41. Call of the Wolf
Chapter 41
Call of the Wolf
15 th Day of the Blood Moon
Níthianelle – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Ella’s heart beat so wildly she thought it would come through her chest. With each step she took, the thumping in her veins grew louder. Around her, the city of Aravell was cold and empty, the ethereal light of Níthianelle draining it of all vibrancy or life.
Thousands of small heartbeats thrummed, birds soaring overhead, mice scurrying in the depths, all manner of creatures moving through the woodland around the city. And yet, not a single human or elf. That was something she had noticed in her time in Níthianelle: she could feel and see the souls of animals, but not of elves or Jotnar or humans. When she thought back, the same had been true of when she had travelled there in the Lorian camp and during the battle for Aravell.
A thought came to her, and she stopped in her tracks, staring up at a white tower that rose for a hundred feet, topping off in a plateau.
Aneera and the other Angan stopped beside her.
“What is wrong, Daughter of the Chainbreaker?” Aneera looked from Ella to the tower.
“That tower was destroyed during the battle, but here it stands. How?”
“Níthianelle is a mirror of the mortal plane,” Aneera said, looking up at the tower. “But the reflections take time and do not always behave in the way you would expect.”
Ella thought back to when she had been walking through the Darkwood itself. She had seen no trace of dragonfire, no burnt trees or charred earth. This place seemed governed by no rules she could understand, and it terrified her.
“We are almost there,” Aneera said.
The Angan led her across the bridge between the city and the place the others had called Alura. The lanterns set along the parapets burned with a pale light, the waterfalls pouring over the cliff edges on either side and crashing into the enormous chasm below.
Two more Fenryr Angan stood on the white plateau at the other end of the bridge where it sloped downwards, the pathway of arching trees behind them. The creatures dropped to one knee, grey and white smoke wisping from their bodies. They, too, joined the procession, and the group carried on through the pathway of trees and again through the arch cut into the rock at the end of the path.
She stepped out into the enormous basin of Alura. Even in Níthianelle, with the strange twilight draining most of the colour from the world, Alura took her breath away, just as it had the first time. Beautiful structures of white stone, smooth as bone, woven through the rock face as though part of it, pathways of grass connecting building to building. Below, she saw the courtyard where she had discovered that Farda had killed her mam. It felt strange to her for that to be how she remembered this place, but it was. That spot would forever be engrained in her memory.
“This way.” Aneera gestured towards a path on the left, bowing slightly at the waist.
More Angan awaited them on the path,all of them of Clan Dvalin, their fur white as snow, black antlers wrapping around their heads. They each bowed in turn, then joined, forming a guard of sorts.
Ella wasn’t sure the precise moment she became aware of it, but a strange sensation prickled at the back of her neck. The same feeling spread down through her body, creeping over her arms and legs. Her lips went dry, and her breaths grew short.
At the end of the path was a plateau with eight of the white stone buildings sitting atop it. By the time they reached the plateau, her hands were shaking, a ringing noise had set into her head, and she had become acutely aware of the beats of her heart. Her true heart.
“In there,” she said, gesturing towards one of the white buildings set with its back to the rock face. It called to her, the air shimmering and rippling around it, and as she focused her gaze, the sounds of the world drowned out and her beating heart was all she could hear. That place was her counterpoint in the waking world; she was sure of it. Inside that building was her one and only chance of returning to Calen, Haem, and Faenir.
“Yes,” Aneera answered. “We are almost there, Daughter of the Chainbreaker.”
Drawing in a short breath, Ella turned her head to Aneera. “Why do you call me that? ‘Daughter of the Chainbreaker’? What is that? You and Baldon both called me that from the moment I arrived in Aravell.”
Aneera’s expression softened at the mention of Baldon. “It is not my place to tell, but you will learn the answer very shortly.”
Ella followed the path to the plateau and crossed it until she stood before the door of the house, her pulse clapping like thunder in her veins.
Aneera followed her through the door, but the others remained outside. The common room was plain, a fire and cookpot set into the far wall, an island counter in the centre, and a long table to the right. It would have been as calm and simple as the homes back in The Glade if not for the eerie silence and the strange shimmer of the light that passed through the windows.
