Chapter 28 #2
The smell of burning attacked his nostrils.
He needed to leave. He needed to regain control over his thoughts and actions.
He took to the air with a loud snap of his wings.
Only then, he hovered over the dwelling, realising the flames had already torn through the steading and the grass roof.
They leapt into the air. The small building was so close, especially as the wind gusted, sending reaching fingers of golden red towards it.
He landed again, and reminded of another of Naer-Vera’s lessons, he blew cool air over the flames. Then he leapt swiftly back into the air, working his wings to gain height, determined to get as far away from his actions as possible. Why had he felt so protective towards one of the Others? Again.
He arrived home, still perturbed by his actions. He didn’t sleep, but rushed into his cavern, lit by the green glowing rock, seeking answers in the Archive. But Naer-Vera was silent. The images were all gone.
Disgruntled, he impatiently waited for sunrise and once more took to the sky.
He needed to see exactly what he’d brought about.
He felt ill at ease. He’d killed animals for no other reason than to preserve the life of an Other.
Naer-Vera never said the Speaker couldn’t kill, but he also never said the Speaker could.
It took him next to no time to arrive at the blackened dwelling – to find it was still smoking even after a night of snow and storms. The only part of the structure that was still completely standing was where the Other had sheltered the previous night.
The door to the remains of the main dwelling lay open and deserted when he poked his huge head inside the smouldering remains where the tunnel had collapsed.
Within, there were the bodies of at least two burnt wolves, for all his view was incomplete.
There were also the bodies of the Others.
While he knew they’d been dead before they were set upon by the wolves, it distressed him to see the carnage the wolves had wrought.
Two bodies had their stomachs ripped out.
The wolves had eaten well before their deaths.
He withdrew his head. Emotions pulsed through him that were difficult to equate with anything he’d ever felt before.
He felt grief for the mutilated family. Yet he understood the instincts of the wolves.
They’d been hungry and had chanced upon a meal to slacken their hunger.
Should he have intervened? Was it not the way of his land that some must suffer so some could survive?
Was that not the very lesson he was supposed to take away from the Others who dwelled within rún-ketill?
As his mind swirled with questions he couldn’t answer, he examined the refrozen dirty snow and saw there was a new set of footprints leading away from the building where the Other had sheltered last night.
He took to the air once more, the dead wolves forgotten, and climbed up until he was as high as a mountain peak.
Then he glided on his mighty golden wings, following the footprints so he didn’t have to think about his motives.
The footprints weaved uncertainly from side to side.
Every so often, they went some way in one direction before returning to their original course.
He was intrigued as to why until he caught up with the Other.
It staggered along its path in a wild zig-zag.
He was amazed it was making any progress at all.
At times, the Other seemed almost to crawl on its knees, and as it moved, loud choking noises emanated from it.
The thoughts that flowed to him were incoherent.
He tried to shut them out in an effort to call his mind his own.
Still, he carried on following the Other, desperate to understand the link he felt with it.
If he could just find a clue that might help him decipher why he’d helped it.
Why he’d allowed the wolves to die in the flames.
Eventually, frustration overcame him as the day reached its peak. He flew high, away from the staggering figure. His wings cracked as he gained height in the peaceful day, and it struck him how noisy his wings were as he gained altitude.
With every downward stroke of his mighty wings, there was a sharp snap as if one of the Others had dropped something on the hard stone floor of rún-ketill.
He wondered how the Other below didn’t hear the noise.
The sound throbbed in his ears, and he marvelled that before he’d always thought he moved quietly.
Now he was overly conscious of the thwack and slap of his wings as they hit the static air around him. His thoughts concentrated only on that as he climbed higher and higher, trying to get away from the sad spectacle in front of him that had drawn his attention for so much of the day.
The higher he climbed the smaller the Other became.
He was struck by the insignificance of this one little creature when compared to the vast land stretched out in front of him.
Why did he feel so compelled to watch him?
What hold did this Other have over him? With annoyance, he dived back towards the ground.
He needed answers, and there was no one to ask.
As the day progressed, the Other ascended onto the giant glacier that was close to rún-ketill.
He was unsure of the intentions of the figure he shadowed.
He knew from the circuit of his home that none of the Others lived all the way out here.
This was where the huge shield began, which kept his kind hidden from the notice of the Others.
The shield shimmered luminescent in the sky.
At the glacier’s furthest reaches to the north, his home lurked.
The glacier was a cold and frozen expanse, inhospitable to him, let alone to the small Other he followed, who stepped through the pulsing light shield without noticing.
The day would soon draw to a close. Already the winds were picking up, buffeting his wings as he endeavoured to keep his giant body balanced.
He knew it was time to leave, but he couldn’t.
This Other called to him. As much as he chided himself for interfering the night before, he simply couldn’t turn away from such desperate entreaties.
He didn’t return home that night; instead, he stayed with the Other.
As night fell, the wind grew stronger and battered against him.
Even his tough skin felt chilled when he came to land near where the Other had collapsed in a tangle of limbs in the middle of the frozen glacier.
He could feel the Other growing cold, just like the hatchling Other he’d rescued a few nights before.
He sank low to the ground and covered the Other with his wings, creating a dome around him.
He tucked his head under his wing, hoping the warmth of his breath would be sufficient to keep the Other warm enough to survive the night, grimacing at the fresh shard of pain down his back.