered building, surprising himself with how easy it was.
The flames danced over the snow-covered roof, an immediate cloud of evaporating water, allowing the fire to take hold of the exposed grasses. From within, he heard the yips of the wolves, and some rushed through the open door at the stench of burning turf and wood.
But not all of them rushed to escape. He sensed their conundrum. They needed to eat or they would die. As the flames grew into a dazzling inferno, lighting up the dark sky, despite the howling wind, he listened as whimpers of pain replaced the yips of fear. But still they refused to leave.
The Other needed to live. The Other needed to survive. He knew it deep within himself, although he couldn’t name why. Yet, he was unsettled as the howls died away, and those wolves who’d managed to escape ran far away.