Aneera led her up the stairs to a long landing, where two more Fenryr Angan stood on either side of a door at the end of the hallway. Both stood half a foot taller than even Aneera, the crowns of their heads almost scraping the ceiling. Their shoulders were just short of rivalling Haem’s, and the thick fur on their bodies covered dense muscle.
Both Angan stared at Ella, golden eyes peering through a shroud of smoke that drifted around their ethereal shapes. The pair dropped to a knee, their gazes never leaving hers.
“Daughter of the Chainbreaker.” The voices that left the Angans’ throats were rough and harsh. When Ella had first heard Aneera and Baldon speak, she had thought their voices the strangest things in the world, but these Angan spoke as though the Common Tongue had never touched their lips.
Aneera stared into Ella’s eyes, flecks of gold swirling in her irises. “You are a Blooddancer of the warrior blood of Fenryr, Ella Bryer. Do not fear. You are strong. And he will never leave you. Not while there is air in his lungs. To the blood of Fenryr, loyalty is all.”
“Thank you for taking me this far, Aneera.” She gripped Aneera’s forearm, much to the Angan’s surprise. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
Ella stepped past the two Angan who still knelt by the door, their heads now dipped. The doorknob was cold to the touch, a chill spreading from her fingertips up through her arm and into her body. Once more she became aware of how loud her heart was beating, its thumps pounding in her blood. She could hear the air swelling in her lungs with each breath.
Swallowing hard, Ella turned the knob and stepped through.
Darkness washed over her. The world on the other side of the door was an ocean of emptiness without end.
She snapped back around. The door was gone.
Panic set in.
“No, no, no…” Ella spun, searching the darkness for something, anything. Her breaths trembled as she tried to settle the dread crawling through her veins. “Breathe…” she whispered, pulling a long breath through her nose. “Breathe.”
“You are never alone.” Freis Bryer’s voice drifted in the nothingness. “Open your eyes, Ella. Open your mind and trust in the blood.”
The wolf growled in the back of Ella’s mind, an answer to Freis’s call.
“Mam? Is that you?” Ella clenched her jaw, her eyes watering. “Am I just losing my mind? Please tell me I’m not losing my mind.”
“Trust in the blood, Ella. Let it guide you.”
“Mam, please…” Ella looked about frantically, staring into the abyss.
“Let it guide you, Ella. I’m sorry I kept you from it. I was wrong. We were wrong. We only wanted to keep you safe.”
Ella closed her eyes and clenched her jaw.
I need you. Oh, Mam. I need you.
In the darkness of her mind, two amber eyes opened, white fangs materialising.
The wolf lowered its head, lips pulled back in a snarl, a low rumble in its throat, its enormous frame taking shape in the dark. A howl thundered through the caverns of Ella’s mind, her eyes never leaving the wolf’s.
The creature stalked her, circling, one massive paw following the other. Its back was arched, its hackles raised, saliva dripping from its fangs.
“This is who you are,” a voice called, sounding all around her. No longer her mother’s voice, this one was much deeper and resolute. She had never heard it before, and yet she knew it intimately. “To retether yourself, you must embrace the blood in your veins. You must become more than you were. You conquer the wolf by becoming it. You kill the fear by letting it in. You find your path by allowing nothing to stand in your way.”
As the voice spoke, the growl in the wolf’s throat deepened, lowering to its chest.
“Become what you are meant to be, young one.”
Ella bent her knees and opened her hands, watching her fingers twist and crack, lengthening as her nails yielded to dark claws. In her mouth, her teeth shifted, fangs pressing into her lips, the iron tinge of blood on her tongue.
She matched the wolf stride for stride, her heartbeat slowing.
Thump. Thump.
In the reflection of the wolf’s molten eyes, she saw her pain, her loss, her anger, and her fear. The night she found out Haem would never come back. The day she watched Rhett die. The moment she realised her mam and dad were dead and what was left of her heart had cracked. The instant she discovered Farda had killed her mam… Each of those moments had changed something in her, broken her, and rebuilt her.
You conquer the wolf by becoming it.
A growl built in Ella’s chest and rose to her throat as she continued to circle the wolf, never allowing its gaze to leave her own, staring into those memories.
You kill the fear by letting it in.
Those memories cycled through Ella’s mind. Again and again, she forced herself to relive them. They were part of her.
You find your path by allowing nothing to stand in your way.
The reflections in the wolf’s eyes changed as it pulled its lips back, snapping. Ella could see herself lying in a bed, arms by her side, motionless.
Without a moment’s more hesitation, she charged.
The wolf launched itself through the air, swiping for Ella’s head with an enormous claw.
Ella twisted, raking her claws along the ground and swinging her free hand at the creature’s side. She found flesh, soft and yielding.
The wolf howled, blood dripping from a fresh wound, and then it came at her once more, jaws snapping. She tried to sidestep it, but the creature caught her with a paw and the pair tumbled to the ground.
Ella thrashed, ramming her claws into the wolf’s side again and again, its weight crushing her. It clamped massive jaws around her shoulder and ripped its head side to side.
White hot pain caused her to shriek, warm blood pumping. The shriek turned to a howl, and she sank her teeth into the wolf’s neck, biting down as hard as she could, fangs tearing through skin and muscle, scraping against bone. She had lost all feeling in her left arm but continued to plunge the claws of her right into the beast’s side while blood filled her mouth. Strike after strike, flesh yielded to claw. And with each strike the wolf continued to rip her shoulder to pieces.
Ella released her bite on the wolf’s neck, grabbed ahold of its shoulder, and tensed her core, lifting her knees. She raked her clawed feet down the beast’s belly, then swung her leg to the side and kicked like a demon.
The wolf released her, howling in pain and collapsing on its side as Ella’s clawed foot slipped from the wound in its belly.
She hauled herself up to one knee, her left arm dangling at her side. The flesh was torn to ribbons, snapped bone protruding, blood flowing freely. The agony was so intense her lungs struggled to take in a breath and she staggered sideways as she tried to rise, pain redoubling.
The wolf dragged itself to its feet, white blood streaming from its neck, side, and belly. In its golden eyes, the only reflection Ella saw was herself.
“Come on then!” she roared, her throat scratching, eyes watering. “Kill me!”
A half-second passed, and the wolf lunged.
Ella didn’t run or twist or dive out of the way. She charged forwards, unleashed a guttural howl, and swung her clawed hand into the creature’s jaw. White blood sprayed, the wolf’s momentum carrying it forwards and smashing Ella into the ground. The pain from her shoulder was blinding, lights flashing across her eyes and her stomach turning. She ignored it all and slashed at the wolf atop her, chunks of fur and flesh coming loose in her hand. She rolled, pushing the beast off her, then leaping on top of it.
The creature stared up at her from its back, eyelids drooping lazily over golden irises. The sound in its throat alternated between a whimper and growl, its fangs bared.
Ella looked down at the enormous creature, her pain numbing, her consciousness fading. And in that moment, she let out a visceral howl, tilting her head upwards, trails of white blood running down her chin.
The wolf in her blood answered her howl, and the familiar red mist descended over her vision.
Ella shot upright, shaking and screaming. She scrambled backwards, her vision blurred, a howl shrieking in her head.
Dull voices rumbled in the back of her mind.
Something reached for her, and she swiped it away, feeling something hard against her back. She snapped and snarled like a trapped animal, feeling her fangs lengthening, the wolf alive in her blood like never before.
Slowly her vision began to clear, blocky forms taking shape, light seeping in.
“Ella, it’s all right.” The voice was still muffled but sounded familiar.
Another hand, or claw, or something, snatched at her.
“Get away from me!” she roared, her throat dry as sand, her own voice sounding foreign, strange. Her hands shook uncontrollably, and her stomach felt as though it would turn itself inside out. “Don’t touch me!”
A feeling of pure joy hit her like a rampaging bull, and then a weight crashed into her chest, pushing past her arms and bearing down over her. Thick fur pressed against her fingers and palms, a wet tongue lashing her face. Sharp whimpers and whines sounded in her ear.
“Faenir?” Ella’s heart stopped. She moved her hands, feeling the shape of the wolfpine’s snout, her fingertips brushing over his wet nose as he tried desperately to lick the soul from her body. Her vision was still blurred, but she snapped her eyes shut and wrapped her arms around Faenir’s neck, squeezing him as tightly as she dared.
The wolfpine nuzzled into her, continuing to whine as he pressed the flat of his head into her neck. Sweet relief and pure joy radiated from him, and the massive wolfpine wiggled his hips like a newborn pup.
“I’m here, boy,” Ella whispered, pressing her face into Faenir’s muzzle. “I’m here.”
“Ella.”
The voice was Tanner Fjorn’s. Ella recognised it now, the howl fading from her ears. She peeled open her eyes, the light in the room causing her to wince. Shapes formed around her, dark blotches blocking out the light. “Tanner?”
“By the gods, girl…” His voice trembled with a worry that sounded strange on his tongue. His scent was the same: all fear and concern. “We weren’t sure if you’d ever come back to us.”
A hand settled on Ella’s arm, a second brushing her cheek. Ella recognised Yana’s voice before the woman’s face came into focus, her dark eyes staring into Ella’s. “You took your time.”
Ella’s lips broke into a smile, and she rested her hand over Yana’s, pressing it to her cheek. “Just trying to teach you patience,” she said, coughing, her throat dry as cotton. “I thought you’d like the peace and quiet.”
“You’re a piece of work,” Yana said with a laugh.
“Is there any water?” Ella pushed herself back, looking down to see she sat in a bed. Faenir still pressed himself to her, letting out low whimpers, his snout now nuzzled beneath her left arm – which she was happy to see was still attached. She swallowed hard, trying to get some spit into her mouth. “I feel like I’ve been drinking sand.”
“Here.” The third voice belonged to a face Ella was overjoyed to see: Lasch Havel. She’d only briefly crossed paths with him and Elia before the battle for the city, but seeing faces from home set a warmth in her. Lasch popped the stopper from a waterskin and handed it to Ella. “Elia’s brewing a new batch of tea. She’ll be up in a minute.”
Ella gave him a soft smile, nodding her thanks, then took the skin and drank deeply. She coughed and spluttered, the water spraying over her lips and onto Faenir’s head. The wolfpine jerked back with a yelp, then licked the moisture from his muzzle and lay down across Ella, dropping his chin over the blanket covering her knees.
“Drink slow, child. You found your path, but your body has been idle for some time.”
Every hair on Ella’s body pricked, her breath catching in her lungs. The wolf within her bowed its head, and she felt a compulsion to do the same. Faenir flattened his chin against his paws, his eyes fixed on the corner of the room.
Both Tanner and Lasch stepped aside as a man rose from a stout wooden chair beside the wall. Aneera and another Fenryr Angan walked at his side.
The man was almost as tall as Tanner but leaner and less densely muscled. His hair was golden with flecks of black and brown, a thick beard covering his face.
Instinctively, Ella made to rise, but the man lifted an open hand. “No.” His voice was deep and calm, his eyes fixed on her. “You must rest, child.”
Yana stood as the man approached. When he reached the bed, he dropped to one knee and rested a hand on Faenir’s head. “You did well, as I knew you would. Thank you for keeping her safe.”
The wolfpine gave a low grumble and nuzzled his head up into the man’s palm, closing his eyes.
With his other hand, the man reached across and gently gripped Ella’s forearm. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t pull away. She didn’t know him, but something within her told her she was safe.
“Decades ago, your father risked everything for me, for my children. It is a debt that cannot be repaid. You are also of your mother’s blood, of my blood, and so you are pack. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Ella Bryer.”
“You…” Ella’s voice trailed off as she stared into the man’s swirling golden eyes. She knew him now, knew him in his entirety. “You are Fenryr.”
“I am. And you are Ella Bryer, daughter of Vars and Freis Bryer. Daughter of the Chainbreaker and born of the oldest sept of my blood. And I swear to you, neither you nor your brothers will be alone in what is to come.”
Ella had no idea what to say, but every impulse in her body told her she could trust this man… this god.
As she met Fenryr’s stare, the door behind him swung open and Elia Havel half-walked, half-ran into the room, carrying a tray with a teapot and a number of mugs. The smile on her face stretched from one ear to the other, her eyes wide. “Ella Bryer. Every day I prayed Heraya would keep you safe.”
“Heraya did nothing,” Fenryr whispered, a sharp tooth biting at his bottom lip. “She only watches as we die.”
Elia didn’t hear him. She pushed Tanner and Lasch aside and laid the tray on a small table by Ella’s bed. Ella could already smell the earthy aroma of Arlen Root tea. In fact, she had smelled it from the moment she’d woken, but it had sat in the back of her mind, muddled by the haze.
“Here.” Elia poured the tea into a clay mug and made to pass it to Ella before Fenryr placed his hand in the way.
The man – no, the god – raised a finger and gave Elia a gentle smile. “May I?”
Elia stared at him curiously for a moment, then handed him the mug, her eyes remaining narrowed. Despite Fenryr’s pleasant demeanour, the atmosphere in the room darkened. Both Lasch and Tanner moved a little closer, Aneera and the other Angan taking a position behind the still-kneeling Fenryr.
Fenryr held the mug in one hand, his palm on the base, his fingers snaking up the sides. He stared down into the murky liquid. “Do you know the history of Arlen Root, Ella Bryer?”
“The history? It’s the root of the Arlen Odus, a flowering perennial with dull orange petals and long leaves. It’s native to western Illyanara. My mother used to pick it fresh all the time.”
Fenryr gave a soft laugh. The smile that touched his face was one of pain. Ella could… smell him. He smelled of anguish, and the wolf in her blood mirrored that same grief. “The Arlen Odus plant is native to Terroncia. We’d thought we’d burned every shred of it we could find. Thought we’d left it behind us when we sailed to these lands. We were wrong.”
“I don’t understand.”
“This plant, this root, is poison. It is the reason my children, my people… our people are on the edge of extinction. We were betrayed three thousand years ago when some of our own smuggled it onto the ships. They thought to use it to gain power in this new land. But all it brought them was death. When ingested, Arlen Root poisons the blood of the Tuatha – the children of gods, the Gifted. It blocks your Gifts, making you weaker and dulling your senses. It is how the Ungifted – the Itharín – controlled your kind, how they kept them sedate and corralled them like cattle for the slaughter. They put it in the food where the taste could be hidden, then put you in chains. This root was the slow death of tens of thousands.”
“But my mam… she?—”
“She made her choices. She did what she needed to do to protect her pack.”
“She was a druid?”
Fenryr nodded slowly. He stood, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Faenir shifting without complaint. “When you are recovered, I will answer any and all questions you have. I will show you the paths once walked. For now, I will tell you that your mother was of the Pathfinder blood of my veins. She was, as you are, a descendant of one of the oldest and greatest septs to bear my name – Sept Eridain. By the time of her father’s father, the imperials were using collared Tuatha to hunt and track their own kind. Freis made a choice to use the root against them – and against my counsel. She used it to block her Gifts, and yours after you were born, so the trackers could not follow the scent of the wolf in your blood.”
Fenryr extended the mug towards Ella. That same earthy scent that only moments before had reminded her of home now turned her stomach. All these years, her mother had poured that tea down her throat, had fed her poison – had lied to her.
“But now,” Fenryr said, twisting on the edge of the bed so that he could look into her eyes, “I feel it is only right that you know the truth and that you are given the opportunity to make your own choice. The landscape of this continent is shifting, and I think we’ve spent enough time in the dark. Gods are not all knowing, or all seeing, or all powerful – not even the Enkara. Decades ago, your father risked his life for mine many times over. He had no cause to do so. He was not aware of his blood, and he had nothing tangible to gain. He freed me from the chains my complacency had bound me in. And I will be complacent no more. What say you, Wolfchild?”
Ella stared back at Fenryr, into the golden eyes of a god. Taking a breath in through her nose, she took the mug from Fenryr, allowing the deep earthy smell to fill her nostrils. The wolf within her stood on all fours, a rage swelling. That same red mist that had once blinded her now wrapped around her like a blanket. It warmed her and filled the cracks in her brokenness. Her fingers closed around the mug, nails darkening and extending to claws. She closed her grip, and the mug shattered in her hand, tea spilling over the floor, shards of clay bouncing on the stone.
“Gods. What a mess.” Elia Havel looked completely flustered, her gaze darting around the pieces of broken mug on the floor, her hands moving frantically. “Let me get that for you.”
Lasch rested his hands on her shoulders and shook his head gently, then pulled her closer.
Ella stared at the remnants of the mug, her hand in a tight fist, blood trickling through the seams, deep and crimson.